Who Is Sue Clearwater Novels & Stories

Probably only the boss could handle this. The manager approached her and asked, “May I know your last name, miss?” Eulalia set down her cup and stood up, “No need for formalities, my surname is Clearwater.” “Hello, Ms. Clearwater, this is my business card,” the manager, surnamed Winters, introduced himself. “Hello, Mr. Winters.” “Ms. Clearwater, are you here to buy some jewelry today?” Eulalia shook her head, speaking slowly, “No, I’m here to pawn jewelry.”

He seems eager to know too. She is seated by the plane window and looks toward the passing clouds before answering the question. She seems too invested in this like personally invested. She must want something and is not telling us. “Start talking,” Chris pressures her into speaking, and she sighs. “Okay, okay. I made a deal with The Witnesses. They gave me unlimited resources and connections to win this war that is raging between Mr. and Mrs. Kingston. If I get us this win, they would give me something that I have asked them for, plus their business with your company gets to stay afloat,” Sue explains without taking her attention from the small oval-shaped window.

Her eyes found mine, and I saw something there, not quite regret, but maybe acknowledgment. "Let's get this over with," Kade said, his voice cold. He didn't sit, just stood at the head of the table with his arms crossed. "Talk, Cassandra." Cassandra leaned against the wall, studying her nails. "Elder Clearwater isn't just the head of the Council, he's obsessed with Silver Bloods, has been for decades." "We already know he wants them dead," Marcus said. "It's more than that," Cassandra looked up. "Twenty-six years ago, Clearwater killed his own mate. She was a Silver Blood named Elara."

Sue smiles and absentmindedly escorts her guests to their cars as they all take their leave. Inside, Tara and Raya, along with Sue sit by a table. "Its the Atlanta branch right?" "Yes. They are known for plagiarism already so people sympathize with you but can't go against them for fear of being ostracized." "I know. Its Gail Howard. She's famous. I'll deal with it myself." "How?" Tara asks "I'm going to Atlanta tomorrow." Even though Sue knows that going to Atlanta will resurface so many old demons, she has to go for the sake of what's keeping her sane and providing for her child.

“You interested in what he is offering? He may be a few years older than us but I bet he could show you a good time if you wanted.” “No.” she said plainly, not a hint of interest. Her voice almost sounded revolted at the idea. “Is there someone special you are hoping for?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the plush bed and flopping back onto its luxurious comforter. “There is… someone,” She said carefully. “Oh, do I know this person? Someone from Clearwater?” I was a bit surprised anyone from clearwater had caught her fancy after they way she had been treated but I supposed anything was possible.

Sabrina clasped her hands in glee. "Oh my God. Crown the woman. Saben, say yes." "Name her first," he grumbled, now suspicious and muffinless. "Her name is Clarisse. And she's a photographer. She shoots weddings. And sometimes. very handsome single men in family brunches. Saben wagged a finger. "You better not have sent her my picture already." There was no response. Which only meant, naturally, that she had.

“Shut up right now!” “What do you mean by that?” Mr. Clearwater asked, interrupting my father; his tone rough and his brows furrowed as he looked from my father to me. “Did you not want to get married to my daughter? Do you not consent to it? What do you think is wrong with my daughter?” “There is absolutely nothing wrong with Rosalie.” I told him honestly. “She is a lovely woman and whoever marries her will be very lucky.” “Exactly!” Mr. Clearwater stated. “She is beautiful, she is talented, well-educated and well mannered. Moreover, she comes from one of the richest families in Canada! Then what could possibly be wrong with her? What more could you possibly want from us?”

she said. “Cassia, please,” I pleaded. “All I can tell you is… she’s the CEO of Crystal Clear.” For a moment, everything inside me stalled. “Crystal Clear?” I repeated, because surely I misheard. “Yes. I have to go now,” she said and ended the call before I could process the weight of it. Crystal Clear. The brand everyone talks about. The brand that seemingly appeared from thin air and dominated every boardroom slideshow. Its strategy had even been dissected at the last global conference I attended, the presenter praising its genius-level use of social media and consumer psychology.

Safe. Eventually, sleep comes again. ***** Three weeks in Clearwater, and I'm starting to feel almost normal. It’s Thursday morning, and I'm walking down Maple Street with Daniel, heading to the coffee shop we discovered last week. "Morning!" A woman waves from her front porch—Susan, our next-door neighbor. She's probably in her sixties, always wearing colorful cardigans and a warm smile. "Good morning, Susan!" I wave back. Her husband Jim appears behind her with a watering can. "You two heading to Rosa's place?"

He looked up with a soft smile, already knowing why I’d come. “You had a question,” he said. I nodded. “The woman in the photo.” He set the cloth aside gently. “Elena Clearwater.” My breath caught. The name. It had always felt like she lived in the negative space between facts. A ghost with no label. But here it was, spoken aloud like something sacred. “She was a medic,” Samuel said. “Brave. Brilliant. She didn’t just treat wounds. She changed people.” “How?” I asked, the word fragile in my throat.