#but i chose the spot so its covered by my socks when i wear loafers and by my boot when i wear boots

[despite-everything]

i'm getting a gucci logo stick-and-poke (it's cheaper than therapy)

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 28

The pleasant notes of Tom singing ‘Friday I’m In Love’ as he showered were suddenly eclipsed by a loud, incessant buzzing. Covering my ears with my hands, I sat straight up in bed, swung both legs over the side, stood and walked to the bathroom in lieu of screaming my query.

Upon catching sight of Tom’s spectacular ass, I forgot about the noise until I shook my head in awe of its perky, dimpled beauty and inadvertently dislodged my hands in the process. Cringing, I knocked on the glass enclosure as I spoke.

“Babe? Do you…”

The shower door cracked open, his shaving-cream covered face emerging from the steam. “That horrendous sound you’re hearing is, technically, our doorbell.”

“Like, the building doorbell or the flat doorbell?”

“Flat. The building version is more of an obnoxious electronic chime, which I normally have set to mute. My family knows to call when they’re close so I can watch the video feed and buzz them in.”

I hadn’t noticed any cameras outside last night, nor any screen near the door on the inside of the flat. Tom grinned impishly as I raised my index finger and opened my mouth, cutting me off before I could voice my observation.

“All of it, the control console as well as the video monitor, is hidden behind a sliding panel inside the flats. Ours is to the left of the door, looking at it from the within. The external cameras are mounted in the flower boxes, and there are four buttons for visitors to press, numbered for each flat, located to the right of the main entrance. System speakers, unfortunately, are wired in with the smoke detector and intruder alarms, so the sound is…everywhere.”

Resting my hand on my hip, I frowned as his gaze roamed over my nakedness. “So…one of our neighbors is responsible for this calamity, is what you’re saying?”

He nodded, extending a hand out to me. “I am. And in order for the sound to continue as it has, it means said neighbor hasn’t removed his finger from the button for even an instant and will most likely not cease and desist until someone answers the door.”

I took his hand, moving closer as my fingers felt for the pulse of his wrist, sighing. “Fucking Simon. Next time I know he’s hung over I’m returning the favor.”

Tom chuckled. “How can you be certain it’s Simon and not Luke?”

“Holding in the button until you’re given the attention you believe you deserve…Simon, through and through. Luke’s more of a buzz once or twice, then repeatedly as he grows increasingly annoyed when no one answers kind of person. I guess I should throw on some clothes and go see what he wants before I lose my hearing, eh?”

Releasing my hand, Tom nodded, bits of shaving cream sliding down his jaw and landing on the floor. “If you want a dressing gown, mine are in the wardrobe closest to the window, all the way to the left.”

Pausing, I considered commenting on ‘dressing gown’, but determined that stopping the buzzing was a priority action item.  “Thanks. I’ll be back. Hopefully right back.”

I walked back into the bedroom, opened the wardrobe nearest the window and chose a fluffy navy blue robe, surprised that it actually wrapped around me fully. After tying it at the waist I peered down, shaking my head at how much of it dragged on the floor. “I am SO going to fucking kill myself in this thing.” Tom yelled out a ‘what?’ from the bathroom. I yelled back. “Nothing…just talking to myself. Again.”

Gathering the extra material in my left hand, I descended the steps with an abundance of caution, then quickened my pace as I crossed the living room and stepped up into the kitchen. Now that I knew the panel was there it was easy to spot, but I didn’t bother with it, opting to unlock and fling the door open instead. Simon stood before me, still pressing the call button, dressed in light blue skinny jeans, a pink polo with blue and white horizontal stripes and his white To Boot New York loafers, sans socks.

“Simon Ahlberg, if you don’t remove your finger from that button right now I’m going to tear it off and shove it…”

His grey eyes lit up, skin around them wrinkling slightly as he grinned from ear to ear. “Promises, promises, Maude.” Releasing the button with a sigh, he bent and picked up what appeared to be a picnic basket. “I prepared breakfast for my second favorite lovebirds. Sausage, egg, cheese and home fry burritos, sliced melon and strawberries with cream, and a container of orange juice. Oh, there’s some half and half in there for tea or coffee, too. Microwave each burrito for 25 seconds. Then get your ass to work, woman. It’s after ten and everyone is anxiously awaiting your debut.”

“Pressure I do not need, Simon. Christ. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had…co-workers? Hold me. I’m scared.” He laughed, and I reached out to take the basket from him. “So…dress code? Is what you’re wearing acceptable or do you just get away with it because you’re fucking the boss?”

One hand flew to his hip as it jutted out to the side, lips pouting at me, a finger wagging in my face. “Maude, you are SO RUDE.” We both tittered briefly, then he nodded. “Yes, it’s acceptable. We’re very casual. Luke’s opinion is that Prosper should focus more on the interpersonal relationships we form with clients than on maintaining a stuffy, uber professional atmosphere. When they turn up for an appointment, he wants them to feel free to do so in jogging pants if that’s how they’re most comfortable, since most spend a good part of their lives stuffed in what everyone else requires them to wear.”

I raised my hand in the air for a high five, which Simon reciprocated, then embraced me as best he could around the basket. Slipping one arm around him, I spoke near his ear. “Thanks for breakfast. And for your advice back on Kauai. Which I fully intended to follow but was derailed by Death. And for being so supportive during the last week in spite of the fact that I was an utter shit and didn’t call you as often as I should have.”

He squeezed me tighter, then pulled back, hands on my upper arms as he met my gaze. “You’re welcome. And forgiven.  I’m glad things worked out. Nothing is ever perfect, and it all requires more work than you could fucking imagine, and a level of honesty that’s the very definition of brutality, but…it’s SO worth it, and you and Tom…you’re just…meant to be.” He smirked. “And the fact that the man has a cock that’s garnered its own hashtag can’t hurt…”

My left eyebrow shot up and I raised my index finger. “Actually, it hurts a little when…”

“No no no. I have to go back to work now. And watch some cat videos to erase the image you’ve just put in my head, you evil bitch.”

I laughed as he spun around and headed for the staircase, closed the door, then placed my newfound bounty on the kitchen counter and rifled through it, snagging the fruit and cream first before searching the cabinets for a plate. There were some up above the sink, white with two orange concentric circular stripes, a thin outer and thicker inner. The drawer next to the stove housed the silverware, plain stainless with sturdy handles that squared off at the ends. Using a tablespoon, I plopped a large dollop of cream on the plate first, then forked out some melon pieces and six strawberries, arranging them artfully inside the inner ring and impressing myself inordinately.

“Wow, send me off to compete on Chopped. Mad plating skills, Maude. MAD.”

After glancing back and forth from the dining table to the plate several times, I came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be very mannerly of me to sit and eat without Tom. Sighing, I trucked up the stairs and into the master bedroom to find Tom standing naked in front of the open middle wardrobe. He turned to me, eyeing the dish in my hand.

“Glory hallelujah, is that FOOD?”

I dipped a strawberry in the cream and took a giant bite, nodding as I chewed. “Mmm hmm. Simon made us breakfast. Burritos are downstairs…”

Tom abandoned his clothing dilemma, strode over to me and grabbed a berry of his own, dipped it in the cream, then popped the entire thing in his mouth. “MMMMM.” Using his index finger, he helped himself to another swipe of cream, first licking it off, then sucking on the digit while smirking at me.

“Think you’re funny, do you, Hiddleston?” He nodded and reached for the plate again, frowning emphatically as I pulled it away from him. “No way. I’ve revoked your sharing privileges as a result of your inappropriate behavior. Go get your own, asshat.”

Shrugging, he walked around me and made for the door, then turned to me, grinning. “Oh. Right. I suppose I should put some clothes on.”

I lowered my chin to my chest, head shaking back and forth slowly. “Ya THINK?!”

****************************************

We sat across from each other as we ate, marveling at Simon’s ability to turn such simple ingredients into something that made us moan like whores. Which is an expression I could never really work out logistically…are only whores supposed to moan? Was I a whore because I moaned? Or was it a reference to faux moans ladies of the evening used to boost client ego and garner a larger sum at the end of the deed? I was about to ask Tom if he had any inkling as to the expression’s origin when his phone alarm went off.

“Shit, is it eleven already?” He checked the screen quickly. “Indeed it is. Sorry, love. I’ve got to get going. Will you be all right showering and such?”

He’d made an appointment with his therapist for eleven-thirty this morning as soon as we’d decided to fly in Sunday night. As I nodded our eyes met, and his betrayed his calm exterior. I rose and walked around the table to hug him tightly, the soft cotton weave of his green Henley pressed against my cheek.

“Don’t worry about me, Tom. I’ll be fine. And you’ll be fine. If you need anything, call, okay?”

He kissed my forehead. “Thanks. I will. Shall I stop at the market on the way home and pick up what we need for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll text you what I need after you leave, cool?”

“Cool. Will you see me to the door?”

“Try and stop me.”

He smiled as we released each other, and I took a moment to drink him in. Tight jeans below the Henley, hiking boots that were new to me on his feet, the outline of the phone through his pocket somehow strangely erotic. We walked to the door hand in hand, and after opening it he bent to kiss me, gently at first, then more forcefully as I grabbed the back of his neck. A string of saliva connected us for another second when he pulled away, and I chuckled.

“That should be SO gross, shouldn’t it? But it’s so NOT gross. Love truly is a many splendored thing.”

Laughing, he rested his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry I have to leave you on your first day. You’re going to do wonderfully well down below, Maude. Though I already regret not being able to see your face when you get a look at everything…”

My eyes widened. “Um…should I be excited or lock myself in the bathroom and refuse to go?”

He rubbed his nose against mine. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

I shoved him out the door. “That’s it, Hiddleston. Out. Go. Away with you.”

“See you soon, my love.”

“Not soon enough. I love you, Tom.”

“And I love you, my Maude.”

As he walked down the hall I began to close the door, shouting after him through the shrinking opening. “Just so you know, I’m saving the rest of the cream for LA-TER.”

He froze, let his chin fall to his chest as he shook his head, then raised a hand in my direction before continuing to the stairs. The door clicked shut, and I was alone.

“Okay, woman, show on the road time. First, clean.” I scraped the plates and placed them in the dishwasher, emptied our glasses and mugs and put them in as well, then put the remainder of the orange juice, half and half and cream in the fridge. There was a single burrito left, and though it was screaming my name I put it in there as well. “Lunch. Save it for lunch.”

Once the dish cycle started, I moved the picnic basket to the counter nearest the door so I’d remember to return it. Then, it was shower time. I sat on the bed upstairs, Tom’s robe in a heap on the floor, wondering what my ankle looked like, and if I could possibly shower without the boot this go-round.

“Probably better to take it off in the bathroom.” I looked around at the comfy bed linens, wishing I could have a little nap before I went downstairs, and reality chose that moment to bitch-slap me, along with dropping a side of crippling self-doubt into my lap for shits and giggles. I was in London, and this was home now. My mother was dead and buried. My ex-husband was sitting in a jail cell in New Orleans. The details of my past had made their way around the globe and back again, all out there in the wild for anyone to find. I’d abandoned a business that had taken years of my life to make a success. I’d fallen madly, completely in love with Tom, sharing with him every single piece of me, all in the space of twenty-two days…and he was now meeting with a therapist who would most likely wind up telling him that he’d rushed into this entirely too quickly for his own mental health and that he should pull way, way back immediately. Plus, HIS MOTHER. The panic began creeping in, heart pounding, my breath coming in rapid bursts.  

Bending at the waist, I hung my head down between my knees in an attempt to calm the fuck down, inhaling and exhaling to a count of ten each time. After twenty breaths, I sat back up.

“Maude. Questioning is normal. Feeling out of place is normal. One thing at a time, address it. Be rational.”

A few more breaths, then I began.

“Mother is dead. Even though you hated her and she was a terrible person, she did give birth to you and now she’s not here anymore. Which is, you know, GOOD. But also disturbing and sad, because it’s so…final. How could you not be conflicted? Ex-husband…if anyone wants to judge you based on the current behavior of someone you were involved with seventeen years ago, they’re an asshole and not worth your time. Heh. He’s in jail. That will never not be funny. In a very sick and twisted way, sure…but still funny.”

I stood and started pacing, annoyed at my jiggling flesh.

“Moving on. Let’s remember you’re the one who blabbed everything to the media. You answered their questions because you know that’s what SHOULD be done. Goose, gander. Client, you. And don’t forget about the outpouring of support. Amazing, compassionate people. Right.”

My pacing area grew wider, along the walls of the room.

“Business. You were bored. And miserable. You have enough money to live for a LOT of years even if you had NO job. Most people don’t. Nor do they have new opportunities handed to them out of the blue. Be grateful. London is a beautiful, vibrant city and, let’s face it, home is where you make it. Work is here. Having a boss will be weird. But it will be GOOD to not be responsible for EVERYTHING for a change. You’ll have time to live your LIFE. With TOM.”

I froze in place, breaking out into a cold sweat. “Will there BE a life with Tom after this fucking therapy appointment? Can I handle it if he decides we need to slow this down and back away from each other significantly so he can fully heal? The cause of his pain is fresher, raw, no longer in the passenger seat but still in the car, not way back on the highway, barely visible in the rearview mirror like yours. Maybe a relationship isn’t the best thing for him right now…oh, fuck ME.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, hands balled into fists, I fought the rising tide of overwhelming anxiety within me and tried to search for what was really causing the questioning, the doubt, the fear…and suddenly, the last thing on my list crossed my mind. His mother.

There it was, the one side of the phone conversation I’d heard in New Orleans. His mother, everything she’d been saying to him, based on his replies…all inexorably interwoven with what I’d been freaking out over. She didn’t approve of my being married before, thought Tom was being terribly foolish for jumping headlong into another serious relationship with someone he’d just met, and firmly believed that I had ulterior motives for being with him. Like money. Or fame. And if she’d seen footage from the day of the funeral, be it the press interviews or the kiss or all of it…how much lower had my stock gone down? Totally negative territory. Totally.

Opening my eyes, I resumed pacing, reducing my range to one side of the bed.

“Why do you CARE Maude? You never give a fuck what anyone thinks of you. Why does her opinion matter to you?”

I sat back down on the bed, climbed atop it and lay back. Our mingled scents soothed me, slowed my racing heart and mind.

“It matters because SHE matters. To HIM. Because she’s the woman who’s been a constant in his life. Because he respects her. Because he loves her. And I’m terrified of what will transpire if she isn’t able to respect ME. Like Tom not respecting me, either. And leaving me because he decides she’s right, about all of it.”

In large part, I was sure, my fear sprang from the well of inadequacy my mother had dug for me…long story short, if my OWN mother thought I was a worthless piece of shit, why would I expect someone else’s to feel differently? But Diana…I paused, realizing I hadn’t even dared to think her name before to the best of my recollection, she’d just been HIS MOTHER, all caps…wasn’t my mother. Not all mothers were horrible, were they? Anne didn’t fit into that mold. And since I’d yet to meet Diana, I couldn’t be certain as to whether or not she did. Either way, Tom had made it abundantly clear that she should trust his judgement and take the time to know me before coming down on a particular side of the fence. His confidence that she’d be able to make sense of it all and, perhaps, actually like me…I needed to have confidence in that as well.

Sighing heavily, I sat up again. “Maude, you are SO fucked up. But yay for figuring it out, right? She’s just a PERSON. Stop making her out to be some sort of deity that controls Tom’s life choices. Even if she hates you, he’ll still love you. Probably.” I snorted, then walked to the suitcases Tom had brought upstairs prior to taking his shower. After rooting through two of them, I found a cotton tunic, the body bright purple with lime green stitched seams, the cowl neck possessing a green base with a gradient to purple. All the pants I’d brought other than the ones I’d worn yesterday wouldn’t fit over the boot, so even if I couldn’t manage to shower without it I’d still have to take it off to get dressed. I chose another pair of men’s jeans that were more of a proper size, black cotton underwear and a black T-shirt material bra. The shoe debate hadn’t quite been resolved, so I held off on finding my socks for the moment.

All my toiletries were in my carryon, so I slung it over my shoulder, cradled the clothing in my arm and walked to the bathroom. Shampoo was placed in the shower, as well as my soap, and I made quick work of brushing my teeth as I double checked on the towel situation. Still one for me to use. Perfect. Giggling as I thought of the Seinfeld episode about Good Naked and Bad Naked, I pressed my boobs to my chest with my free hand and forearm so they wouldn’t hang in the sink when I spit.

“Okay. Here we go. Off with the boot.”

I sat on the toilet and undid the buckles, one at a time, and was puzzled at the lack of extreme pain. Once it was fully open, I closed my eyes and began to pull upward with my leg, foot sliding out of the boot slowly. There was pain, but it wasn’t FUCK ME FUCK THIS FUCK EVERYTHING pain. More like a bee sting. A really bad bee sting. Fine, MANY bee stings. But it was markedly better.

First one eye opened, then the other as I leaned forward to inspect my ankle. The swelling was nearly gone, and the bruises were much less angry. I lowered my foot to the floor tentatively, placing it flat on the floor first, then raising my heel a bit as I pushed up with my toes.

“SHI-HIT. Okay, no bending. Stick with flat.”

I stood, full weight on my left leg initially, then added a bit at a time to the right until I was pretty much standing on my own two feet. If I turned my right knee and foot outward and drag-stepped, I could walk, after a fashion. It hurt, but bearably so, and it felt spectacular to take a shower without a fucking garbage bag. The noise the spray had made when it hit it made me want to scream every single time…this, THIS was blissfully silent, except for my muffled scream when I forgot I was still injured and rotated the ankle in error.

I toweled off, put on my bra and shirt, then sat on the toilet to slip my underwear and jeans onto my legs. Putting the boot back on was far less pleasant than taking it off, mainly the shoving my heel down and into place part, but the sharp stabbing pain had faded to a dull throb by the time I was buckled back in. As I pulled my pant leg over the boot I decided today was a day for super-shiny gunmetal grey metallic Doc Martens. Or Doc Marten, as the case may be. I stood, yanked up my panties and jeans, buttoned and zipped, then walked to the mirror to check out my hair.

“Lord, woman. That’s just…wow.” It was still wet, even after my vigorous towel drying, and super frizzy. “Dare I brush you, mane of mine? Or should I just cut my losses and tame you with my elastic lasso?” I opted for the latter, breaking two hair ties before one managed to withstand the outward pressure of floof and kept it where I wanted it to be. No makeup, but I did dig out my black tourmaline necklace and bracelet, smiling softly as I considered how special both pieces were, but for very different reasons.

After one last look in the mirror, I grabbed my keys from the nightstand, my bag from the floor and walked downstairs. I’d just pulled the door shut behind me when I remembered that I needed to text Tom my ingredient list for dessert. Plopping down on the nearest bench, I fished my phone from my bag and turned it on. It was quarter to twelve.

“Wow, I am VERY late for work. Maybe if I sit here long enough Simon will bring me lunch, too.”

There was a message from Anne, which I ignored for the moment, and a text from Tom, sent six minutes ago.

Hey you. I’m in the waiting area here, office is running behind. Hope the shower went off without a hitch. Text me when you can. Love you. – T

Waiting to do something pleasant was irritating enough, waiting to do something unpleasant totally sucked. I knew what he’d be revealing to his therapist today, and, truthfully, unpleasant didn’t even come close to doing it justice.

Hello, my beautiful man. I’m so sorry they’re behind. Shower was A-OK. Ankle is healing. Soon we’ll be out and about dancing like fools. Just got done, heading downstairs now. Love you too.  - M

Here’s what I need from the store: 4 sticks unsalted butter, flour, salt, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla extract, 12 ounces of semisweet chocolate, white chocolate - a bar is better but if all you can find are chips that will do, and toffee. Thanks. XOXO - M

I waited a bit to see if he’d reply, and was glad when he didn’t because it meant he wasn’t waiting any longer. The phone went back in the bag, left on just in case he had need of me. Walking to the far left steps, past Luke and Simon’s flat, I dawdled as much as I could during my descent. The door was wide open, faint strains of electronic dance music drifting out into the lobby. As I walked through it, my jaw dropped. The view was straight down a hallway, narrow at first, then opening wider and into a large room, awash in natural light, a huge sign on the wall, black background with white lettering that simply stated ‘prosper’ with an elongated triangle symbol above it. No wonder why he hadn’t wanted to budge on the website logo. The sides of the hallway were all white, steel and glass, what I assumed to be modular rooms, two thirds the height of the actual space and open to the ceiling, where gunmetal colored beams and ductwork hung out in the open.  

The door opened inward, blocking the view to my immediate left, so I cast my gaze right into what appeared to be the waiting area. Its walls were solid, though there were only three, two sides and a rear, all modular like the rest, sides painted a cream color and the back a dove grey that matched the carpeting. Two simple, cream colored sofas were centered on each side wall, both of them with an angled, high wooden extension jutting up from behind the back section. A beige flokati rug was centered in the middle of the space, with a very light blonde wooden coffee table atop it, as well as a mobile laptop station of the same wood, designed to move around the entire rectangle and settle wherever the  user chose. Against the back wall was a low entertainment center console of the same light blonde wood, housing a rounded forty inch projection screen that displayed the same image that was on the laptop…fractal art in constant motion. Closest to me were two chairs, closely resembling a slot from an egg carton tipped thirty degrees backward. They were a very light, creamy pinkish-orange with desk chair sort of bottom, minus the wheels. A round-topped tiny end table in light blonde wood rested directly between them, and my body gravitated towards them, demanding to know how they’d feel to sit in. Heels clicking drew my attention away, and I stepped forward and turned left toward the direction of the sound. A lovely young woman with a modified pixie cut, hair longer in the front, shades of red, blonde and bronze almost obscuring her left eye, was striding towards me. Her makeup was very dark, rust colored and grey shadow, thick black liner above and below each eye, lips a matte pale rose pink. She was wearing dark purple skinny jeans, shiny black patent Mary Janes and an ancient, holey Nirvana T-shirt with the neck cut away. It hung off her left shoulder, exposing the white tank top underneath. She held out her hand as she drew closer, huge smile on her face. I reached out, accepting and shaking it, noting the incredibly cool silver ring in the shape of a snake eating its own tail on her right thumb.

“Hello, Maude! I’m Lyssa, Lyssa Barnes. Receptionist, Customer Service, Client Relations, and doer of all the other things no one else will go near with a ten foot pole. So lovely to meet you!” She released my hand and turned back to where she’d come from, a reception area with a wooden courtesy desk that matched the furniture in the waiting area, as did the shelves and cabinets behind it. The countertop was the same shade of orange as the chairs, and as I followed her I spotted a mini-fridge, a wine fridge, a hot plate, Keurig and Espresso machines, and a small sink. “I’ll buzz Luke and let him know you’re here…he’s in with Emma Watson at the moment, but they’re probably near done. Would you like a cuppa while you wait? Earl Grey is your jam, if I’m not mistaken. Oh.” She opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a bag of Lindor Truffles, grinning. “And maybe a handful of these to go with?”

A smirk spread across my lips, head bobbing in affirmation. “Wow, you’re GOOD.”

Her grin widened as she curtsied. “I try, I try. Huge part of what I do, knowing who likes what and how, even if they never, ever tell me so. Makes us stand out from the rest…we want turning up here to be like visiting an old friend.”

I leaned forward, peeking over the desktop. “So, what’s your secret to remembering it all? Giant Excel file? Hidden notebook?”

She laughed and tapped her temple. “Most of it’s up here, but I do have an Excel file just in case I drop off or something. Which I’m relying on more and more each day, what with the influx of new folks and all. I need more storage.”

“You and me both. I’ll pass on the tea, but I’ll happily take that bag of deliciousness off your hands, thanks.”

She handed it to me, then sat in her office chair, also the same color as the ones in the waiting area. “There you are. Make yourself at home. If you want to watch something on the screen, just let me know.”

I settled into one of the chairs I’d been admiring, which turned out to be one of the most comfortable things I’d ever nestled my ass into. Seven truffles later, I heard Luke’s voice and a woman’s laughter and stood up quickly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand just in case any chocolate was lurking about. A few moments later they came into view, and it was all I could to do not scream ‘Oh my god it’s Hermione!’ at poor Emma, who probably would prefer to not hear those words again, ever. Before I could say a blessed thing her arms were around me, then her lips kissing each check in turn.

“Maude, oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you and read so much about you and you and Tom in that Tumblr video…so absolutely adorable! SO wonderful to actually meet you! Tom’s just…he’s…well, YOU know what I mean and I’m so happy for him and for you and I have literally twenty questions I can’t wait to ask you about social media strategies for me and HeForShe. Speaking of which, we’re planning a benefit talent show for January and if you’re interesting in singing I’d LOVE to have you because you have such an amazing voice…” She turned to Luke and shook her head, then shifted her gaze back to me. “You know, he was just telling me that I need to cut back on the coffee or something because I never, ever shut up and here I am, not shutting up and you can’t even get a word in edgewise. I’m so, so sorry.”

Holding up one hand, I shook my head as well. “No worries, Emma. Happy to meet you too. And, I find your enthusiasm rather contagious.”

Luke snorted. “Much like the norovirus.”

Emma smacked his shoulder. “Shut UP.” She grabbed my upper arm gently. “I’m afraid I have to dash, but please do let me know about the benefit, and once Tom’s done hoarding all your talent we can get together, if you don’t mind, to go over social stuff. Talk to you soon!” She waved at Lyssa as she hurried out the door.

I grabbed another truffle from the bag and popped it into my mouth, then pointed at Luke. “You’re going to need to buy stock in these, man. It’s become glaringly apparent that I’ll be needing lots and LOTS of sugar in order to keep up with this crowd.”

“Seminar crowds a bit tamer, eh?”

“Hell yes. And now I know why…I’ve dealt with either them, or one client at a time. You, you’re dealing with SO MANY. They were vastly lower key because they were EXHAUSTED.”

Luke laughed and held out his arm for me to take. “Ready for your guided tour?”

Nodding, I accepted and we began walking down the hall. “I am, good sir. And I have to say, I’m beyond impressed just from seeing the waiting area and reception. Did you design all this? And of course my next question is how much did it COST? Because I’m nosy. And concerned for the company’s financial wellbeing. Even though it’s technically none of my business.”

Pausing, he turned to me, eyes alight in a way I’d only so far seen when he was speaking about Simon. “I did do most of the design, actually. I wanted it to be the polar opposite of where I’d worked before, and most other PR firms I’d encountered…old school, dark wood, boxed in offices, everything happening behind closed doors, antiquated technology, suits and ties, dresses and heels. Prosper’s modern. Transparent. State of the art. Comfortable.”

Smiling, I grasped his forearm, the softness of his dark grey sweater making me wish for a blanket of the same material, as well as a big chair, a good book and a fireplace. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, eh?”

He started off into the distance for a moment, then nodded. “I’m not sure who was more surprised at my propensity for interior design, honestly…my mother, or…ME. I’ve always enjoyed the company of artists, which is how and why I’m here right now, but didn’t think I had any sort of artistic ability other than dressing myself well. Maybe it was going out on my own, the fact that this would be mine, giving me a certain inexplicable vison…I don’t know. I DO know that I can’t wait for you to see the rest, though. And as far as our financial wellbeing…if you want to make that your business, I’m all for it, Maude. Actually, I’d be eternally grateful for any input you’re willing to give. You’ve got vastly more experience with that aspect of running things, and while I have Gavin, our accountant, I’m still doing all the budgetary planning and a bevy of other things I’m just learning about. We’re still so new that it’s quite confusing. Off the top of my head, I can say we don’t have much debt from startup. We own the flat outright, and paid for most of the remodeling out of pocket. Mum managed to get us some wicked discounts from former associates, so when all was said and done the flat and everything it contains came in at just under six hundred thousand pounds. We borrowed around two fifty to finish up and pay our expenses while things grow.”

His eyes met mine again, pointedly. “Just so you’re aware, because you’ll never hear it from him as he refuses to discuss it, Simon is much more than my personal assistant.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively and Luke sighed. “It’s no wonder that he likes you so much. Lord help me, now there are TWO of you. Anyway. He’s really a silent partner…I could never have pulled this off without his capital investment. Not on this scale, at least. But he prefers to pretend to be just an employee, and I’d argue, but…exercise in futility. Which you might have guessed.”

I let go of Luke’s forearm, though he still held onto me. “Damn, he wasn’t joking about not having any time to spend his money, was he?”

Luke shook his head. “No, and fortunately I never had time to spend what I earned, nor the inheritance I received when my grandmother passed back in 2008. All right. On with it, eh?”

I nodded. “Yes, please. I’m near bursting with curiosity.”

He pointed to our left from my right side. “That’s the restroom, and the next door is the stairs. Which you may have guessed from the signage.” I chuckled as he pointed right to a blonde wood desk arrangement behind the glass. “That’s my office there…the entrance is down a bit.”

We stepped into the wider portion of the hallway, walked down a few feet, and he let go of my arm, stepped in front of me and opened a sliding glass door to my left.

“And this is YOUR office. It’s essentially identical to mine, other than the fact that I have additional space to accommodate a seating area.”

My brows knit together, head tilting as I stared at him. “Um, I have…an OFFICE?”

Luke grinned, his glasses rising up his nose as his ears rose. “People who have the word ‘director’, ‘officer’ or ‘assistant’ in their titles receive dedicated office space.” I glanced back and forth, then into the huge room in front of us, and he laughed. “That is NOT Simon’s office. Though he certainly campaigned for it heartily. He’s downstairs in his own little glass house so he can keep an eye on the staff. Which he seems to enjoy a great deal more than I would have expected. Perhaps, in fact, he enjoys it too much.”

“I, for one, am not surprised in the least. He’s so…bossy.”

We both giggled, and Luke stepped toward his own office. “Why don’t you take a look around while I ask Lyssa to order some pizzas from Il Baretto? We’ll all eat downstairs and you can meet everyone then. Margherita okay with you?”

Smirking, I nodded. “Yes. That’s mozzarella and tomato sauce. Otherwise known as…pizza. So I’m good. Thanks.”

He entered his office and walked in the opposite direction to his desk, and I stepped into mine. The carpet was the same dove grey as the waiting area, and the blonde desk grouping was centered directly across from the sliding door. All of the wall facing out to the hallway was glass, the other three sides white. The desk itself was off to the left, a half square shape, one piece jutting out five feet or so, perpendicular to the door, with the other half underneath the main portion of the arrangement. It was a large piece of furniture, approximately eight feet across, six feet high, and two feet deep. There were two end caps a foot wide with display shelving for books and such, two large open shelves, each two and a half feet long, right above the two foot high open corkboard space earmarked for the interior desk portion. To the right of the desk was a tall cabinet with two file drawers beneath, and directly next to them under the interior desk was another, with one small drawer and an open cubby above it. The chair was white, with grey and black accents and a silver wheeled base. Against the wall to the far left, in front of the outer desk, were two chairs that matched the design of the orange ones in the waiting area but were upholstered in white instead. To the far right was a kiosk, approximately six feet high, comprised of tubular stainless steel frame and base, white opaque privacy back, blonde wooden shelf with a video monitor and camera situated directly above it. In the middle of the shelf was a stainless steel cover, which I couldn’t help but open to see how they’d fit all the electronic components inside the small stainless bay hidden below. Luke’s voice startled me, and I damn near jumped out of my skin, slamming the little door shut with a clink.

“Knew you’d go right for that bit. It’s a media:scape kiosk, designed for videoconferencing and screen sharing. High definition, of course. And wireless, as long as you use this thing called a virtual PUCK, which is actually an app that allows you to broadcast any sort of content from your laptop or tablet to any media:scape display in the building.”

Turning to him, my jaw half open, I broke into a slow clap. “Luke Windsor, congratulations. You have out-teched me and are now officially my fucking HERO.” He grinned widely. “I didn’t even know this EXISTED. I mean, the laptop to screen, that’s been a thing forever, but this design, in an office setting wherein you’re constantly either away or dealing with clients who aren’t nearby in a geographical sense…fucking BRILLIANT. I’ll stop saying fuck now. It’s terribly unprofessional. And now I get why there’s no computer. You all use portable devices. How’s the budget look in regard to a new laptop for Miss Maude?”

Laughing, he waved me out into the hallway. “I think we can squeeze it in. And an iPad as well, if you’d like. The media:scape platform debuted in 2012, I believe, but the PUCK aspect is relatively new and not available in the United States, so I wouldn’t have expected you to encounter it. And it is brilliant…tomorrow I’ll set up a demo conference so you can see it in action. So much of what we do is virtual that it necessitates having this type of equipment, and keeping it current. Nothing makes you look more like a complete amateur than not being able to get your device to screen share, or having Skype freeze in the middle of a meeting with a brand new client.”

I grinned as we walked through the entrance of the large, open room, the glass doors already slid into place. “Ah, but that creates an opportunity to sweep in and save the day if you fix it quickly, and illustrate your exceptional problem solving skills, Luke. Yes to an iPad, by the way. Clean slate, just for Prosper stuff. Thanks.”

He raised both arms up, shoulder height and fully extended, as he stepped in front of me. “Welcome to the conference room.”

It ran the entire width of the flat, the original brick on the back wall, the modular walls white except for the windowed entrance area that bordered the hallway, carpet a dark grey. The two original building windows were identical to the ones in Tom’s…our flat. To my left was a lounge area with a sixty inch, wall mounted screen on the entrance side and opposite an L-shaped grouping of sofas identical to the ones in the waiting area, these upholstered in grey several shades lighter than the carpet. A blonde wood circular coffee table rested atop another flotaki rug, three foot in diameter with a round hole in the middle approximately a single foot in diameter. Two blonde rectangular end tables had been placed on either end of the grouping, two feet high, the centers carved out to create storage space under the surface, also rectangular. Directly between the windows, under the Prosper sign, was a blonde wood console table, suitable for buffets, floral arrangements and so forth. To my right was the conference table, a rectangular slab same wood as the rest, two planks serving as leg. Behind it, up against the wall, was a smaller wooden console that contained four under cabinets and cubby holes. The two-piece design chairs sported white trim around the edges of the grey mesh back and fabric seat, same shade as the sofas, with stainless bases. On the far right side wall, above the table space, was another media:scape display on a stainless frame, a whiteboard area on either side and small blonde wood shelves beneath.

As Luke pulled out one of the chairs for me to sit down, my phone chirped. I reached in to grab it as I lowered myself onto the seat, meeting his gaze. “Mind if I check this?”

He smiled as he set his own phone on the table top. “Not at all.”

Session bathroom break. If you’re in the middle of something, ignore this. Miss you, and can’t wait to taste those brownies. – T

Wow, so much for surprising you. :P Things going okay? – M

As well as could be expected, I’d say. He cleared the next appointment in case we go over the hour. How’s work? – T

The office ticks off all of my OCD design requirements and nerdgasm boxes so far. We’re waiting for pizzas to arrive and then it’s meet the rest of the staff time. If you need me, for anything, I’ll be right here, okay? –M

It’s a completely different experience, talking to him about…everything…and knowing I have you to come home to after it’s all over. It’s how I’m getting through it. I love you. – T

I bit my lip, attempting to keep myself from tearing up too badly.

Well, every reply I’ve typed sounded wrong and dumb so I’m just going to go with I love you too. – M

And, I’m considering baking naked. – M

Three minutes elapsed before he replied.

Woman, you slay me. In such incredibly delightful ways. Thank you. – T

You totally just jerked off in the bathroom, didn’t you? – M

I’ll never tell. – T

All right, fine. Yes. Yes I did. The entire time I was imagining licking brownie batter off your nipples, then lifting you up on to the counter and burying my face in that delectable pussy until the stove timer went off. – T

Lyssa poked her head in the door and announced that lunch had arrived as I tried to control the flush that was beginning to creep upward from my chest.

Why did I ask? WHY? Lunch is here and now I have to go meet these people and the entire time I’ll be thinking about your tongue. And your cock. – M

Eheheheh. Well, now that my work here is done I’d best head back…enjoy lunch, I’ll text you when I’m finished. With the session. The counseling session.  XOXO – T

STAHP. Maybe they’ll just think I’m so old I’m having a hot flash. Which is preferable, frankly. Talk to you soon.  XOXO – M

I followed Luke back to the stairwell door, then held it open for him and Lyssa, their hands full with three pizza boxes each. Simon was holding the bottom door for us, and when he saw me he began to chortle.

“Maude. Your shirt.”

I looked down, Lyssa and Luke turning right as they crossed the doorjamb. “What about my shirt?”

Simon took my arm as I stepped onto the blonde wood floor, turned us right and pointed forward. “YOU MATCH THE DÉCOR.”

In front of me was a white conference table, U-shaped, with a double media:scape display at the flat point. The chairs were white and grey trimmed, a gradient working from light to dark beginning at the bottom of the back, the cushions the same shade of green as the stitching and cowl of my top. To the left, up against the brick wall, was a long white set of cabinets with a countertop of glossy green composite material, again, the same shade as portions of my shirt. At the right end was a stainless steel fridge, and on the counter itself I noted a sink, hot plate, microwave and Keurig as Luke and Lyssa set the pizzas atop it. The far side of the room was a lounge area, four small, funky green sofas arranged in an L-shape, squared off sides and angled backs, resting atop a rug that matched the purple of my top perfectly. Accent pillows in the same purple were here and there, and each sofa had a small dining/work table in front of it, white legs with wide flat squares beneath them and a blonde wooden top. Against the brick wall was a small entertainment center, more blonde wood, with a forty inch screen above it.

Suppressing the urge to swear, I pinched Simon’s upper arm instead. “I DO MATCH THE DÉCOR. Lord help me.”

“Ouch, that bloody HURT.” He whispered in my ear. “I say bloody instead of fuck here. I abhor it. I let one slip now and then in hopes that they’ll hear it a few times and then be able to ignore it so I can go about using it freely. Though I don’t think anyone cares, but I’m…”

I whispered back. “Trying to be professional. I managed it for years, but since I got to know you and Luke outside of work before coming here, it’s not as cut and dried…well, actually, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe it’s really just that everything you do makes me want to spew forth endless streams of profanity.”

Another whisper, long and drawn out. “Fuuuuuuucccccckkkk YOUUUUUUU.”

We walked forward, but our progress was hampered by a small herd entering the space in front of us, then turning to stare at me. Luke walked over to stand by Simon’s side, then turned so he could see both us and the staff.

“Everyone, meet Maude Gallagher, our Social Media Director.” A chorus of hello, hi and how do you do greeted me, along with waves from all five of them.

“Maude, this is…everyone. I’ll start at your left and work my way right.” He pointed to a fellow of around twenty-five, five foot eight or so with long dark hair, almond-shaped deep brown eyes, dressed in skinny jeans and a blue Captain America T-shirt, navy blue tennis shoes on his feet. “Weng Middlesmith, full time PR Specialist. He came with me from the place that shall not be named.” He smiled and waved once again.

Next was a gorgeous curvy girl, same age as Weng, around five foot two, long artfully streaked blonde and brown hair, light brown eyes, dressed in black yoga pants, a long sleeved black stretchy top and pink ballerina flats that matched her lipstick. “Bridget Albansse, also full time PR Specialist, also came with me.” She nodded and reached out to shake my hand.

“These two are my part time PR Specialists, though over the next few weeks that’s going to change. Mainly thanks to you. Agnes Darby, Matthias Ellsworth.” Both of them were in their twenties as well, if I had to guess. Agnes was adorable, a few inches taller than me with curly dark red hair, green eyes, and light olive skin with a smattering of freckles, clad in a pair of jeggings, a white boat neck sweater and classic white Keds. She grinned and curtsied, and I knew we were going to get on just fine. Matthias was as tall as Tom, thin as a rail with skin the color of Café au lait, a Roman nose, dark brown eyes, beautifully full lips, a strong jaw and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. His hair was black, kinky-curly and styled in a very modified afro, strong eyebrows giving him a steadfast look. A black turtleneck accented his features, and was paired with white manpris and black loafers. A smile lit up his eyes as he extended his hand, then pulled mine up to his lips for a chaste kiss when I attempted to reciprocate.

Luke rolled his eyes. “And this is Gavin Hobbes, Accountant.” Gavin was five foot tenish, with a stout build, short brown hair parted low on the left side, a week’s worth of scruff and black-framed glasses, sort of the men’s version of a cat’s eye. He was dressed in baggy jeans, a white T-shirt emblazoned with an image of Monty Python’s Black Night that was captioned ‘’Tis but a scratch’ and a pair of well-worn brown leather Birkenstocks. He was the only one who spoke, and I was stunned by his Irish brogue as he kissed both my cheeks in turn, which in conjunction with his blue, blue eyes reminded me of my father just enough to stir a longing deep within me, for him to be alive again and part of my world.

“Maude Gallagher. Pleasure to meet you. Can’t understand why this lot…” He gestured to the other four with his thumb. “…is so bloody quiet. They’ve been driving me out of my gourd for the past week with their incessant warbling about your seminar, which was top notch, by the way, and all the questions they can’t wait to ask you.”

Agnes stomped her Ked on the floor playfully. “Gavin, you are SUCH a tit. It’s her first day, she doesn’t want to be barraged the moment she walks through the door.” She turned to me, smiling warmly. “Don’t mind him, Maude. He’s just cranky ‘cause he’s stuck doing maths all day long.”

Gavin huffed. “I’m stuck doing ‘maths’ because none of you are up to the task.” He grinned. “And because if I had to deal with what you all deal with on a regular basis I’d set up a cot in the corner of the Beehive Pub, never to be seen anywhere else ever again.”

When the laughter died down, I cleared my throat. “Just want to clarify…you’ve all seen my seminar?”

Luke nodded. “We watched it as a group last week. Twice.”

I whistled. “Damn, that’s an awful lot of…me.” My eyes moved from one of my new colleagues to the next, all the way down the line. “So. Questions. I can do questions. After pizza cool?” Four nods followed. “Good deal.”

They all wandered over to the counter to choose their poison, and I turned to Luke. “I’m assuming you paid for the seminar…let me know what the order number was and I’ll refund your money.” His mouth dropped open, but I beat him to the punch. “Ah ah ah…no arguing. Consider it a thank you for reminding me that it was, like, AVAILABLE for sale because I haven’t checked the order queue and good lord if anyone had an issue with downloading or something…”

Luke bit his lip, then smiled sheepishly. “I know you’re still technically Tom’s Social Media Manager and not officially Director yet, but that seems to be going well so it crossed my mind that perhaps while you’re in town you could wear both hats? And maybe a few more on top of those?”

I patted his shoulder gently. “No problemo. I’ll be your gal Friday. Though that’s just secretarial stuff, traditionally. Jack of all trades? I don’t like that either. Anyway. Feel free to use my abilities to your benefit in whatever capacity you deem fitting.” Preparing myself for a snarky comment from Simon, I found him to be MIA when I glanced around. “Where the hell did Simon go?”

A knocking drew my attention to a large glass enclosure, like the offices upstairs, but all windows except for the back wall. Dove grey carpet, a large white desk, six foot wide and five feet deep, perpendicular to the room’s sides, shelves on the front towards the door, another media:scape display on the back wall centered with the desk. Two white tower cabinets, two feet or so wide, were tucked into the rear room corners, large storage on top, file cabinets on the bottom. The chairs were matte stainless with purple top and bottom cushions, same shade as my shirt yet again, one on each side of the desk and facing each other. He waved when I spotted him, pizza box in his other hand. I grinned and headed his way, Luke muttering something about office harmony in my wake.

As I neared the entrance, the staff work area caught my eye. The entire right side of the downstairs was carpeted in a medium grey tone, patterned with lighter grey swirls that resembled flower petals. Three of the modular walls rested in front of the building’s walls, left side grey, the right whiteboard, with a large blonde wooden vertical inset in their centers, a large media:scape display on the right one, two small on the left. The long rear wall was grey as well, with a horizontal white board running across its center. Two four-person workstations had been placed off-center, the left directly up against the wall and under the two small displays, the right three feet or so over from thoes, leaving lecture room near the right whiteboard and large display. A blonde wood shelf hung to the right of the large display, and a purple upholstered…something…sat underneath. Miniature bench? Step? Footrest? I had no clue. The workstations were five feet long and four feet wide, white, rectangular with tubular bases. Each had four chairs, matte stainless bases, white trimmed seats, black stripes on the backs, theseat and back cushions upholstered in purple. Four laptops rested on the far left station, a single one and lots of papers on the right.

“Maude, stop gawking and get in here. This pizza is NOT going to eat itself.”

Simon and I sat at his desk, Luke joining us after grabbing a slice of some weird looking pizza with chicken on it, and the rest of the staff popped in and out. Midway through I’d gotten a text from Tom, letting me know that he’d finished with the therapist and was going to grab his own lunch and then head to the market. As if I knew where or what that was.

After we’d all finished, we adjourned to the work area, where I answered question after question. The kids, which, though it was downright ageist of me, was how I thought of them, all took copious notes, typing away as I spoke. They asked if I wouldn’t mind re-watching the seminar with them, and we covered an hour of material in the course of two and a half, pausing and discussing topics frequently. Before I knew it, it was four PM and apparently time for everyone to head home, except for Lyssa, who normally stayed until five Monday through Thursday and until seven on Fridays. Start time for PR and accounting was eight AM, and Lyssa was in by nine unless it was her late day, when she came in at eleven. Agnes, Weng, Bridget and Matthias were, however, expected to be available as needed even when they were off the clock, which apparently didn’t happen often unless Luke was out of town.

As I said goodnight and headed upstairs, I realized I hadn’t heard from Tom again. Figuring he’d come home and was waiting for me, I turned the key in the lock, calling his name as I pushed the door open. I received no response, but a quick scan of the flat found him sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Tossing my bag on the countertop as I passed by, I walked quickly towards him.

“Tom?”

He didn’t reply, but as I reached him he removed his hands and stared up at me, eyes red-rimmed and dull. The best description of his expression I could muster was ‘shell shocked’. I dropped down on the couch beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. As he leaned into me, I tried to disguise the trepidation I knew my voice would project. It was a loaded question, one I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.

“What’s wrong?”

Reaching out to take my hand, he spoke slowly, obviously choosing his words very, very carefully.

“When I was in Waitrose…that’s the market, sorry…my phone went off. The number looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it so I let it go to voicemail.” He picked it up off the coffee table with his free hand, unlocked it and pressed play with his thumb.

It was a woman’s voice, British, crisp and clear with an undertone of haughtiness. “Hello, Tom. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you but didn’t have your number. I reached out to Diana last week, and she was kind enough to give it to me and let me know you’d be back in town today. We lunched at The Folly Saturday and had a lovely time.” A brief pause. “I…I was hoping we could get together and talk about everything. I miss you, Thomas. And I still love you. I know it’s been so long…and I didn’t realize quite how much until I saw you with that…that…woman. I regret not marrying you, and…well, you know what else. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about it, about what I’ve done and how I hurt you. And, I must admit, I thouroughly hate the idea of you settling for someone so far beneath your station, Thomas. So does Diana. Do give me a ring when you have a moment. Please. Speak with you soon.”

The phone was shaking furiously, as was the hand holding it. He swallowed several times, cleared his throat, met my gaze, his eyes full of grief and pain and horror, and even though I already knew I let him say it anyway.

“That…that was…” A deep breath. “Jane.”