Page 22 of Get It In Writing
Hi Rebecca,
Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I heard about you from a friend at the Department of Buildings. How about a coffee near your apartment? I don’t want to inconvenience you. I know you must be busy. Name the time and place.
Tim
Department of Buildings? I’ve never worked with anyone from there so it’s a little weird, but not that crazy. Maybe someone saw my work in an ad and mentioned it to this Tim guy. And if he knows someone from the DOB, that could be a great introduction for me.
I reply to Tim’s email and give him the cross streets of my favorite coffee shop and tell him to meet me there in forty-five minutes. I don’t want him to have to rush, but I also want him to know my time is valuable. I wait for him to send me an email to confirm the meeting, and I’m off.
Gathering up my things and hopping to the door, things are actually looking up. New client, new work. I lock my apartment up behind me and start to think that the whole debacle with Harper could have been a blessing in disguise.
I take my time walking uptown to the coffee shop. I feel like I’m walking on air, and it’s a fabulous feeling. I might have allowed myself to get cooped up in my apartment for a little too long, but it sure beats sitting in an office on my butt for eight hours a day. Working for myself, I get to make my own schedule. I can do my work in my pajamas. I can take a client meeting on a random afternoon.
I mean,Ihave clients now. I’m not just running around servinghisevery whim.
But still...when I’m falling asleep, I think of his arms around me and the way he told me he’d take me upstate to see the stars. There was something wistful in his voice, as if he was revealing something to me that he doesn’t show everyone. And I shouldn’t have judged him. That is something I do regret. I judged him as a controlling, workaholic asshole, but now all I can think about is how impressed he looked when I stood up to that rude waitress in my own small way.
And I think about his tattoos. And his lips.
And how I want to know more.
I get lost in my thoughts and I almost forget where I’m going. I’m outside the coffee shop, and I’m a little bit early, but I decide to go in to grab something and claim a table.
After deciding on a chocolate chip muffin and a regular coffee, I take a seat by the window. It’s the late afternoon, but the sidewalk is jammed with pedestrians. I want to know where they’re all going. They probably all have interesting stories.
I wonder how many of them have a tattoo, and I wonder what their tattoos mean.
Letting out a deep sigh, I mindlessly pick at my muffin and regret never learning about the rest of Harper’s ink.
Gazing out the window at the bustle of holiday shoppers with their bags, I start to take out my notepad again. Now’s as good a time as any to start my holiday shopping list. But when I look up from my bag with my pen and paper, I seehimstanding outside the coffee shop.
What. The. Hell.
A million questions race through my mind and I hope that if I think of enough reasons why I don’t want to see him, he’ll vanish into thin air. Why’s he here, in this neighborhood? Oh, he’s starting to disappear. Crap, how come in my little fantasy it’s only his clothing that’s disappearing?
He won’t come in. He can’t come in. There is no reason for him to come in.
And he’s coming in.
I look down and start doodling on my paper, trying to look as busy as possible. I can’t tear myself away from what I’m doing for even a second, especially not to talk to my former boss. Nope, keep walking, stranger. I don’t know you anymore.
But he sits down in the chair across the table from me and doesn’t say a word.
“I know you probably think you can sit there because we know each other,” I say, peeking up at him from across the table, “but I’m meeting a prospective client here any minute, and it would look very unprofessional if he thinks I double booked him.”
“Oh, right,” Harper says, spreading his legs a little bit and crossing his arms. “Tim?”
Oh, God. Of course. How could I have been so stupid?
“So you’re here to, what, humiliate me again?” I start to pack up my stuff, heat rising into my face. Friend of a friend, my ass.
“You wouldn’t answer your phone. I tried emailing you,” he says. His eyes look sad and even though he looks amazing, he seems different from how he always was at the office.
“There’s a reason for that,” I say. “It’s because I don’t want to talk to you.”
“If you’d just listen for two minutes, I swear you’ll understand.” He’s pleading with me, but he’s still sexy. Even if he’s changed a little, he still has it.
“You have one minute,” I say, working out a compromise.
