by Ludi and angyxoxo
The bar was lively and
rowdy. Jean sat at the bar alone and
drank a tequila. Under normal
circumstances she would’ve been feeling somewhat intimidated by the unfamiliar
surroundings, but the warmth of the drink was already settling in her stomach
and she was feeling bolder than usual.
As she sat on her stool and watched the people chatting and laughing, a
man passed by and caught her eye.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he
grinned at her. “Haven’t seen you round here before. What’s a beautiful redhead like you doing here without a lucky
guy to keep her company?”
Jean gave him the once
over. He wasn’t her kind of guy at all
– the blond, blue-eyed jock type – but he was kinda cute and she found herself
saying: “Maybe I’m just waiting for someone like you to come along.”
Inside she was shocked
to hear herself say the words. What would Scott think, she thought to
herself, but then the whole idea that she’d come here because she hadn’t cared
what he thought came back to her. The
man smiled and said: “Wanna dance, gorgeous?”
“Sure,” she replied,
slipping off her stool. “Why not?”
Jean danced with the
guy and decided he wasn’t that bad at all.
When they stopped he bought her another drink and they sat and talked
for a while.
“So,” he asked her
over his glass, “what’s your name?”
“Jean,” she
replied. She’d drunk too much, she knew
it. Her head was feeling kind of heavy
and her belly was warm. But she still
kept on sipping her cocktail.
“I’m Duncan,” he
introduced himself, smiling and showing a mouth of straight, white, perfect
teeth. “I’m a lifeguard down at the local leisure center.” Jean looked him
over. If there was one profession she
had to put him in, it’d be the lifeguard business, if not football. “What do
you do?” he asked.
“I’m a doctor,” she
replied. Her drink was nearly finished.
“No way!” he exclaimed,
shocked. “I mean… no disrespect or anything… But you look like you could be a
model or something!”
“Oh don’t be silly!”
she scoffed, blushing, which didn’t show since the drink had already flushed
her cheeks red.
“No, I mean it,” he
insisted, “You’re, like, really beautiful!”
A part of Jean knew he
was only speaking pretty words, but she couldn’t help but feel flattered that a
guy other than Scott was paying her this much attention. He watched as she downed the rest of her
drink and asked: “You wanna dance some more?”
She accepted, but by
now she would’ve accepted just about anything.
As she danced with Duncan she caught sight of other men glancing at her
in appreciation – not to mention a lot of girls throwing her jealous evils. She was feeling elated – she’d never felt so
liberated in all her life. She was
young, she was free, and she felt like the sexiest creature alive. She honestly thought she’d never had so much
fun in all her life! What more could a
girl want?
As the song ended,
Jean felt Duncan lean in to kiss her, but she wasn’t quite that far-gone yet, much as she appreciated his
admiration. Quickly she held him back
by putting a hand against his chest, and smiling she said: “Uh-uh, not yet
hot-shot. I want another drink first.”
He looked at her and
licked his lips, his eyes sparkling. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen.
“Sure thing,
gorgeous,” he drawled.
She knew it wasn’t
sensible. In fact, she knew it was even
stupider than going out to a nightclub and dancing with some idiot jock whose
head was probably as empty as a soccer ball.
But she found herself sucking on another margarita while she flirted
away with the handsome lifeguard.
“So, whose birthday is
it?” she asked Duncan. “I heard the guy outside saying they were giving away
free drinks in honor of some guy called…”
“Logan.” Duncan
nodded. “He’s the guy who owns this place.
Great guy too. Everyone loves
him.”
“He’s that great,
huh?” Jean asked incredulously.
“Yeah. Personally I don’t see it, but all the
ladies think the sun shines out of his backside. He’s got his own personal female fanclub!”
“He must be a Hugh
Jackman lookalike or something,” she laughed.
“Hmm, not really,”
Duncan frowned. “I mean, Hugh Jackman’s really tall, and like… well, to be
honest, Logan’s a short little runt…hairy too… and kinda bad-tempered.”
Jean chuckled. “Some
girls like hairy,” she stated, and giggled an airhead giggle. She was beginning to feel light-headed, and
her vision was blurry. If she could’ve
heard herself, she would’ve shrieked with disgust, but she was way past the
point of caring or even noticing.
“Enough about him,”
Duncan insisted, smiling that wide, white-toothed smile. “I wanna hear more
about you, gorgeous. Like how come you’re not taken already.”
It was then that she
realized just how far she’d gone. She
found herself desperately trying to hide the engagement ring on her
finger. She couldn’t admit just how taken she was. She thought of Scott, the man she
loved. What on earth was she doing?!
She didn’t even like this
Duncan.
She said nothing and
drained the rest of her drink down her throat before ordering another one, this
one containing twice as much alcohol content. Halfway through it, all thoughts
of her guilt and Scott were gone. In fact, she could barely get a coherent
thought out of her head.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
Duncan was beginning to look worried now. “Maybe you should be toning down a
bit on the drink there, don’t you think?”
“Just one more,” she
assured him, standing up and wobbling a little bit. “I have to congratulate the
birthday boy.”
“What?”
“Help me up,” she
ordered him, and began to climb up onto the bar. Bewildered, and not a little bit embarrassed, Duncan helped her
teeter up onto the ledge, not even attempting to cop a grope in the process. Jean managed to stand up and swayed a little
on her heels. From where she was
standing she could look down on the entire nightclub and see everything that
was going on. As it happened, she was
just standing under a spotlight that shimmered on her flame-red hair and made
her appear like some sort of beautiful phoenix rising from the ashes. Raising her glass in the air she gathered
her voice and called out over the music:
“Ladies and
gentlemen!”
Only a few people
looked round, but as they saw this stunning vision before them more and more
people began to notice. Usually Jean
would’ve been embarrassed by all this public attention, but she really was
downright drunk by now and didn’t care.
“Ladies and
gentlemen!” she called again. “Now that I have your attention, I think it’s
only fair that we raise our glasses to the birthday boy who’s made such a
wonderful evening possible for all of us!”
There was a whoop of
applause from the audience, most of whom were as drunk or hyped-up as she
was.
“Now I propose,” she
declared, beginning to revel in the attention, “a toast! To Logan!”
“To Logan!” everyone
chorused.
“May you have many
happy returns of the day!” Jean continued without missing a beat, “And many
other opportunities to bless us with free drinks! Happy birthday, Logan! We
love you!”
There was an outburst
of cheering, applause and birthday wishes.
Jean lifted her drink to join in the toast when suddenly the world
started to swirl around her and she found she couldn’t stand up straight. The noise of the crowd faded away into the
background and she felt dizzy. She
stared blankly at the glass in her hand, wondering why on earth it was floating
in and out of her range of vision.
Then, despite her state of mind, her doctor’s logic kicked in and she
realized that she was entering the state that most people in her profession
called ‘paralytic’.
Oh shit.
Before another
coherent thought could express itself in her mind, Jean had keeled over the
ledge and into the arms of the man who’d been sitting and watching her
spectacle on the bar. Staring down at
the beautiful damsel in distress who’d just literally dropped into his embrace,
an amused smile lit his face as he saw that she was flat-out unconscious.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he
grinned to himself. “You just gave this birthday boy the best present he
could’ve ever wished for.”
-oOo-
Betsy had just been
through a six-hour flight from hell.
She’d never flown well, not even during her days as a jet-setting
supermodel. She’d been seated right
next to some rowdy and boisterous seven year-old who’d managed to propel his
mashed potato right into her beautiful purple locks. And they’d just happened to hit a storm, during which she spent
her time gripping the arm rests praying that God would get her out the other
side alive. She wasn’t really sure what
she feared most – dying in a plane crash or her mother’s wrath.
Yet, through all that
pain and suffering, she knew she would gladly endure it all over again if he would just call.
But Neal didn’t call and it was
tearing her up inside.
Sure, she knew that she
could simply dial his number and call him, but a part of her was so scared that
if she did, he might actually confirm her fears – that this wasn’t just an
argument but actually the end of their relationship.
A part of her wasn’t even
sure why she loved Neal. She knew her friends wouldn’t approve of him and that
was why she hadn’t brought him round them very much. She knew that the two of
them hardly had anything in common except for maybe the fact that they were
both keen on saving the world – albeit him a little more so than she. And she
couldn’t forget all those times he’d been condescending towards her, or made
her feel guilty for enjoying her fashion programs.
Betsy had cheered up
nevertheless, when she’d seen her old butler, Jeffrey, waiting for her at the
airport. He’d just happened to be her
favorite playmate as a toddler, and even though he pretended to have the
British stiff upper-lip, there was no doubt at all that he was as fond of Betsy
as she was of him. They’d spent the
journey back to Braddock Manor chatting to each other and catching up on old
times, so that once they’d finally arrived at the awesome gates of the great
ancestral home, Betsy was almost put at her ease.
Inside the manor, Elisabeth
Sr. was nowhere to be seen. The
servants, however, were going in and out in a mad rush to prepare for the Gala.
Coming back home was always a strange experience for Betsy – here was the place
she’d grown up, and yet, she always felt she was no longer a part of it
anymore, since she’d been living in New York so long. Her recent disagreements with her mother made her all the more
nervous at the fact that she’d returned.
It was as she was standing
in the hallway feeling forlorn that she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around
her from behind and lift her up. Tilting her head back to see who her captor
was, she met an identical pair of piercing blue eyes staring straight back at
her. “Brian!” she squealed joyfully, and he let her down.
“Betsy! It’s been too long,
sister-dear!” he greeted just as jubilantly as they shared a bear-hug of an
embrace.
“Tell me about it! So, how
have you been? How’s Meggan? Where is she? The last time I saw you two, it
was…”
“Our wedding, which means
it’s been way too long,” Brian finished her sentence for it – it was an
intriguing habit the two twins had shared almost since the moment they could
speak.
Betsy looked away guiltily
and tried to explain. “Well, I was busy in New York and…”
“And Mum has been driving
you insane enough with just her phone calls – so insane that you’d have to be
crazy to willingly live back here again where she would actually have access to
nagging at you in person,” Brian finished off again, smirking with amusement.
Betsy slapped him playfully on the chest and said, “That’s a horrible thing to
say of Mum… I wasn’t thinking that at all!”
“Betsy, I’m your twin. We
don’t get closer than that when it comes to blood relations. I know when you’re
lying, so didn’t even bother! As for
Mum, for your information she’s in the city for the rest of the day so no need
to look over your shoulder everywhere you walk.” Brian grinned broadly as Betsy
couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.
“Thanks. That’s good to
know. So, tell me, how’s Meggan and married life treating you?” Betsy asked
again.
“Well,” he began excitedly,
“married life is treating us well, and for your information – you’re going to
be an aunt soon!” Brian had expected Betsy to burst with joy. Instead, her
smile turned upside down and she cried, “No! Brian! You two can’t have a baby!
What’s wrong with you? You’ve only been married for what… eight months?? And
you’re going to have a baby? Do you really have to?”
“Umm…excuse me?” Brian
asked, completely confused.
“This is just going to be
another thing Mum is going to nag me about. She’s going to say, ‘oh, look at
Brian. He’s finishing his doctorate in Physics this year. He has a lovely wife.
He’s going to be starting a family. Now, why can’t you be more like your
brother, Elisabeth? It beggars belief that I could bear a set of twins who
don’t have any of the same ambitions and goals in life.’ You know the routine…”
She sighed.
“Betsy!” Brian grabbed her
by the shoulders and shook her playfully. “Stop! You are getting way too
melodramatic for your own good! Mum may
be a dragon, but she’s not that
sanctimonious!”
Betsy pouted.
“Well, fine, I can handle
you having the perfect life – as long as Jamie’s still a screw-up. Tell me he’s
still screwing up those crazy business ventures of his!” It’d long been a standing family joke that
Jamie, the eldest Braddock son, had been attempting to patent the world’s first
hoverchair for the unfortunately disabled.
Brian rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.
“Actually, Betts… Jamie’s
been working for Dad for a while now and he’s doing quite well actually. He’s
overseeing the Braddock Charity Foundation and is technically the host for
tomorrow evening.”
All the blood drained from
Betsy’s face. While she’d been bumming around her apartment in New York the
past several months, even Jamie had got a job and was doing something
worthwhile with his life. Betsy could
almost see her mother’s disapproving face looming over her. “Oh god… I’m so screwed,” she muttered under her
breath.
“What?” Brian queried, but
Betsy was already halfway up the stairs and up to her old room.
“I’ll talk to you later,
Brian!” she called. “I have to make an urgent phone call! And tell Megan that
I’m so happy for you two.” With that, she slipped into her room, slammed the
door, pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
Within minutes, that
familiar, irascible voice practically growled down the phone: “Betsy! How many
times must I tell you not to call me
on my business line?!”
“Emma!” Betsy cried
frantically. “I am so utterly screwed! Brian is having a baby and Jamie is some
sort of CEO of daddy’s charity thing and I am a worthless nothing!”
“What the fuck are you
yammering about? Betsy, dear, as much as I love to save you from having a
nervous breakdown – again – I’ve just
come back from an absolutely horrendous business meeting, and I am not in the mood for anyone else’s
personal intrigues.” Emma proceeded to
go on an incoherent rant about a ‘blonde bastard from the deepest depths of
Hell’, which included copious lashings of choice oaths and swear words.
“But, Emma!” Betsy cried,
once she’d gotten the chance to open her mouth. “I never really ask much of you
and I’d appreciate your advice right now since you’re the only person I know
whose temper is exactly like my mum’s and…”
“Just tell the old bat to
get off your case and you’ll do as you like because it’s your life!” Emma
barked. “Grow a backbone already, Betsy! That’s all the advice I’m going to
give you. And maybe you should dump
that prick, Neal, since I don’t recall you ever being this soft before you met
him! Now I’m really sorry, but I think
I’m going to need a stiff drink and a bath to calm myself down. Enjoy yourself and goodbye!”
The line went dead and Betsy
stuck her tongue out at her phone. Just
what was up with Emma to get her in such a bad mood? And how on earth was she supposed to enjoy herself at this stupid
Gala when it hardly meant she could avoid her mother?
Please just phone me, Neal, take my mind off all of this, let me know I
have your support!
But still the phone
remained silent.
-xXx-
At that very moment,
halfway across the world, Jean woke up to find herself lying in a strange bed
with a raging hangover. She tried to
sit up and every time she moved it sent the room spinning. She groaned out loud, unable to remember how
or why she appeared to be in this state.
It would’ve been bad enough if she’d woken up in her own room with a
splitting headache and utterly incapable of getting out of bed, but the fact
that she was in some dingy little backroom in a place she didn’t recognize made
her situation a whole lot worse.
“Where am I?” she
asked herself.
“The Hideaway,” came a gruff voice from out
of nowhere. Shocked, Jean turned her
head to see a man at a table in the corner of the room. He was short, muscular and rugged, almost
wild-looking – but his eyes were strangely kind. He was pouring water into a glass for her. “A nightclub,” he
explained, sensing her confusion. “I’m the owner. Name’s Logan.” He looked up and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Red,
yer in safe hands. I’ve been takin’
care of you ever since you passed out at the bar.”
Passed out at the bar? Jean
groaned again and slumped back against the pillow.
“What the hell
happened?” she asked hoarsely, rubbing her temple.
“Well…” Logan began,
coming over with an amused smile on his face, “you were havin’ a good
time. Dancin’ an’ drinkin’ wit’ some
fella and chattin’ away for all you were worth. Then you got up on the
bar and toasted me.” He grinned.
Despite the way her head was pounding, Jean thought he had a nice smile.
“I’m not into birthday surprises these days.
Too old. But lemme tell you, this surprise sure was a welcomed one.”
He lifted her head
lightly to put the glass to her lips and she let him. Feral though he looked, there was something oddly gentle about
the man… the way he was so attentive to her, the way he treated her with such
respect… Jean sipped the water slowly and began to feel better.
“So you’re the famous
Logan, huh?” she asked weakly, trying to smile, even though it jarred her head
painfully.
“Well, I wouldn’t know
about bein’ famous,” he smirked. “Only in a certain kinda company, if yer know
what I mean.” He winked.
“Did I… did I make
much of a fool of myself out there?” she asked anxiously, wondering what Scott
would say if he knew what she’d been up to.
At least he’s away, she
thought to herself in relief, otherwise
he’d be going out of his mind with worry right now.
“I gotta tell y’
somethin’, Red,” he began seriously. “That headache you got right now? It’s tellin’ you that you were pretty damn
drunk back there. There’s a reason you
can’t remember what happened. It’s
because your mind’s tellin’ you it don’t want
t’ remember what happened.”
“That bad, huh?” she
winced as he finally drew the glass away from her lips and helped her to sit
upright. “Just tell me… that guy I was with… nothing happened between us, did it?”
Please don’t let anything have happened…
“Don’t you worry,
darlin’,” Logan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “Nothin’
happened. Classy lady like you’s got
more taste than a low-life punk like that, right? And if he’d tried anything… trust me, I woulda chucked him outta
this joint.”
She smiled to hear the
humor in his words. He could tell from
the tone of her voice that she was worried about what had happened, and she
knew he was doing his best to put her at her ease and reassure her. It felt nice to know that someone cared,
even if they were a stranger…
“Thanks for taking
care of me, Mr. Logan,” she spoke, feeling she owed him at least her thanks. “I
just hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.”
“Hey,” he smiled,
getting up and turning to place the glass back on the table. “It ain’t every
day a guy like me gets t’ take care of beautiful broad such as yerself. So,” he changed the subject, “how’re you
feelin’?”
“Woozy… But better.”
“Glad t’ hear it.” He
paused and stared at her before clearing his throat. “Well, I guess I should be
gettin’ you home. Don’t wanna spend the
rest of the night in this place, do you.”
“You’re right. I should be getting home.” She slid out of
the bed and tried to stand on her two feet, only to immediately lose her
balance. But he was there in a trice,
his arm encircling her waist, helping her up.
Jean felt the warmth of his hand on her hip and a strange, tingling
sensation tickled her nerves. For a
moment she was confused to feel the electricity of their contact, but then she
put it firmly down to the drink and said: “I think I should stay here and sleep
it off…”
“You sure?” he asked
with concern. “I can always call you a taxi, if you want.”
Jean didn’t
answer. She really wanted to get home
to the safety and comfort of her bed, and nice though Logan was, she hardly
knew him and if she stayed she’d end up feeling awkward. On the other hand he was treating her like a
perfect gentleman, and for some reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, she felt
totally comfortable and secure in his presence, unlike most men, who tried to
seduce her any way they could.
“Hey,” he assured her,
mistaking her silence for worries of another kind. “No need to worry, Red. The guy who runs this cab business, he’s a
personal friend o’ mine, runs a reputable business, every driver checked out
thoroughly. I’ll even get you a ride on
the house, how ‘bout that?”
She gave a weak laugh.
“Oh… I didn’t mean to offend you… I’m sure I can trust you Mr. Logan, it’s
just…” It’s just my home’s so cold and
lonely and I don’t want to go back to all the responsibilities back there…
She lowered her head, trying to hold back from confiding in him, this stranger
she barely knew. “Alright,” she finally agreed. “I’d love to take a cab
home. Thanks. I owe you one, Mr. Logan.”
He smiled that smile
at her again, the one that changed that wild-looking face into something kind
and compassionate…almost handsome. “You don’t owe me nothin’, Red,” he said
softly. Then he frowned, turned quickly
and went out into the bar. “I’ll just call you that cab home, okay?”
-oOo-
It’s my second week at
L&L and I’m already having my first official company board meeting. I’m no
longer simply up against Remy’s so-called Creative Team and that diva-wannabe,
Ororo Munroe. This meeting will involve Remy, the head of company, Jean-Paul,
who I haven’t seen since my last interview, Monet St. Croix who I can live
without seeing ever, and a bunch of fat jolly investors who are summoned to
these monthly meetings to keep updated with the current business
situations. Great, just great.
I’m beginning to scare myself silly over all the bullshitting I reckon I’m going to have to keep up if I want to remain at L&L. Knowing last week’s ‘success’ was an utter fluke doesn’t help. I may have fooled Ms. Munroe, but cash-obsessed businessmen are a different ball-game altogether. I’m hoping that if my wit can’t distract them, then perhaps I’m going to have to make use of those famous assets Remy seems to think so highly of. I put on my red suit, hoping it’s at least somewhat appropriate for the occasion.
Once I walk into the
Boardroom and glance in Monet’s direction, I know it isn’t.
“Ro…Anna. Have a
seat.” Remy pats the seat next to him and gives me a look I can only describe
as perverted as he runs his gaze over my body.
Suddenly the red suit doesn’t seem like such a good idea. I roll my eyes and look round the room for
another seat, but the only other chair available is at the head of the table,
which is undoubtedly reserved for Jean-Paul.
“Do you plan to stand
throughout the meeting, Ms. Raven?” Monet’s icy, condescending voice asks.
“No,” I mumble and
trudge over to the empty seat next to Remy. I flop down on the chair and take
the papers out of my bag, poignantly ignoring him. He doesn’t take the hint.
“Gotta say dat’s a
lovely shirt y’ got on dere, chere,” he whispers and looks down my shirt not so
subtly.
I hurriedly button up
my blazer before I turn and give him my fiercest glower, though it comes off
looking pleased due to the pink circles that appear on my face. Damn me for
blushing so easily!
His soft chuckling
doesn’t help the blushing subside one bit, and neither does his next comment.
“Wonder if your other cheeks get as red if I span-”
“Shut up!” I yell at him before I even have a second to think. The rest of the board members turn their heads and all eyes are glued on me. If my cheeks were pink before, they’re completely red now.
“Excuse her everyone.
I’m sure y’know how hot-headed women can get when…well, when dey don’t get what
dey want in de…well, y’know in de what, I’m sure.” Remy charms the rest of the
board who, being all men, chuckle along with him. The only one that isn’t
amused is Monet, who is practically shooting daggers at me with her glare. Don’t
worry, I want to say to her, yah can
keep the rat all t’ yourself, Miss. High-an’-Mighty.
I look down at my
papers, trying desperately to overcome my embarrassment, when Remy has the
audacity to aggravate me even more by whispering, “Y’ know, chere, you don’t
need t’ wear a sexy suit like dat t’ charm dis Cajun. All you gotta do is ask.”
By now I’m just about
at boiling point.
“Don’t flatter
yahself, swamp-rat!” I hiss back at him. “Men who have their brains inside
their pants just don’t attract me in the least!”
“I assure you, chere,”
he replies smoothly, “you look in my pants, you’ll find dat what’s inside dere
sure as hell ain’t no brain.”
I’m really, really about to slap that grin off his
face, when Jean-Paul enters the room and saves that infuriating bastard the
humiliation of having me slap him again
in front of a bunch of self-satisfied fat cats. Walking swiftly in, he takes a
seat at the head of the table and everyone resumes their business countenances.
Holding my head up high, I also turn to face Jean-Paul with a dead serious look
on my face. My cheeks, however, are still burning, and I know that swamp rat’s
eyes are still on me. That idiot brain of his is probably fantasizing that one
day I really will look inside his pants and find out what’s in there. Like I want to know!
“Welcome everyone,”
Jean-Paul begins in his no-nonsense manner. “I hope everybody’s having a grand
day and hopefully this meeting will be quick and painless. First on the agenda
is the marketing division. Remy, I assume that you have met with the new face
for our new line. What have your team managed to come up with?”
“Actually, we’ve come
up with a few fantastic ideas just to say the least. In charge of de innovative
new campaign is our latest addition to de team and one of de finest, even if I do say so myself.” He
grins and gestures towards me. “Let me introduce to you, de delectable Ms. Anna Raven.”
Shooting a quick glare
at him, I clear my throat and hurriedly begin to talk, hoping to distract
myself from the Cajun sitting next to me and tactlessly eyeing up my butt. I
quickly go into my ideas and explain the details of what I have in mind for the
new fragrance line. By the end of it, I get most of board member’s approval
along with Jean-Paul. The only one who doesn’t seem impressed is Monet, but I
ignore the cow since I’m still on a high from my first major presentation.
“Well, that sounds
absolutely wonderful, Anna,” Jean-Paul enthuses. “Different…But certainly
interesting. I simply can’t wait to see
the outcome of all this. Please do keep me updated. Now,” he looks down at his papers, “let’s move onto the next
agenda…” He trails off, though I don’t hear a thing after that. All I hear is
him saying that my idea sounds wonderful. I’m a hit and it’s only my second
week on the job. I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine. I might actually have
found my niche in life and dare I say it? A career?
Then his voice enters
my mind just when the meeting is about over. “Quite a presentation, Rogue. Are
you always dis passionate about everything y’ do?” That Cajun accent of his is
low and husky, tickling my senses. I
get that feeling again, the feeling that I could just jump in his arms and…No!
I will not fall for him or his charming Cajun tongue…!
Speaking of tongues…
Dammit,
Roguey, stop thinkin’ about kissin’ him!
As soon as Jean-Paul
says, “Meeting adjourned,” I can’t run away fast enough.
I’m halfway back to my
cubicle before I realize that I’ve left all my papers back in the boardroom.
Sighing with frustration, and wishing with all my might that I can somehow
mentally lift the papers to me, I realize that I have to go back and fetch
them. They were after all, my reports and plans for this new campaign I’m
supposedly heading. When I reach the door again, I notice that it is half-open
and there are still people in there. Two people actually.
Remy and Jean-Paul.
Being the ever so
stupid me, I decide to wait by the door until they’re finished before I go back
in. Anyone would think I’d learned not to eavesdrop behind doors by now, but if
there’s one thing you can rely on me for, it’s to never learn from past mistakes.
Not only is eavesdropping a bad idea, but when the topic of conversation
is as interesting as the one I find myself listening to right now, it’s amazing
how quickly you can lose your senses. This ultimately leads to trouble. So, let
me make this a rule now though it’s such a simple rule. A rule that most
mothers instill into their children though, of course, children never listen.
Rule #5: Think before you say something!
“Remy,
do you really think she’s able to handle such a huge campaign as this?”
Jean-Paul is asking skeptically. “This will be our biggest campaign in three
years. Are you sure you should give her all that responsibility?” I frown,
knowing it’s me he’s talking about. Don’t tell me he’s one of those bozos who
think I got here by sweet-talkin’ that idiot Cajun!
“Do you not trust me
wit’ dis?” Remy responds. “Listen t’ me – she’s capable, not just a pretty
face. She’s a smart woman, JP. ‘Sides,
I’m de one who’s ultimately in charge, so believe me when I say I got dis under
control.”
Hmm, that was
unexpected. I can’t help but smile at
the way he’s attempted to redeem me.
“Are you sure you do,
Remy?” Jean-Paul asks doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re not letting your
feelings get in the way?” I frown again. And exactly what feelings is he talking about? As far as I can tell, Remy’s
feelings towards me amount to lust, and lust doesn’t seem to have gotten in the
way of his job at L&L so far.
“Trust me, I’m very
professional.” Remy states smoothly, which earns him a scoff from me.
Apparently, it earns him one from Jean-Paul as well.
“Right… I know your reputation,
Remy. I bet there isn’t a woman in your department that you haven’t had the
pleasure of getting to know…personally.”
Hey, wait a minute! I’m personally offended by the comment,
since I am one of those women that he hasn’t been able to get with in any sort
of way – nor will he ever!
“And dis is coming
from a man who went through… how many was it? Seven delivery boys in de last
month?” Remy retorts and before I can even process it, it slips from my mouth.
“Holy shit! That’s a
lot of balls in the air!” I say out loud and immediately clamp my mouth shut.
Maybe they didn’t hear me. Maybe I only said it in my head. Maybe…
In the ensuing silence
I squeeze my eyes shut and pray I
only said it in my head. No such luck.
“Whoever’s out there,”
Jean-Paul’s voice says sternly, “will you please come in.”
Shit, shit, shit! Mentally
kicking myself very vigorously indeed, I step meekly inside the room, my cheeks
blazing again. With my head down, I quickly start rambling like an idiot. “Ah’m
so sorry, Mr. Beaubier. Ah didn’t mean t’ listen in on your conversation or say
that stupid thing Ah said. Ah was heading back t’work and then Ah realized Ah
forgot my files and Ah had to come back but then you two were having this
conversation and Ah didn’t want to interrupt and so Ah thought Ah’d just wait
by the door, but then he said and then Ah said… and it was utterly disgustin’
and wrong, and Ah’m sorry and Ah just…”
“Anna,” Jean-Paul
interrupts my incoherent rambling, a bemused look on his face, “it’s okay. Just…
don’t do it again.”
“Yes, sir, Ah promise,
scout’s honor, cross mah heart and hope t’ die! Ah mean, Ah know Ah could’ve
just knocked but Ah wasn’t sure…”
Jean-Paul interrupts
me again before I can start to blabber.
“Anna… no more
explanations. Just grab your files and go.” Jean-Paul orders, but in a friendly
manner. I do just as he says, and just before I’m out the door, I apologize
once more. “Ah’m really sorry!” Out
the door I go; however, not one to learn from my mistakes, I linger for a few
more moments. I can already hear Remy’s deep chuckling.
“She’s quite a
something, ain’t she?” I hear him ask Jean-Paul. I still can’t help feeling
surprised. I thought he would’ve
laughed at my faux pas, maybe even shared a private joke with Jean-Paul about how
moronic I am. But contrary to
expectations, he says: “I don’t care what Monet says, JP – dat dere is one
classy lady.”
Amazing. The Cajun is sticking up for me again.
Why Remy LeBeau, who would’ve ever thought it of yah, I think, Ah guess yah really do have a sense of honor
somewhere inside that non-existent brain of yours.
Strangely, as I walk back to
my cubicle, I find myself suddenly beaming from ear to ear.
-xXx-
Go to chapter 7 : Go
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