Free A Private Affair by Dara Girard Page A

He’d never considered those who had few before.
    But that wasn’t his fault and he wouldn’t feel guilty, dammit. At least he didn’t squander his wealth like some of his friends. One bought a new car ever six months, just because. Another, a married family man with three kids, had an expensive mistress few knew about. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t spoiled and didn’t think he should be punished for being successful.
    But that didn’t stop him from thinking about Carissa. Carissa and her laugh, and her passionate defense of the people at Simus Labs. He wished he could get her to cook something for him. If she cooked as well as she defended people he knew the dish would be a savory meal. Unfortunately, that night as he drifted off to sleep, he realized her cooking wasn’t the only thing he wanted to taste.
    ***
    Carissa knew something was wrong the moment she smelled baked biscuits. The scent of warm buttered biscuits floated from her apartment as she returned from work. She walked in and heard humming. Had Lina let herself inside? She set her things down and marched into the kitchen then stopped. She saw a woman, but she certainly wasn’t Lina.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Carissa screamed.
    The woman spun around.
    Carissa screamed some more.
    “Don’t do that!” the woman said covering her ears. She was a few inches taller with a figure Carissa envied, short black hair and dark mascara that emphasized her almond shaped eyes.
    “Who are you and what are you doing?” Carissa demanded.
    “Must you shout!”
    “I’m going to call the police.”
    “Why?” The woman looked at her surprised. “Weren’t you expecting me?”
    “No. You must have the wrong place.”
    “You’re Carey York right?”
    “I’m Carissa,” she corrected.
    The woman tapped the side of her head with a nail painted a deep purple with black stripes. “Yes, that’s right. I’m supposed to remember that.”
    “I don’t understand. What are you doing in my apartment?”
    “You should have gotten the notice.”
    “What notice?”
    “About your membership.”
    “My membership to what?”
    “The Society. And there’s no reason to shout anymore the shock should have worn off by now.”
    Carissa took a deep breath. “I’m calling the police.”
    The woman shook her head in pity. “Now you’re repeating yourself.”
    Carissa pulled out her phone.
    The woman snatched the phone from her. “You don’t want to do that. It would completely revoke your privileges.”
    “What privileges?”
    “To the Society.” She frowned. “Didn’t I already establish that?”
    “You must have the wrong place. But how did you get in here anyway?”
    “Your landlady is so sweet.” The woman turned to the oven and pulled out the biscuits. “Hmmm. We’re going to enjoy these.”
    “Who are you?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry.” She took off her oven mitt, held out her hand and flashed a big smile. “I’m Sara Kitano, your Associate.”
    Carissa shook the woman’s hand feeling as if she were in a fog. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
    “Your box came. I thought we’d go through it together.”
    “I’m confused.”
    “You were accepted into the Black Stockings Society.”
    “And you’re here because…”
    Sara pulled out her phone, typed in a few words then held it out to her. “Isn’t this you?”
    Carissa looked at the picture. “Yes.”
    She scrolled down. “And isn’t this your address?”
    “Yes.”
    She scrolled down some more. “And isn’t this your application and receipt?”
    Carissa nodded. “Yes, but what are you doing here?”
    Sara clicked her tongue in pity. “No wonder you’re shocked. You obviously didn’t read the fine print. You agreed upon acceptance to have an Associate, like me, help you over the next week.”
    “Week?” Carissa asked suddenly nervous. “What’s so important about next week?”
    Sara opened the refrigerator. “Do you want butter, jam or marmalade on your