lucky guess
From: [email protected]
You okay over there? Did your shift key fall off? ;)
From: [email protected]
One-handed typing. Not like that, you perv, I was just eating some Easy Mac.
Sometimes I feel like Dirk and Amanda should've hooked up differently, you know? I'm sorry, I don't mean to get off track from your bad day, but this has been running through my head for a while and I'd like to bounce it off somebody if you feel like a distraction. I might use it in a new series or something. I don't know. The slow burn was nice, but I'd like something abrupt. It takes him forever to admit he has feelings for her. What if he just told her one day?
I don't know. Just weird random thoughts. You're the only reader I've met who has some kind of real-life scenario that actually mirrors what I write about, so I'm curious. I guess what I'm asking is, how would you feel if your boss just called you into his office and told you he was in love with you?
From: [email protected]
I think you're the one who's been hitting the whiskey, hon.
Serious answer? I'd probably just walk right on out of there and try to forget it ever happened. That's just too messed-up. Doesn't mean it won't work in fiction, of course, but I can't really wrap my head around it. lol. No offense, I'm sure you could make it seem hot.
***
When I set the mail on Adrian's desk on Monday, he looks up at me.
"Good morning," he says. "Thank you, Meghan."
It sounds terribly forced, but I suppose I should be happy that he's trying.
"Just doing my job," I tell him, as I breeze out the door. I'm hoping the crisp new envelope on the top of the pile intrigues him. I've written an eloquent, impassioned plea for the animal shelter - if I do say so myself. He won't be able to pass up the opportunity to feel like a hero.
"Sit down for a minute," he says, just as I've got one foot in the hallway. "Please."
Biting back a sigh, I do. I've got no idea what this conversation is going to be about, but I have a feeling I won't like it.
"Remember we talked about that conference in Austin? It's in three weeks. Since the signing went so well, I'd like you to accompany me there." If he thinks his stilted words are hiding the fact that this is an order, not a request, he's very wrong. I can still see the imperative in his eyes.
I fold my hands in my lap. "Please don't talk to me like I'm an idiot."
His lips thin. "I'm trying to be nicer."
"Well, don't."
He sighs sharply. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Meghan? You tore me a new asshole in the bar, and now I can't be nice?"
I snicker. "You can't be nice, no. Normal people can. But you don't actually mean it, so it's pretty hollow."
Adrian's fingers are interlaced on the desk, and his knuckles are starting to go white. "Fine. Come to Austin with me. That's not a request."
"That's more like it." I smile at him, hoping for something in return. "If I didn't like irritating men ordering me around, I wouldn't still be here. And I wouldn't like your books."
Well, that just slipped out. His face actually softens a little. "You actually like them?"
"Of course." I shrug. "I have a vagina, apparently that's the only prerequisite."
He smirks. Finally. "Yes, I seem to recall that fact about you."
There's a moment of silence, a very dangerous moment, where we just look at each other. I find myself wishing he'd keep giving me orders. I wonder, in the bedroom, is he anything like Dirk? Kinky and domineering? It's hard to judge, because at the pool, I was certainly the aggressor. Even if he did end up playing me like a virtuoso.
"I don't really feel like I know Natalie McBride," I say, matter-of-factly. "But now I have to play her. Not just for a few hours, but for a week. How am I supposed to do that?"
"Just make something up," he says. "She's a blank canvas, more or less."
"But I have no idea what to say!" I insist. "I'm not the writer, you are. At least give me some idea of what was going through your head. I need a basis to work from."
"I have actual work today," he says. "And so do you." He pauses, picking up a sheaf of papers and straightening them. "Tonight, if you want, we can talk. I'll come by. I'll bring something decent to drink, because I know you don't have anything but ghastly wine and diet soda." His face is still turned down towards the desk, but he eyes me from under his brows. "Just talk, you understand."
"I don't know why you'd feel the need to underscore that," I mutter, shifting in my chair as I feel my face grow hot. "I told you, I'm not letting that happen again."
Adrian grabs a pencil. "I don't think you did, actually."
"Okay, well, I'm telling you now."
"Duly noted." He smiles, full of mischief. "Tonight, Meghan. Eight o'clock. Make sure you've got pickles in the fridge."
He waves me out, picking up the phone, before I can react to that.
Three years ago, back when I still thought he might actually have something resembling a human conscience, we spent a late night working on some hideous proposal for the senior board members, which they'd only asked for after nearly everyone else in the office went home. I actually felt bad for him, and I knew he wouldn't be able to finish it by himself. Neither one of us could stand to spend another minute in the office, so I volunteered my place, since it was relatively close.
We spent the night poring over paperwork with some of Adrian's beloved bourbon, and at one point he convinced me to try a shot that somehow involved salt and pickle juice - it actually wasn't bad.
He used to smile a lot more, back then. I remember that.
***
When I get home, I spend some time cleaning up the place so it's presentable for Adrian. I should've told him I'd rather meet in a restaurant or a coffee shop or something, but a) I was pretty sure he'd steamroll me as usual, and b) I actually liked the idea of him being here. It reminded me of the last time, which was actually bizarrely fun. I have a feeling the same guy who laughed with me that night is still buried in there, somewhere, underneath all the sneers and jeers and misplaced perfectionism.