Karma Read Online Free PDF Page B

remarriage.
    When
Marcy's mother first became ill, it was all she could do to care for her and
Katie. Friends, outside interests, and entertainment had all gone by the
wayside. Living day to day, paying the bills and trying to be a good mother was
about all she was able to manage.
    Marcy
was confident that she would get on well with Mr. Chevalier's employees.
Meeting new people, having the time to enjoy them without the pressure of
working double shifts and paying childcare fees would be amazing.
    Was
this really happening to her? From now on, if all went well, Marcy would have
more time and more money. Maybe she could even go back to school and finish
that nursing degree she started so long ago.
    I'm
so glad that I didn’t steal that $100 note . If I did, Mr. Chevalier would have never offered me a job.

7. Bugatti
    Marcy
heard it before she saw it.
    The
sleek red and black sports car thundered toward her house with a growling sort
of dangerous purr. Marcy's eyes widened and her mouth gaped open when it drove
up to her condo. Later, her mind boggled when she found out that it was a Bugatti
Veyron and cost about $2,500,000. The Frenchman wasn't just rich; he was super
rich.
    Mr.
Chevalier got out. With a large smile and wide eyes, he gave her a big boyish
grin. He looked about twenty-five years old when he grinned like that. "Do
you like it?" he asked.
    "It's
incredible," she said with genuine awe.
    He
was dressed 'smart casual' in up market jeans, black leather pointy toed shoes
and an Italian polo shirt. Even in jeans he appeared vital and elegant. What was
that about? In the morning sun, Marcy was aware of how attractive he was, and
he still smelled good enough to eat.
    Too
bad that men gave her indigestion.
    Even
though she'd sworn off the opposite sex, it was impossible for her mind not consider
the prospect. Mr. Chevalier was nothing like her ex. She imagined him in bed
with a woman. He would make his partner feel cherished – not stupid, she was
sure of it. He might even make her laugh. Could sex actually be fun, she
wondered?
    Marcy
would probably never know, and that realization only gave her relief. Besides,
he was her boss, and she had enough problems already. The man was still smiling
at her - his vibes were carefree, playful, and absolutely not sexual. He seemed
so much younger that she was somehow.
    "If
you have a driver's license you may drive it."
    "No
way, Mr. Chevalier," she gasped.
    "Yes,
way," he said.
    Marcy
just shook her head. "I would never drive this in city traffic."
    Her
soon to be new employer's grin grew larger. " Bon! Then we shall go
to the country. It is a most beautiful day for a drive."
    He
opened the passenger door for her, commenting on her dress, and telling her how
much that particular style suited her figure. The man went on to notice how attractive
yet sensible her shoes were, and how she wore just the right amount of make-up.
    As
he joined her in the car he airily continued the one-sided conversation. Amused,
relaxed and inexplicably comfortable with him, Marcy listened as Mr. Chevalier chatted
away about fashion much like a girlfriend might have done. He ruined this
momentary illusion, however by telling her that he much preferred her breasts
this way, in their natural size and form.
    Alrighty
then. How do I reply to that?
    "Thank
you," she said, resorting to good manners.
    Marcy
never met anyone like him. It astonished her, the way that he seemed able to
converse about anything without a shred of embarrassment. Oddly, because he talked
in a matter-of-fact tone, he put her at ease. Were all Frenchmen so
straightforward, or just Mr. Chevalier?
    "For
now, please call me André," he said. "You are not my employee yet,
and with first names it is more comfortable, yes?" He turned the car on
with the press of a button, and it growled to life with a sexy purr. "This
is the fastest French car ever made," he happily informed her.
    Then
he hit the gas.
    Marcy
was slammed back into her seat