To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com
From: ED@mythicmail.com
Subject: Last message
You can ask me a serious question if you want—believe me, I know about the sinkhole called office politics. Sometimes just venting about your problem helps. I’ll listen. What are friends for?
—ED
After insulting Leadbottom, Edie joined Aurora Thode on the unemployment line. Months went by before she finally found a job. Desperate, she accepted a low-paying position at a sweatshop that cared nothing for her as an employee and even less for her as a person. She almost lost her idealism then, almost submitted to crawling despair. Then she’d gotten the phone call.
“Edie, it’s Philip Sedgwick. I know you’re still upset, but please listen.”
“What do you want, Philip?”
“I have a new job, my dear. Vice president of finance for Houghton Howell Enterprises.”
“Congratulations. And I should care, why?”
“They’re looking for programmers. Interested?”
She pretended not to be. “I’m a team leader where I am.”
“Even better. HHE is team-based, and there’s an opening. Remember our discussions on management philosophy? I bet you’d be super.”
“Is it a sweatshop?”
“Not with me here, my dear.”
Edie was working for HHE within a month. She forgave Philip, but she never quite trusted him the way she had.
• • •
Everett scrubbed clean in record time and dried himself so briskly he almost singed his body hair. Which, considering he was a mass of goose bumps, would’ve been an improvement. Still, once he was dry and wrapped in his kimono-style robe he was comfortable. The woodstove heated the cabin nicely.
He emerged from the bathroom cautiously. Edie was prowling around the cabin, shooting little glances at him, pretending she didn’t want to argue. He found it . . . cute. Not safe to find a tiny tigress of a woman cute, but there it was. He flopped down in the single living room chair, kicked his bare feet onto the coffee table, picked up a magazine and casually flipped through it. That should get her started.
“Did you enjoy your bath?”
“Immensely,” he lied. He flipped another page. “You said you’d found food?”
“A little.” She glanced at the cabinets, the thin line of her mouth telling him more than her words. “Let me know when you’re hungry and I’ll see what I can do with it.”
Over the pages of his magazine, Everett watched her. It was obvious to him that she was starving, but this was Edie. No way she would let herself appear vulnerable.
He closed the magazine and rose. “I’m hungry. Show me what you found.”
Fifteen minutes later, a disappointingly small assortment of non-perishables lay on the table. He picked up a can and frowned at it. “Peaches.” He set it down and rattled a wire-tied bag. “Brown rice.”
She rolled a cardboard canister in her hands. “Oatmeal. A little of this and a little of that.”
“And not much of anything.” He grunted. “Want some dry cereal?”
An odd gleam lit her eyes. “Since you made the fire, why don’t I try my hand at dinner?”
“The little woman cooks? Won’t that offend your ideas of equality?”
“Really, Everett, must you be so disagreeable? It’s called sharing the workload. Go back to your magazine.” Her eyes fluttered down to his chest. The gleam intensified.
His groin tightened. She’d looked that way at him when he’d stripped off the sweater. It gave him hope. He looked down at himself. His kimono had worked loose, the neck gaping to his abdomen.
And she was interested in what she saw. He felt a smile bloom on his face.
She looked away. She was blushing.
He tucked his robe closed, smile broadening. She tried so hard to be invulnerable, but her redhead’s complexion gave her away every time. “Okay. But let me know if you need me.” Need me. He was gratified to see her blush deepen. Smiling to himself, he returned to the chair and picked up the business weekly, but he didn’t read it. Instead, he watched her.
Her color returned to normal. She seemed oblivious to him, humming softly to herself as she picked up things on the table, set them down, drummed her fingers, then picked them up again. Evidently reaching a decision, she twisted the electric oven on and started dragging out pots and pans.
The whys and wherefores of what she was doing were opaque to him, but Everett certainly admired how she dragged out those pots and pans. The way her slim backside wiggled as she tried to reach something in the back . . . he quickly crossed his legs, hiding his rising interest.
Then she was up and poring over her ingredients, her face attractively flushed. He swallowed hard. She glanced his way. He immediately discovered a fascinating ad in the magazine. She considered him long enough for him to grow self-conscious.
When she was safely absorbed again measuring and stirring, he set down the magazine and leaned back. He admired her. So what? It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed over. She was one hell of a manager, strong in her convictions, not afraid to do what she thought was right. His admiration was thoroughly professional.
She was stirring something thick. Her breasts swayed slightly as she worked. Everett admired that, too, how she put her whole self into what she did.
Cool air brushed an unexpected part of his anatomy. He jerked a glance down. Professional admiration hell. He pushed his “admiration” between his crossed his legs and redraped his dressing gown. “Kirk, you’ve been without a woman way too long,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” Edie said.
“Uh, I said, I’ve been without a, uh, nap, too long.” He lay his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. But it was a long, uncomfortable time before he got to sleep.
• • •
Everett woke to wonderful smells. His stomach rumbled appreciatively. “What’s for dinner?”
“A little of this and a little of that.” Edie smiled. “Come and eat.”
What that curving smile did to her full pink lips . . . He nearly said what he’d like to eat was her and made an ass of himself. Clamping his stupid mouth shut, he made his way to the table.
He sat down to a veritable feast.
Edie had taken rice, oatmeal and fruit, the little of this and the little of that, and put together a miracle. Spiced rice pilaf, asparagus in a lemon-yellow sauce topped with slivered almonds, and steaming biscuits. And for dessert, she’d baked peach cobbler swimming in thick, sweet milk.
Everett surfaced from his food ten minutes later. “This is wonderful.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Edie said dryly. “Do you always inhale your dinner?”
Everett didn’t even slow down. “I was hungrier than I realized. And this is wonderful.”
“You said that.”
“Yes.” Everett delighted in the flavors mingling on his tongue. Most programmers he knew could barely find their way around the inside of the freezer. The hot biscuits and cobbler thawed something inside him. Anyone who made something this wonderful for him couldn’t be the dark soul trying to destroy his career. “Because it’s just so won—”
“Wonderful, yes, I know.” Her fine, dark eyes were a little dull, the normally aggressive curls drooping slightly.
She must be tired. While he had napped, she had put her entire self into whipping up this miracle. “Why don’t you go to bed? I can clean up.”
She gave him an odd look. “There’s only one bedroom.”
“Yes.” He spooned up the rest of the cobbler and ate it in two bites.
“There’s only one bed.”
Some remnants of cobbler remained in the pan. He pulled the pan in front of him and scraped until he’d gotten it all, then licked the spoon clean. He sat back with a satisfied sigh. “So you take the bed. I’ll be fine on the chair.”
“That’s hardly equal, Kirk.”
At that, his attention finally left his plate to focus on her. He wondered when he’d sunk back from Everett into Kirk. “I don’t mind.”
“I do.” She rose to her feet. “I demand equality here.”
Damn, what was wrong now? She was as prickly as second day whiskers. “Fuck equality.” Everett tossed the spoon into the empty pan. It hit with a sharp clang. “You’re tired. Take the bed.”
“Don’t swear.” Her eyes grew wide and suspiciously bright, and her lip started quivering.
Everett was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Edie. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Edie?”
Strange liquid filled her fine dark eyes. His fireball was collapsing.
He jumped to his feet to gather her into his arms. Surprisingly, she wasn’t the mountain he thought her, simply a woman, and a small one at that. He hugged her close. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Oh, Everett, I’m sorry.” Dampness spread onto his chest, and her voice was a little thick. “I didn’t really think we’d be here all night. I didn’t think we could really be stranded. I guess I’m a little scared.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” He rocked her gently. Kissed her head. Her hair was soft and sweet-smelling. “Don’t cry.”
She snapped away, wiping angrily at her eyes. “I’m not crying.” Red rims belied her words. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, whatever the circumstances.”
“Of course you are.” His voice came out softer than he meant. Less like an executive or even a colleague. More like a friend . . . or a lover. Someone who deserved to care. His face heated.
She clutched her elbows, reddening too. “I’ll take the chair.”
Everett sighed. This was one of those times that, even if he won, he’d lose. “Just for tonight. And I’ll get some sheets for the couch. You’ll get stiff in the chair.”
Someday they’d compromise.
Compromise . . . like they’d both get the bed.
He didn’t sleep well that night.