He had hung around the café for a while, and as soon as he left, he had called his private investigator to get more information about her.
Twenty-four hours later, he was holding her entire life in a file in his hands. He pulled out a picture of her and smiled. She would never be anyone’s puppy. Even the way she posed confidently in the picture told him the only time she would ever bark would be in the bedroom. Or maybe purr. Whatever. And if he wanted her in his bed, he had to do something about it. Get her into his space. Maybe get her to the annual ball where he could woo her with kindness and luxury. It didn’t take him long to decide to invite her to his company’s annual ball.
When he first came up with the plan, he was so sure she would call him and tell him he had the wrong Sara Nolles, in which case he would have explained to her that she was welcome to come since she already had the card. He had been waiting all day for her to call him, but his phone had yet to ring. Either she hadn’t seen the card yet or had decided to ignore it, but he was hoping she would have at least acknowledged the receipt of the card. Either way, he was going to move ahead with the next stage in the plan with the solid assumption that she would come out of curiosity.
SARA
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing. I ran to the door, expecting to see my best friend from kindergarten, Amy, who always showed up at odd hours at my house. She usually unlocked the door with the spare key she had, but sometimes she rang the doorbell first just in case I was in some compromising situation with a non-existent man. It didn't matter these days because I didn't have a boyfriend, so the worst thing that could happen if she opened the door without warning would be to see me naked. That she had seen a million times over the twenty years of our friendship.
I didn't bother putting my robe on. Only when I opened the door did I realize that I was practically naked, having slept in just a tee-shirt. But it was too late to close the door. I stood self-consciously in front of a delivery man who handed me a gold box. He looked at me for a few seconds, probably taking note of my nipples, which had hardened against my tee-shirt in the draft of cold air from the opened door.
"Good morning, Ms. Nolles?" he asked, looking around like he was lost.
"Yes, I’m Ms. Nolles." I looked at his badge, which had the Saunders Empire logo and his name. "Hello, David.”
He also looked down at his badge and smiled at me. "Ms. Sara Nolles?" he asked again as if to ascertain he was in the right place and I was the right person.
"Yes, I'm Sara Nolles," I replied again.
"I trust you received your personal invitation from Mr. Saunders?"
"Yes..." I said, unsure why he was asking. “But there seems to be a mix up.”
"I can’t speak for the mix up, ma’am. You may have to call the company directly. I’m here to deliver a follow-up from the card. This is from Mr. Saunders," he said, handing me the box.
Before I could say a word, he had turned away. "No wait, David. I don’t think you have the right Sara Nolles. I mean, I did get a card yesterday in the mail, but I think …”
"If you got a card, ma'am, then this box is for you. My instructions were to deliver this to you at this address and confirm you received a card yesterday."
"Yes," I said, still unsure.
"I suggest you call the RSVP number on that card if you have any questions." He offered a faint smile.
"Sure. I will. Thank you,” I said. I sighed and took the box inside. It was a decently sized box but didn't weigh much. Wrapped in a pretty bow, the box smelled nice as if it had a built-in fragrance. I set it on my living room table and slumped onto the couch.
The box looked tempting and I bet it contained some goodies. But it wasn't mine. It was addressed to me, but I was the wrong Sara Nolles. The most sensible thing to do was return the box to Saunders Empire on Monday or call the number on the card and ask them to pick it up and send it to the right owner. I thought of the million reasons I shouldn't open the box - then I thought of one reason why I should. I had never been given a gift box from a man, not to mention a billionaire. Surely whatever he had sent would be amazing; I felt justified to open the box since it had my name on it.