Early for work. I don’t know how I managed it, but I think it had something to do with exercise and sound night’s sleep. I woke up to Adam’s sleepy voice on the machine asking if he had, again, left his watch at my house. I slipped it in my purse on the way out the door. While leaving it at the house would have given me another great reason for a night of fun, I think we should slow things down and I need a rest. I’ve always heard you shouldn’t exercise the same muscles two nights in a row anyway.
*
“Hello, Evelyn.” I cringe. I’ve told Mrs. Campbell several times that my name is Eve – not Evelyn or some other proper name. Apparently Eve strikes her as a heathen name, go figure. “It’s nice to see you in so early. Do you think we could go over the Munroe account at noon?”
*
Dorothy Campbell is a truly nice woman. Sort of motherly, but not in the annoying overbearing sense like one’s real mother. Agree to review the Munroe account with her because of this fact alone. The truth is, the Munroe account is quickly on its way to being a dropped account. We aren’t making any money on it and it’s a waste of paperwork at tax time. It is, however, Mrs. Campbell’s baby. She brought in the account all on her own and is still patiently waiting for it to pay off.
*
I’m debating on whether or not I deserve Starbucks (and if I can afford it) when Sybil sticks her head in my doorway. Sybil, a good friend from college, is one of the few people I was dying to tell about Adam. She’s the sort that has her head screwed on tight and gives fabulous advice. The fact that she’s perpetually single is based solely, in my opinion, on the fact that she ignores men in general.
*
Wonder idly if my dear friend could be of the homosexual persuasion. Nah. Far too conservative, besides I just can’t see her feeling up another chick. “Got a minute?” She waits for my nod. “That attorney from Macy’s keeps calling me. Did we ever get a contract signed for them?” She’s scribbling on her notepad as she talks so I just sit silently until she looks up at me. “Oh my God, you got laid! Who?” She puts the notepad down. You see, this is how a good friend reacts: with interest, even if it’s faked, and enthusiasm.
*
“His name is Adam. He’s unbelievable.” I tell her the whole saga, embarrassing parts and all. Sybil looks horrified. Sybil and I are a strange pairing of friends, in truth. She was definitely one of the “pretty” people – still is. She’s got a cute figure, not too perfect but nothing really out of bounds, and a beautiful face. She’s also genuinely a sweet person – except for three days out of the month when it’s recommended that you avoid her like the plague. Sybil is another demigoddess in my opinion.
*
“You slept with him! Oh shit. That’s the first rule in a ‘real’ relationship, you don’t have sex until you’ve hit two months. You know this, you helped write these rules.” She frowns at me. “Of course, you were drunk and had no idea he was ‘The One’. If you could avoid sex for a month or so, you might be alright.”
*
You have to understand, at the grand age of 27, my friends and I have devised some hard and fast relationship rules. They are pretty much guaranteed facts. To begin with, if you have sex too soon in the relationship – it’s doomed. He’ll never take you – or the relationship – seriously. We don’t know why this is true, but after testing the theory – it’s true. Secondly, you never introduce him to your family until all your friends have approved and he’s made it through at least one bout of PMS. These are tests that many men can’t pass. There are several hundred other lesser rules, but the first two are the unbreakable ones. Bendable – but not breakable. Sybil is big on the rules since at one time or another she’s broken them all and been miserable for it.
*
“I know. Major mistake, but… um, I sent a draft to contracts last Thursday. I called them Friday, but legal hadn’t given the final approval. Send Macy’s to the contracts department when they call back, the lawyers can talk to each other.” Looked up to see beady eyes and leering grin over Sybil’s shoulder. Give a large cheesy grin and pray for a fire drill. She sits immobile when she realizes who has entered my office.
*
“Hello Eve. Hello Sybil. Glad to see such industrious workers at this hour. I thought I would let you know that the Sheffield account went through without a hitch. Got the check this morning. Nice work, Eve.” Alexander Elliott, a complete chauvinistic pig bent on getting the single girls on the floor in the sack. Avoid like the plague. He also happens to be our boss.
*
“Thank you Mr. Elliott.” I don’t say anything else. I’ve learned that if I give him the slightest invitation, he’ll ask me to lunch. For four years, I’ve managed to never have to be alone with the man and I’m not about to change that now. He stood there long enough for Sybil to turn and smile in that questioning way that says, “May I help you?”
*
He finally mumbled something and left. “I better get back to my desk.” Sybil always gets nervous when the managing types wander off their floor to ours. “Call me before your date, we’ll devise a strategy.” She winks at me and ducks out the door.
*
Have no idea what happened for the remainder of the day. Too busy thinking of Adam. Why would someone like him sleep with a drunk girl? Surely he has a significant other or wife. If not, why not? Men who look like that shouldn’t be allowed to wander unattended. He was obviously not gay. (Huge Smile at that thought) At any rate, what does four wrappers really mean? He comes quickly? But he must have extraordinary recovery time. I would have to give this some serious thought. After all, he has to have SOME drawback. I can’t date a perfect guy, as I’m nowhere near perfection myself. Demigoddess and gods are not allowed to match up.
*
There goes the fat girl again. Insecurity at the oddest moments. I wonder what Adam would say if I showed him my pictures from high school. Nah, that’s no good. After all, that was years ago. I also must admit, I never was truly fat – not the kind of fat you see on Jerry Springer. I was just... oversized.
*
Crap. Forgot about the Munroe account. Am about to call Sybil for strategy session when Mrs. Campbell stops by. “I thought you must have gotten busy, dear.” I feel my enemy guilt lurking around the corner. “Do you have a moment now?”
*
Well, no actually I don’t. I need to call my friend and vetch about the new man in my life (possibly). “Of course, I apologize, Mrs. Campbell. Please, sit down. How may I help you?”
*
“Well, as you know, the Munroe account has been fairly quiet recently…” Hah! Recently? That account’s been dead since it walked through the door, but I don’t say that because I’m a nice person. Really. Just smile and nod. “Milford Munroe just called me. He sold his latest formula to a major broker in England. He needs an identity created, a marketing package for his US affiliates and his new English contractors. He sent me a check.” She hands me the slip of paper. “I’d like you to head up the design on this.”
*
Holy Schneikes! The Munroe account was suddenly in the seven figures. I beam at Mrs. Campbell. “I’d be honored. When do you need a prospectus?” I mentally begin pushing smaller projects aside.
*
“I would like to present to Milford, err, Mr. Munroe on the 15th if possible.” I notice her slip and reddening cheeks with interest. Immediately imagine sedate Mrs. Campbell having a hot affair with Milford Munroe. This will bear watching. I check the calendar. Three weeks to devise an entire package first line.
*
“Consider it done.” I would simply have to get rid of everyone but Macy’s and Munroe. This would mean going to Alexander Elliott, but I would deal with that later. Dorothy smiles and sits a folder on information on my desk. She winks and I watch her head for the door. It’s ten to five and Dorothy Campbell is leaving? Something was rotten in Denmark. Definitely an affair!
*
“Sybil, no time to chat. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” Scrambling for my things as I yell at the speakerphone. Purse, mints, cell phone. Fuck, forgot to charge it. Sybil mumbles something about my cell phone. “I’ll try. No promises. I’ll call later at home! Ciao.” Sybil reminds me that a month minimum is required before hanging up. Quick glance in the mirror to make sure hair isn’t sticking up and clothing is still presentable. Yes, fine… go, go, go….
*
Adam is five minutes late. This doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, it’s reassuring because it’s a flaw. Men aren’t supposed to be flawless, y’know. He kisses my cheek and opens the door of the restaurant for me. He’s made a reservation (very thoughtful) and he helps me take off my coat. A moment later, he holds out my chair as I sit down.
*
“May I?’ He points to the wine list. I nod. Now, I’m not a wine person really. I can’t tell you what goes with what and I rarely order it. The fact that Adam is completely at ease with this process makes me nervous. He is the fifth in a succession. I wonder what that means, exactly. Christ..err.. dammit… um.. Crap – that’s better. Crap, he could be the heir to a dynasty. His family might only want him to marry someone with blue blood. It would be like an episode on one of my soap operas (of which I am also an avid fan). Note: Rewind VCR tape to record tomorrow’s show. I’m not savvy enough to have one of those TiVo or DVR things.
*
“I should tell you that Saturday is not normal for me…” I don’t know why I’m explaining myself. I don’t believe in regrets or apologizing for my behavior. I find, though, that with Adam I want things to be very clear. I am not a slut or drunk. This is the main message I’m aiming at. After all, I don’t want him to think I’m a bore.
*
“Really? I have a Saturday every week. Right after Friday.” He smiles that illegal smile. “Really, it’s ok. I don’t normally pick up girls at bars and sleep with them, either. It’s very out of character actually.” He reaches for my hand and smiles again. “In this case, however, I would say it’s divine intervention.”
*
What DID I do last night? The last time a guy called me an angel I had allowed unspeakable acts in the bedroom – including an episode with handcuffs and a blindfold. I smile nervously. Where the hell is the wine?
*
Well, we talked over dinner. Not mundane topics either, but everything from our worst mistakes and most embarrassing moments to lifelong dreams. When I looked around, I realized that the restaurant was nearly empty. “I think they are closing.” I smile at his surprise.
*
“Wow. I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here this long. I don’t even remember ordering.” The empty plates before us tell a different story but I feel the same way. He takes my hand as we head for the door. The maitre d’ is holding our coats. He and Adam have a private conversation as I watch bills pass between them.
*
“That was suave.” I smile as he holds my coat open. Adam winks at me and we walk into the night air. I snuggle close as we wander near my car. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” I laugh at myself when I say the words, but it’s eerily true. Note: Call Sybil, am in serious danger of falling into “rose colored glasses” spiral. This, as it turns out, is one of the Demigoddess “kryptonite” and should be avoided at all costs.
*
“I’d like to see you again. Can I call you?” Unbelievable. Too good to be true. I must have looked suspicious because he did that smiling thing again. “I’m trying to be a gentleman since we got started off on a different path.” Alright, I’m willing to accept that. In fact, he could have told me that he had another personality and that he was holding it at bay and I would have been all right with it. After all, his other personality picked me up at the bar and used four condoms!
*
“Give me a call. Also, you can catch me on Instant Messenger anytime during the day.” I know, now, that he works for his family shipping company as a vice president of some obscure department. He spends most of his day in meetings and on the computer. He promises to talk to me the next day and kisses my cheek.
*
After making sure I’m safely tucked into my car, he heads off to the jag parked across the street. “Please God, don’t let me be dreaming.” I mutter, starting my car. He heads for his condo in the city and I drive off to my little apartment in the suburbs.
*
Katrina must be foaming at the mouth. The minute I walk to the door, hers swings open. “Late dinner, eh?” She’s smirking. I decide to give her the Cliff Notes version of the evening.
*
“Oh yes, we talked for hours – until the place closed – then that was it.” She arches a brow. “Seriously, Katrina, nothing else happened. As it is, I’m glad things are slowing down enough to get to know one another.” I bite my tongue. Do Not Invite Personal Observations From Katrina. I chant this several times under my breath. At least, I hope it was.
*
“I’m sure your neighbors are too. The new people below you were complaining about the noise this morning at the mailbox.”
*
Oh, that’s just great. A girl gets laid once every blue moon and someone has to gripe about it. Whatever, I decide, they are simply jealous. After all, I’m single and relatively attractive – why shouldn’t I be having hedonistic sex? Fat girl – banished! The demigoddess exercises her powers of confidence and allure!
*
“Well, I’m bushed.” Katrina seems to get the hint and heads back to her own place. I fall into bed, again, exhausted by happiness.
**
Did NOT make it to work early today. Was, as usual, fifteen minutes late. My own fault, as I called Adam to remind him that I still had his watch. We then started just chatting about nothing really. Apparently, we were just happy to hear one another’s voices. Note: Have to start going to church, am obviously being blessed. Testify!
**
One week of perpetual bliss (and yes, I did go to church. Adam’s church - with him!). I keep waiting for something bad to happen, but even Katrina’s kept her distance lately. Not that this has anything to do with a certain snotty comment last week about her getting a life. At least, I don’t think it does.
*
“You left a message for me?” Mr. Elliott leering at me from the doorway. I quickly and concisely explain the dilemma with the Munroe account and my conflicting accounts. “Well, I could give Heather the Munroe account…”
*
Heather? That twit who has trouble completing a sentence. I am immediately enraged. “Mrs. Campbell specifically asked that I lead the Munroe project. These other little projects were Erica Peterson’s before her maternity leave and I think it vastly unfair to ask me to forgo a project I have cultivated since it came to Olefson and Lee.”
*
Apparently no one has ever argued with Mr. Elliott before, because he seems taken aback. “Well, since you feel so strongly. I suppose I can have Heather take over Erica’s files. I do hope you realize, though, that we expect superior performance on the Munroe account for this concession.” Sure. Fine. I win. That’s all I care about. I politely thank him and promise to drop the files Erica left into Heather’s inbox before the day’s end.
*
Heather is not a happy camper. She must have heard my little tirade – she does sit just down the hall – and realized she was getting the short end of the stick. “I never get any of the big new accounts. It’s really unfair.” She pops her bubble gum. Not adult gum that comes in sticks and packages of 5 or 8, but the big pink squares that you can barely chew in childhood.
*
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Campbell asked for me specifically and I don’t wish to disappoint her.” This, of course, shuts her up. No one wants to disappoint Mrs. Campbell. She’s the floor mother and we all adore her. I pat the stack of files. “These really aren’t that complicated. Erica even left a note in each file stating what needed to be done next. I’ve finished four of them, there are only these three left.”
*
“Where’s the Macy’s file?” Heather might be a twit, but she’s not a stupid twit.
*
“Ah, that’s my own personal case. Sybil and I are the only two contracted to work on it.” Well, we will be once the contract gets finalized and signed. It’s not a complete lie. “I think I can manage it and the Munroe file. I’ve already finished the preliminaries with Macy’s at any rate, so I only have the final design to complete.” I can practically see her steaming in her chair, but I’m distracted by a familiar voice down the hall.
*
“May I just wait in her office?” Adam is standing by my door looking delectable in his suit and tie. He’s holding a bouquet of roses but he’s talking to Mr. Elliott. I leave Heather bending over backwards to catch a glimpse and hurry down the hall.
*
“Adam, darling.” First time for a pet name. I’ve decided to try them out slowly until I find one that sounds right. I lean forward for his kiss on the cheek and take his hand. “I see you’ve met Mr. Elliott. This is a nice surprise.” I debate simply tugging him into my office and ignoring my boss or politely asking to be excused.
*
Adam grins at me. Note: This is different from those melting smiles. It’s a playful type of thing that I’ve learned means he’s going to do something naughty. He slides his arm around my waist and looks at my boss with a leer. “If you’ll excuse us…” Moments later I find myself in my office, door closed, pressed against the nearest wall – being kissed silly.
*
“Adam!” I gasp. I wonder if Alexander Elliott is still standing outside the door. He was only slightly more stunned that myself.
*
“I had to come and see you. We are going to celebrate. I just closed my very first shipping contract over a million dollars.” This is a major milestone for him. If he impresses the board, he might make it in as an actual partner in his own right.
*
“That’s brilliant!” Can I skip work? The fact that I’ve been perpetually late and only have the weakest of outlines for the Munroe work holds me back. “After work?” I kiss his cheek. “I’ll cook dinner, if you like.”
*
I should mention here that I still haven’t been to Adam’s condo. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s hiding a wife and child because he never invites me over. We haven’t been back to my place because we are valiantly trying to avoid falling back into bed.
“Absolutely. Bring clothes to my place.” So much for avoiding bed! “I have a guest room, silly woman. We made a vow to stick it out for 6 weeks and we’re sticking to it.” Oh. Well, shit.
*
Now. Not only do I need to do some truly creative work on the Munroe account, but I need to devise a dinner plan, buy groceries, run home, shower, get a change of clothing, call Sybil and then get to Adam’s house in a timely manner to make dinner. No problem.
*
Dinner was a disaster. Turns out, the demigoddess isn’t much of a cook. Being fat, contrary to popular belief, does not inherently bring along brilliance in the kitchen. Now that I’m no longer that girl, any gift in the kitchen I did have is long gone. We give up on my impromptu Pad Thai and order pizza.
*
“So you are imperfect. Note to self, she can’t cook.” I stick out my tongue at him. He picks up an Oreo and takes a bite. “Dessert, however, she seems to have a knack for.” I laugh and continue cleaning the kitchen. Adam cleared the table but made no fuss when I offered to finish cleaning up. He did keep me company though, so that’s a point in his favor.
*
“I am sorry. I’ve never made Pad Thai from scratch, I should have gone with something I know.” He arches a brow. “Pancakes and scrambled eggs.”
*
“Good, then you have the breakfast shift.” He catches the towel I throw at him. “Let’s go watch the fire.” We end up in his tiny living room. (Really the entire condominium is tiny, but what can one expect in the city. Definitely NOT hiding a family here.)
*
To be continued...
