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Dallas
“Well, I’ll let you go, Dallas,” Mr. Michaelson says on the phone, “but I’ll say it again. I’m glad you finally came around.”
It’s the next morning, and I’ve been having this conversation out on the balcony so I don’t wake Rita. Who snores like a little puppy, by the way. It’s adorable.
“Well, I realized I was being stubborn over nothing.”
Mr. Michaelson laughs. “Not a bad quality to have in an editor.”
“That’s true.”
“We’ll wrap up the details Sunday.”
It’s a little risky, accepting this position in Boise before I know for sure if Rita’s going to get hers. But whatever it is, her chances are probably good. She’s fierce, a crackerjack writer, and knows how to get things done.
But if she doesn’t, well, I can deal with that as it comes. This job isn’t a done deal until the contract is signed anyway, and there’s still more negotiating to do. Which is what Sunday is all about.
“See you on the golf course,” I say.
“Be prepared to lose.”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?”
He laughs again and we hang up. I look out over the city, so bright in the morning sun, and feel ridiculously exhilarated.
I know it’s far, far too soon to be planning my job around Rita, or to be expecting her to plan her job situation around me.
But Mr. Michaelson has been begging me to take this position and she’s likely coming to Boise, too. Why can’t we both get our fresh starts and gain the freedom to explore what’s happening between us at the same time?
Because making love to Rita was an otherworldly experience. It’s never been like that with anyone else. I don’t know where things are going with us, but I’m not willing to just let it go.
I’m already grinning, but when I hear her moving around in there, my smile gets even wider. My heart does an actual flip. And I practically spring into the room.
First, I’ll make her coffee, because she warned me last night that she’s not a morning person. Then, I’ll tell her the good news. Then I’ll give her a proper morning hello.
Maybe not in that order.
But when I find her fully dressed and slipping on her heels, a scowl on her face, I stop short just inside the door.
“Where are you going?”
Maybe just downstairs for coffee, I think, but I know that’s not it just from the look on her face. Something’s wrong.
“I’m going to my hotel, where do you think?”
“Uh...”
Having put on the last heel, she straightens, brushes her hair off her shoulders, and stares daggers at me. God, what did I do?
I start moving toward her. “What’s wrong? Why are you leaving?”
“Please. As if you care.”
What on earth happened? I reach for her. “Rita—”
“As if I do.”
I drop my arm.
“Like I said. I just had to get it out of my system. Mission accomplished.”
Then Rita storms out of my room and I’m left standing in the middle of it in shock, watching the door swoosh close with a damning click.
