Hallo,
auch hier eine Leseprobe, weil ich den ersten Satz so toll finde:
Excerpt from The Sassy One
October 2003
by Susan Mallery
Francesca Marcelli had only been pregnant for twenty minutes and already her back hurt.
"Talk about realistic," she muttered adjusting the straps that held her fake eight months pregnant belly in place. The size was daunting enough-she couldn't see her feet or find a comfortable sitting position-but the weight was the real killer. Someone with a twisted sense of humor had decided to simulate what felt like the pressure of a baby elephant. The small of her back screamed out in protest, while unexpected pressure on her bladder made her want to duck into the nearest ladies room.
"All for a good cause," she reminded herself.
Francesca shifted to ease the throbbing in her back and leaned against the heavy cart she'd maneuvered into the service elevator of the six story bank building. When the doors opened, she shoved her over-loaded cart into the main hallway. Stacks of boxes wobbled precariously and threatened to tumble onto the carpeted floor.
It was just after five on a Friday afternoon. All around her dozens of business people headed for the main elevators to start their weekend. Francesca pushed up her glasses and paused to smooth down the front of the ugliest maternity dress she'd been able to find. The oversized collar dwarfed her shoulders and made her head look too small. The pinks and roses of the busy floral print sucked all the color from her pale olive skin. She'd brushed powder into her hair to lighten it to a mousy brown. The little make-up she'd put on had been applied to make her look tired, drawn and unattractive.
She glanced at her watch, then squared her shoulders as she prepared to begin work.
"Show time," she said softly, not that anyone was listening.
Three men from the insurance office at the end of the hall walked past her without even giving her a nod. Francesca continued to push her pile of packages slowly against the flow of foot traffic. Two women in suits gave her a quick, sympathetic smile. A man and a woman, both carrying expensive looking briefcases, followed. The woman looked, the man didn't.
Another corridor branched to the left. Francesca shifted her cart to make the turn. Several boxes went tumbling. A single man walked by without breaking his stride. A college age girl stopped long enough to help Francesca pick up the boxes, then hurried toward the elevator with a call to, "Wait for me!"
Five minutes later, Francesca reached her destination-an office she'd scouted out the previous week, chosen because the company had recently shut down. There she was, pregnant, lost, over-loaded with more than a dozen boxes to be delivered and no one to accept them. Had she been any sort of an actress, she might have been able to force out a tear or two.
The rules stipulated she was not allowed to directly ask for help. It had to be offered. She would wait for the required thirty minutes, mentally tallying who ignored her, who smiled and who, if anyone, stopped to actually offer assistance.
This was a high powered crowd with expensive tastes and busy lives. She didn't hold out much hope for rescue. In her experience-
"You look lost."
Francesca whirled around to see who a tall man standing beside her cart. A tall, good-looking man in a dark blue power suit.
"Hi," she said before preparing to launch into her canned speech about needing to deliver packages to a non-existent firm. Except she couldn't remember anything she was supposed to say.
The man waited patiently. He had dark blond hair and sort of tawny colored eyes. There was an intensity to his expression that reminded her of predators watching prey. A shiver rippled through her as she thought of gazelles being brought down for the kill. Unfortunately in her current condition she was more water buffalo than gazelle.
He looked confident, important and powerful. Not the sort of person who should be stopping to help an unattractive pregnant woman in trouble. Men like him sent assistants to take care of life's unpleasant details.
"Do you speak English?" he asked, enunciating each word clearly.
"What? Oh. Of course." She sucked in a breath, not sure what could be wrong with her. She would blame her sudden mental hiccup on food poisoning, only she hadn't eaten anything that day. "I'm ah-" Francesca cleared her throat. Brain function returned and she launched into her spiel.
"Hi. I'm Francesca. I'm supposed to be delivering these packages here-" She motioned to the closed and locked office door. "But there seems to be a problem."
The man glanced first at the boxes, all carefully addressed to the defunct company, then to the door where a hand-lettered sign said that Malcolm and White Data Tech was no more.
"Bringing these here was the last thing my boss told me to do before he left town," she went on. "If I don't get them delivered, he's going to kill me."
In an effort to look terrified, Francesca thought about how little she had in her checking account and how that pesky electric bill was going to come due soon. Eventually she would reap the rewards of her post graduate education but until she could actually slap the letters "Ph.D." after her name, she seemed destined to a life of poverty.
"You'll have to risk his fury," the man said calmly. "These boxes aren't going anywhere today. That company closed the door about ten days ago. From what I've heard, the main players skipped town with the last few dollars left, leaving several employees with lots of angry customers and no paychecks. What's your name again?"
"Francesca Marcelli."
He smiled at her. A genuine, happy-to-meet-you smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and caused her palms to suddenly start to sweat. This was the most fun she'd had in days.
Her rescuer introduced himself as Sam Reese.
"Let's get you out of this hallway and we'll figure out what we're going to do next."
We? They were a we?
Sam took charge of the cart, wheeling it down the hallway with an ease that made her envious. Of course he didn't have to worry about a pregnant belly getting in the way of his actions. She trailed after him, wondering what the next step would be. How far was Sam willing to take things? In situations like this-a non-emergency-people generally stopped at the point of inconvenience.
"Just through there," he said, pointing to a set of double glass doors.
Before Francesca could read the name of the company, one of the doors opened and a huge man stepped into the hallway. She involuntarily came to a stop to stare.
The man had to be at least six foot seven. He was built like a mountain with a massive neck and shoulders broad enough to support a couple of trailer homes. Dark skinned, with penetrating eyes and a firm, unsmiling mouth he looked both dangerous and more than a little scary.
"Sam," the man said, glancing between her rescuer and herself. "Is there a problem?"
"I think there might be." Sam looked back at her. "Ms. Marcelli was trying to make a delivery to Malcolm and White."
"They split last week."
"As I explained to Ms. Marcelli." He motioned to the cart. "Take this inside, Jason. Store it in one of the conference rooms." He turned his attention back to her. "If your employer's expecting payment for a delivery, that isn't going to happen. At least not right now. Come on inside and we'll get this situation straightened out."
Francesca found herself being ushered into a plush office with a gray and burgundy waiting area. An attractive woman in her early forties manned the front desk. She spoke over a headset as they walked by, pausing only to nod at Sam.
"I can search out Malcolm and White," Sam said as they moved down a long corridor decorated with elegant prints and the occasional slim table pushed up against a wall. "I've been looking for an excuse to track them down."
He sounded fierce as he spoke, as if he had a personal beef with the missing businessmen. Francesca trailed after him, torn between wondering why Sam Reese would care if a company in his building closed and trying to figure out what she'd gotten herself into. They passed several large conference rooms, what looked like classrooms and a few offices containing large desks, computers and file cabinets. All generic stuff that didn't hint at the kind of business done here.
At the end of the hall, they made a left, then a quick right before stopping in front of an open foyer containing a large desk and computer set-up manned by a well dressed young man wearing a sports coat.
"Jack, this is Ms. Marcelli."
The young man, probably around twenty-five and built like a football player, rose to his feet. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."
Francesca walked to the desk to shake hands. As she did so, her purse slipped down her arm and plopped onto the ground before she could catch it.
"Oops," she said, bending down to pick it up.
As she straightened, all the blood rushed from her head, causing the room to spin and her body to sway. For a split second, she thought she was going down.
Less than a heartbeat later, a strong arm encircled her, holding her in place. "Ms. Marcelli? Are you all right? Is it the baby?"
Baby? What...oh, the baby.
hier gehts weiter:
http://www.susanmallery.com/excerpts_bo ... xdisplay=6
Lg Marina
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