Oh My Days: Sacred Days, #1

By PW Staples

Oh My Days is the spectacular debut novel from PW Staples and is the first thrilling instalment in the Sacred Days trilogy.

It's a hot and spicy love story with humour and an edge that charts the progress of our heroine's work and love life.

Set in London and Venice you'll be caught up in the whirlwind romance that sweeps Keira Doubleday away. But is it too good to be true? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: PW Staples
• Release date: Aug 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533661708

Book preview

Chapter One

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Please just talk to him.

He doesn’t want to talk.

You know what I mean, babe. He’s scared and has no one and I promise I’ll never ask again if you’ll just help this once.

I really don’t know, Polly. Social Services have trained people for this sort of thing, experienced professionals who know how to handle problem kids.

Keira, he’s a teenager and judging by his clothes hasn’t been on the streets for very long. He’s just run away and won’t communicate with anyone at all. We’ve tried our usual support group but they’re short staffed tonight, it could be hours and you’re ten minutes away. Please Keira it will be your good deed for the year.

That was thirty minutes ago. I pulled my hair back, changed out of my pyjamas and drove the few miles to the charity shelter where my friend and one time flatmate Polly volunteered.

You’re a lifesaver, she said as she pulled me into a warm embrace. He’s seventeen, we think. Looks well-dressed for someone living rough, and although he came in here by himself he hasn’t even tried to communicate at all.

I’ll come in with you. I’ve already spoken to him and it looks like we’ve identified a bed for him for the night but we do need to find out a bit more about why he’s ended up here. Is that OK?

I nodded, but worried I’d bitten off more than I could chew. What the hell did I know about counselling or people with who knows what difficulties? Polly guided me towards room number one.

He’s young, just smile and engage and try to get him to open up.

I nodded again.

I expected some kind of stark cold police interview room with basic chairs, a table, a tiny window with bars and a two-way mirror by which people could observe your every move.

I was so wrong. This was quite comfy. Easy chairs and a low coffee table stood on a textured green carpet. The main magnolia feature wall was decorated with motivational quotes and famous sayings that were stencilled on. The side wall was covered in cartoon characters. The cute playful ones jostled for space alongside superheroes in a series of dramatic poses.

Facing us was a thin blond-haired teenaged boy sipping water from a plastic cup and tapping his foot impatiently.

Polly and I sat opposite him and she opened the conversation.

Hello, this is my friend Keira, she’s come to help us. She nodded, urging me to get started.

I looked into his face as he lowered the cup and stared blankly at both of us, expressionless and wary. He was wearing a light brushed cotton navy jacket over a yellow polo shirt with indigo jeans and white and red trainers. She was right, it certainly didn’t look like he’d been sleeping rough, and even his trainers looked nearly new and not even scuffed.

Hello, my name is Keira, I signed and mouthed. What’s your name?

Nothing. No response at all as he shifted slightly in his seat and watched me carefully. I tried again. This is my friend Polly. I referenced her as I signed and enunciated each word clearly. She wants to help you.

Nothing. He continued to watch me as I stepped through some basic phrases pausing only to put down his cup and push his fingers slowly through his hair before settling back in the chair again.

I decided to try another tack.

I like your trainers. My friend has the same ones, are they new?

Nothing. But he did seem to shift more in his seat. His eyes moving slowly from side to side, not quite like a cornered animal but more like a pet who knows he should trust you when you want to take him to the vet but can’t help thinking it may involve some discomfort along the way.

OK... so how old would you be? I thought I’d exaggerate a little. I signed out a low number way lower than his apparent age. I’d say thirteen?

He blew air from his lips in exasperation and pushed a leg out, scraping his trainer on the leg of the coffee table in an irritated fashion. Not full communication but a response none the less.

Polly gripped my thigh excitedly thinking we were getting somewhere. I thought I’d push the pride boundary a little further.

Yes Polly, write that down, he’s thirteen.

She played along and wrote Age: 13 in big letters on her pad.

Our friend shook his head and pushed both hands through his blond hair, twisting in the chair, wanting to express himself but obviously struggling with the what and how.

He reminded me of my sister when she got frustrated and flustered but she would always sign and speak as best she could and always let you know what was bothering her, even from an early age.

It was a fate that I could easily have shared. I baffled the specialists as my inner ears were also malformed but so far I never had the hearing loss that afflicted my mother and sister. Every six months I would have check-ups and tests with kindly old Mr. Nowak and so far so good.

‘You know, I’ve lectured throughout the world, operated on so many I’ve lost count in Europe and America, and I don’t understand why you aren’t deaf. You, my dear, are a miracle.’

His face would break into a warm generous smile and he’d offer me one of the lollipops usually reserved for the little children. How many lollipops had I taken over the years? I took one so as not to offend.

‘Now, no traumas to the head, nothing, not one. No taking up boxing or wrestling. A severe knock and you could lose your hearing, do you understand?’

I nodded smiling as he went through his half yearly standard warning, chuckling to himself as he referred to boxing and wrestling.

‘And any sign, even the smallest hint of a throat infection, straight to the GP or call me, OK?’

‘Yes OK. I get it Mr Nowak.’

I was shaken from my daydream by Polly gripping my thigh. My eyes shifted back to the young boy.

It’s then I truly noticed his eyes. He had very long lashes, darkish and thick, which most girls would kill for, attached to heavy lids, and sitting under arched eyebrows that were shaped much better than mine were.

His eyes started to water.

The young man was definitely on the edge now and it upset me to see him this way; angry, hurt and frustrated. Whatever had happened in his life that brought him here must have been painful and I wanted to help if I could. I gave him a way out.

Leaning forward I closed the space between us and gave him my best reassuring smile. Polly stiffened, I could see she thought I was over committing and taking a chance, probably breaking some counselling guideline. I smiled again and signed, almost daring him to react. If I came across as brave it was more by luck as my heartbeat quickened considerably.

You’re obviously a clever young man and we want to help you. If not thirteen, then what?

He shook his head and his left leg bounced as though it was perched on a trapped nerve, deeply conflicted, and for whatever reason he just couldn’t open up.

Please... let me help you. My mother and sister are deaf and I’d really like to be able to listen to what you want to tell me.

I was signing at speed now and speaking clearly, just like I used to back at home. My thinking was, if I explained my experience of living with deaf people maybe he would soften and be prepared to share more with me.

He started to cry and Polly gripped my thigh again and made a mewling noise in sympathy as tears streamed down his face, but this was no feminine cry with his face breaking into a sad grimace. His features betrayed no other emotion; his grey eyes were wide open and his teeth gritted; tears just fell down his face and off his cheeks as he maintained a proud fixed stare.

And then I did it. No plan, no premediated action; keeping eye contact I reached across and placed my hand on top of his. He flinched but didn’t pull back, just bowed his head and I felt his hand relax as the tension slipped away and his shoulders slumped down. He let out a long sigh.

Please... let us help you.

He gently moved his fingers out from under mine, where I had kept a firm grip, still troubled he looked at both of us and signed; he was sorry.

He was sixteen nearly seventeen and his name was Carl. He had run away from home two days ago and wasn’t going back. He signed the last statements angrily and in a blunt fashion, his face a picture of rage. I let him pour out anything he wanted to with only slight prompts from me as Polly scribbled the case notes and confirmed they had found him a bed for the night. He was exceedingly lucky and was very grateful and the first semblance of a smile played across his young face.

Polly told me to tell him that the place for tonight wasn’t great but it was clean and safe. Tomorrow he could speak to more people about the help he really needed.

When we were done, Polly made the arrangements and we shook hands and escorted him outside.

Thank you. He signed and mouthed simultaneously. I really appreciate your help. I’m sure we’ll meet again... Oh, and your friend.

But Polly had turned her back on him and swallowed me up. You see, Keira, you’re a natural. You were amazing... thank you so much. And she positively hugged me to death, causing Carl to delay before he finished his sentence. With her back to him I looked over Polly’s shoulder.

She has a lovely arse!

I laughed as Polly put me down and spun around quickly to see Carl chuckling. Feminine intuition told her something was said between us.

What was that?

Oh... you have a young admirer, he says you have a lovely smile.

Did he now? and she giggled like a schoolgirl, smiling coyly at him before resuming her correct professional posture and leading him away.

* * * * * *

Where the hell was she? I pondered. Della’s always punctual. I’ve never known her to be late for anything. Still, its twelve-forty now and I started to question whether I’d got the time wrong, the venue or even the day. I checked my phone again and the text message was clear.

Thursday 12 noon at Massimo’s – It’s important, be there. Lattes on me. Ciao, D

I’d had a restless night. Helping out Polly with that boy really had an effect on me and it took hours for me to get to sleep. I just kept seeing his tear-stained face and his sad eyes. God, I hope he was alright. Add to that a major straightener malfunction this morning, together with lost keys and mobile making me late for work and the day just seemed to get worse. Being stood up by Della was definitely NOT the way I wanted to spend my lunchtime. I spread my bags, fought off all comers who tried to steal the spare chair, sipped my caramel latte and waited.

Della Brookes was a Sales Exec at my work, smart and very attractive. She kept her short dark hair in a pixie bob that really suited her, that along with her huge blue eyes and dazzling smile made her stand out in a crowd. She was a predator in the Sales world with most men falling for her slick patter, always having a way of gaining control and pushing the right buttons to get what she wanted.

Only 5’2 and 110 pounds soaking wet, she was bright with an incisive mind and indomitable spirit, nothing was too much of a challenge. I’d worked with her on a number of accounts over the fourteen months I’d been at the agency and we seemed to have struck up a definite bond, really looked out for each other.

My mobile buzzed; incoming text. Don’t tell me she’s bloody cancelled.

It was from Polly:

Just wanted to say thanks for last night - see ya soon. P

My simmering anger at being made to wait around abated slightly with Polly’s message of gratitude. I glanced at the time on my phone.

Maybe something had happened to Della? Perhaps she’d had an accident? Why didn’t she call? All these questions were running through my mind as I sipped my coffee.

Just then the door practically flew off its hinges and in she marched. An animated whirlwind of energy inside a sharp suit, just too-short skirt and an oversized designer bag swinging wildly off her shoulder.

So sorry, hon, she gestured with an exaggerated mime as she strode to the counter to place her order. In no time she had collapsed opposite me with a skinny cappuccino and a refill caramel latte for yours truly. 

What kept you? I nervously asked. Sure that even Della could see she was in the wrong this time.

A needy client, darling, started with a chat and became his life story. I was lucky to get away as quickly as I did. Anyway, here now, so no harm done.

And you, Keira, you look tired babe?

She was right. I’d been up until two am working on the presentation, going over the concept, the numbers, and fine tuning the details before emailing it to Hamilton.

Late night and not enough sleep, I grumbled.

It wasn’t you and Alex having an energetic workout in the bedroom, then?

God, no! I shouted, thinking chance would be a fine thing. He’s got his head in whirl over a mega deal at work and barely has any time for me at the moment. I mean, I get he’s stressed but it’s like he’s so detached and switched off when he’s with me.

Well maybe it’s a man thing? You know the poor loves can’t concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Plus you only met him four months ago and have been living together for two, he might be scared of the speed it’s all moving?

Wow, Della, if I wasn’t already riddled with insecurities about my relationship you’re sure doing a mighty fine job in piling them on. 

Deep down I was sure I loved Alex, and wasn’t that what I was looking for? Love? It had been fairly sudden but I was attracted to his endless confidence, and I believed it would all work out. I realised how attractive he was and girls often came on to him, but he chose me and he had a wicked sense of humour, something I really loved about him. We would spend weekends just chilling and laughing but it’s just he’d been so moody lately. Anyway whatever was distracting him, we would face it together and in no time be back on track. He was the one for me I was certain.

He may not be right for you, have you thought of that, both coming from such different backgrounds? I’ve met him remember and it struck me how you seemed to have so little in common, darling, she said bluntly.

Della continued on with the rapid-fire questions and stark observations, dismantling my relationship and his character. Everything was fair game as I sat in shock.

Keira, Keira - are you even listening?

Sorry, Della, slipped away for a minute there. What was that last point?

I said we have the ZEC presentation at three, are you up to speed?

Of course, I mumbled, as I shuffled uncomfortably, sipping my coffee. 

Good, these guys are massive for us and if this pitch goes well – it’s that new Audi convertible for me, she said gleefully, eyes bright as ever.

Remember, I’ll make the follow up contact with them this afternoon and you’ll need to get them anything they want by close of play today. I’m off for the weekend after lunch.

Anywhere nice? I asked politely.

"Let’s just say it’s going to be a Hot one," she purred.

With that and one impressive motion she drained the cup, whisked up her bag and headed for the door. In contrast my cup slipped from my grasp causing the contents to spill over my skirt and into my bag. Damn, could this day get any worse?

* * * * * *

Right, I thought, ten minutes and counting. This meeting was massively important to the agency and me personally. So let’s take a quick status check before we go.

Latest presentation – Definitely.

Creative approach, rationale and bomb-proof numbers – Amazingly.

Impeccable hair – Hopefully.

Killer heels, sleek business suit with barely noticeable coffee stain and overall air of the confident professional? Who am I kidding, but it will have to do.

Jacqui? Where’s the ZEC presentation, the boardroom? I asked gathering my laptop and notebook and already scuttling to the door.

Hamilton said the conference room and they’ve already started, good luck! shouted Jacqui.

Already started? How? When did that change? I’ve checked my mail and texts religiously and seen nothing about moving the time and room?

Why do we have to be stuck in the basement, I moaned to myself. The conference room was on the 4th floor and with the lift out of order, I’d have to take the stairs.

With Olympian energy I pushed through the fire exit and bounded up the stairs, clacking heels echoing throughout the building. Past the ground, I can do this, I thought. I sped past the first floor. Breathing heavier now but she has this. Second floor and calves are beginning to object; I really must get back to the gym. Third floor and thighs are burning, ankles joining in the protest. 4th floor – hurrah she has it in the bag. Heavy breathing and impeccable hair now disastrously limp but she’s made it. Now to slip quietly through the door and blend in unnoticed.

I balance the laptop and book combo and open the door prepared for the quizzical sea of faces and time-honoured in silent-mouthed apology – Empty.

Empty?

Empty damn it, what’s going on? Think... think, Keira. It was originally going to be the boardroom as per the meeting invite. It’s always the boardroom for accounts of this size. I’ll try there, it’s only one floor up I reasoned persuading the body for another assault on the stairs.

Clack, clack, clack, heralded my entry as I propelled through the door and straight into a young man, who couldn’t avoid the contact. I fell over in a heap, dropping my notebook, pens & hand-outs but managing to just about keep hold of the laptop.

Jacqui, who had escorted the visitor, looked down at me sprawled on the floor with disbelief as the stranger offered his hand and gallantly took the blame.

I’m sorry, my fault totally, getting in your way, are you alright?

You’re very kind but I wasn’t looking, I countered scraping together my belongings in a precarious bundle. He picked up some coloured stickies and pens and placed them delicately on the top.

It was then I noticed him. Young, steely grey-blue eyes that twinkled, tousled dark hair and an easy smile that lit up his face. He was fairly scruffy, wearing a simple casual jacket, open necked striped shirt and jeans but I got the feeling his lithe figure would present any clothes well. His shoes, tan brogues, had that expensive look, though. Very nice.

He manoeuvred the tablet and cardboard coffee tray complete with three cups and stated: Disaster averted. I’m afraid that lot don’t function well without their own specialist coffee triple shot espressos.

I see you got lumbered with coffee detail, then? I usually get that job. It’s just as well because the stuff in here is virtually undrinkable.

Are you heading the same way - to the boardroom, I mean? The big presentation has already started and us in the supporting cast will have to sneak in like naughty school kids.

Jacqui giggled, opened the door and ushered us in.

The room was dimly lit with seven people around the vast table. There was the CEO and his PA, Ellie and Hamilton, my boss standing at the presentation area. Della was seated opposite the clients. They were two very sharp looking individuals in business suits. A distinguished man in his mid-forties with grey flecked brown hair sat impassively with a younger dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties to his right. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she had big expressive eyes and an engaging smile. You sensed she could chat like your best friend but was also driven enough to step on you to get what she wanted.

She nodded and made appreciative noises all the while tapping ferociously on her laptop.

I slipped as quietly as I could next to Ellie as my partner in crime the dishevelled coffee bearer did the same on the client side of the table directly opposite me. Mr Casual Hunk smiled at me and took notes on his tablet presumably for the de-brief with the boss later.

Hamilton let the presentation short film finish, made his final pitch saying how important their account would be to us and brought up the lights, thanking everyone for their time and inviting questions.

First I need some coffee, said the older client, sliding one of the handouts down the table and requesting his coffee from the casual hunk opposite me.

I must say I’m very impressed with the overall concept and artistic direction, interjected the lady, why did you choose that particular approach?

I was about to explain when Hamilton cut in.

Well, it was after I’d fully researched your current position and the detail surrounding your ambitious growth plans that I realised what we could do for you. I’ve great experience of this industry sector and I could see immediately a strategy that would support you perfectly.

What!!! -  I sat there with my mouth open. That was my idea, my research and my artistic concept for the campaign. He barely knew who they were yesterday.

Yes, but why that particular concept, it’s very different for our area of business and your projected numbers in year one are exceedingly high? She sensed waffle and would not be deterred.

Exceedingly high in year one? I thought I was being conservative.

I attracted the attention of Mr Casual Hunk who had stopped taking notes and whispered if he could pass me one of the handouts. Hamilton continued to bluster on, espousing his expertise but not giving any real substance to his answers.

I leafed through the handout and my details on the concept and campaign were all there but, hang on, these are not my numbers? The profile’s all wrong and they’re virtually double. I pulled one of my handouts to compare and sure enough it had all been changed.

Mayday, Mayday – Hamilton was crashing now and Miss Ponytail knew he wasn’t across this. Della could see the danger and launched in to try and save Hamilton and retrieve the position.

Mr Casual Hunk continued to stare at me intently as I resolved the discrepancies between my presentation and the one Hamilton had taken them through. With my brow tightly knitted and my tongue slightly stuck out as I concentrated, I re-worked the numbers and frowned some more. How could they have been changed? I triple checked everything and made sure this was all perfect when I sent it.

Is something wrong? he whispered his gaze burrowing into my innermost thoughts. Pass me one of your handouts and I’ll see if I can make head or tail of it?

Well, I thought aloud. I was about to spill the beans and ramble through my findings, but then he was part of the client’s team after all and I could not be disloyal no matter how good looking he was.

It seems that there may have been a typing error on the presentation, I offered lamely.

By now the meeting had descended into a mess. Both the older grey-haired guy and Miss Ponytail were openly struggling to understand Hamilton’s verbal nonsense as he plucked random numbers out of the air. Della was frustrated as her usually lethal Sales charm floundered and our CEO was steadily growing more and more red with rage and embarrassment in equal measure.

Hey! a voice shouted. I looked up from my notes and it was Mr Casual Hunk. Well, the coffee boy sure must be feeling brave today or it’s some sort of delayed caffeine rush. That’ll be him fired, then, I mused.

Why don’t we let this lady explain? She’s been diligently re-tracing the numbers and I think she’s on to something. Go ahead plug it in and take us through it, he announced with a calm air of authority.

I waited for my CEO to politely brush him off or his team to do the same but they deferred to him, probably hoping this would give them what they were looking for and end this farce. He waved his hand on as I gingerly plugged in the laptop and fired up the presentation on the big screen.

I walked them back through the strategy, campaign plan, and the projected figures, and showed how we could target their existing customer base and expand into areas previously not considered.

Miss Ponytail was satisfied and I was able to answer all her questions. Old grey-haired guy scratched something on his pad with his pen, underlined it and sat back happy, and Mr Casual Hunk maintained his fixed stare before cracking an enigmatic smile.

Old grey-haired guy talked about a follow up for next week and started the round of handshakes, while Della moved a stray dark hair and cracked a dazzling smile, happy it had turned out well in the end. A crestfallen Hamilton looked down at his shoes. 

Brent! Miss Ponytail called out loudly, We’ve overrun and we’ll be late for the production demo.

OK, thanks, Suzy, Mr casual hunk said, rising to his feet and walking towards me, staring intently.

He offered his hand and said, I’m glad you made it, you really understood the detail. Very impressive, thank you Miss...? he left it hanging, waiting for my response.

God he had lovely eyes. Oh, Damn, he asked me a question.

Oh, Doubleday, Keira Doubleday...and you are? blushing as I tried to regain composure.

It’s Brent, Brent Tennant.

* * * * * *

I opened the door and threw the keys down on the hallway table.

What a day, I thought, as I kicked off my shoes and slumped into the armchair in the front room. The air was heavy with a flowery scent which I couldn’t quite place although it seemed familiar, then I realised the fan light windows