Page 68 of Fierce

Real Life

My softened mood lasted less than twelve hours. Just as long as it took Hope to challenge me again.

“What?” I stopped typing on my phone and stared at her. I’d already gone back to my room and packed up, and had come back down to wait for her to finish. Somehow, I’d spent the night with her again, even though all we’d done was sleep. “Why the hell not?”

She wasn’t a bit intimidated, it was clear, just kept folding the blue dress with more care than it required. “Remember that thing I said? That what’s between us is separate from the job? This would be it. If everybody knows, it’s not separate at all, is it?”

“I’m not talking about sending out a bloody bulletin,” I said. “There’ll be three other people on the jet. I don’t even have Josh with me. Sent him back on Friday, didn’t I.”

“Not exactly a big concession.” She’d stopped folding. Clothes, that is, because her arms were folded across her chest now, sure sign of temper. “Since I’m sure Josh has a pretty good idea of what you’re doing.”

“Not as much as he normally does,” I muttered. “Have you heard from him once?”

“Have I…what?” Her eyes got wider. “Oh. He normally handles your…arrangements. Wow. That’s romantic.”

“I told you. I don’t do romantic. Except that I’ve done it with you, haven’t I. And now I’m asking you to fly back with me on a corporate jet, where you could eat real food and drink real wine and sit in a real chair and even lie down if you wanted to, and you won’t go because a few other people will be on board? We have a meeting scheduled. They’re not going to be interested in you.”

Which was a lie, because everybody was always interested. Which was why Josh handled my arrangements. Normally.

“No,” she said, “I won’t go because your marketing people will be on board. And I have the feeling that they might have the occasional conversation with your publicity director. Who is my boss.”

I didn’t tell her that Martine probably had a pretty good notion of my interest. That wasn’t going to help me. “I’m not going to cancel my meeting,” I told her. “That’s rubbish.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Her tone was level again, and she was back to packing, taking the black skirt off its hanger. “I have a perfectly good plane ticket home, and I’m happy to use it.”

“Flying coach,” I said. “All the way back by the lavatories, eh. Probably in the middle seat.”

“You forget,” she said sweetly. “My second flight, and I’m excited. And no. I’m by the window. I want to watch.”

“Right, then.” I got myself back under my normal self-control, or something close to it. “I’ll take you to dinner, uh…” I consulted my phone. “Tuesday.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” she said, and I looked sharply at her. Was she playing games? “I’ll have a lot of work this week,” she went on. “I’m positive of that. Who knows when I’ll be done? I’ve left Karen for more than a week, too, and I don’t like to be gone all evening on a school night anyway. Could we do something on the weekend instead? Saturday, maybe?”

I was the one who set the limits. Always. And those limits were once a week, twice if I needed to work off some…stress. On my schedule. I was a busy man, and a disciplined one. But while I was still thinking out how to make that clear to her, she added, “Unless…”

Ah. She was reconsidering.

“There’s this one thing,” she said. “Wednesday nights. You could come for that if you wanted.” She was getting busy with her folding again, looking self-conscious.

Hard line,I reminded myself. The winner is the one who needs it less. Not answering had been right, had forced her into concession. The rules were always the same. Business or personal, it didn’t matter. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Women’s Wednesday,” she said. “Karen’s and my thing. It’s nothing much, it’s just at home, popcorn and a movie, but we always do it, so…just if you wanted to come,” she repeated. “If you wanted to…see me.”

“Lunch,” I suggested. A movie on the couch, not a bit of privacy, and then I’d go home? Not good enough.

She shook her head. “I only have a half hour, and I can’t plan ahead. It depends when I can get away. And the roof is too public. I shouldn’t have done it before, but I didn’t know.” She stopped folding, turned, and looked at me for a minute, and her expression changed. The next thing I knew, she was shifting the ground out from under me again. Stepping around the bed, putting her hands on my forearms, and looking up into my face.

“Hemi,” she said. “I want to see you. Very much. But this is what my life is. If you don’t want to come over on Wednesday, then…Saturday? Sunday? We could have dinner, or go for a walk, or to a museum. Anything, really. It doesn’t have to be fancy. I just want to be with you.”

She clearly hadn’t read the memo about the winner being the one who wanted it less, because once again, she’d put her heart right out there for me to see.

“Saturday,” I said, doing my best to maintain. “Seven. Dinner. And this time, I’m sending Charles for you.”

She wrapped one soft hand around the back of my head and pulled it down for a kiss. “And this time,” she said, smiling into my eyes, “I’m saying yes.”

I thought about arranging a new job for her, one where I could make it very, very clear that her lunch hour was flexible, and that she had her evenings free. I could do it today, on the flight. Something in marketing? Easy as. But she’d see through it in a heartbeat, and she’d refuse. And I’d lose.

I’d been right to refuse to ride back in the jet. I knew it, but that didn’t make the flight any better. When the woman behind me stuck her stockinged feet into the space between my seat and the window, I turned up the volume of my headset and ignored the stench. And when we circled the airport for an hour before landing, I looked out the window and admired the view. And tried not to think about sitting beside Hemi in some sort of leather recliner, drinking wine, holding his hand…

---