by Ami LeCoeur
Rhonda took a seat, looking nervous as she straightened her skirt before clasping her hands in her lap. I wondered what Scott would think of her body language.
“What’s up?” I asked, leaning back and taking off my reading glasses.
“I was thinking. I loved taking the reins on the Valentine’s follow-up, and I think you were pleased with my job. I thought it was fun and interesting.”
“And…” I said, my eyebrows raised slightly as an encouraging grin spread on my face.
“I would love to have a little more responsibility for Easter,” she finished, looking up at me hopefully.
I smiled outright, impressed with her moxie. It took a lot of courage to ask a question like that. I always considered myself a fair boss, so she knew I’d at least listen to what she had to say. We’d been together long enough that I trusted her judgment and her abilities, and I was pretty sure she knew that. But I had kept a pretty tight rein by personally supervising the work—I’d never been much of a delegator. It took guts for her to approach me since there was no way for her to know what my decision would be. Until she was willing to ask.
“What do you have in mind?”
She perked up immediately, then surprised me by making her case in what was essentially a five-minute presentation right there in the office. She’d obviously given it a lot of thought and had paid attention in the creative meetings. Her suggestions even included some new ideas for a few rather stale campaigns. Sometimes the client was happy to go along with whatever worked in the past, but what Rhonda suggested would shake things up a bit. She’d definitely been paying attention to our accounts, I could tell.
“I like it,” I said. “Let’s talk more about it at the meeting on Monday. I’ll put you on the agenda for a fifteen-minute presentation. Will that work?” Rhonda beamed and nearly bounced away as she left my office.
That seemed like a good place to end the day, on a nice positive note. I got my things together and decided to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home. It was Friday, and I’d had a long week.
As I walked to the corner liquor store, I passed the location where they held the Farmers Market. It had been a while since I’d last stopped in, and I wondered about the apple vendor. I thought about him nearly every day, appreciating his organic honey when I added it to my morning tea.
Tomorrow was the weekend, and maybe I should stop in to say hello.
Chapter Nine
When I woke up on Saturday morning, I realized how much I missed the gym. I hadn’t been back all week, wanting to avoid having to deal with the aftermath of my breakup with Tony. It was one of the perils of dating someone you worked with, or someone you ran into on a regular basis.
I should have known better.
I stretched, trying to get the kinks out. I was stiff and grumpy, and that didn’t help my mood at all. My body screamed that I was in desperate need of physical exercise and release. And not the sexual kind, thank you very much, Scott. Well, Tony or no Tony. No more excuses.
I curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and my laptop, searching for a new gym. There were several to choose from, and unfortunately, I’d probably have to go check them out in person. But I needed to get moving, literally and immediately. After a few chores around the apartment, I put on some workout clothes and my running shoes, deciding to simply take to the streets. It had been a while since I’d taken the time to do that, but for the moment it made the most sense.
Outside, leaves were starting to bud on the trees. Another beautiful day. I inhaled a deep, grateful breath of fresh air before I took off down the sidewalk. I was never much for stretching, so I took it slow at first, giving my stiff muscles time to loosen up a bit as I went. I felt better almost instantly as the endorphins hit and my head started to clear.
I looked around me, realizing I was hardly the first person on the sidewalk. As soon as the weather turned around, it seemed like every runner in the city took to the streets.
As I traversed my route, I made it a point to stop by the Farmers Market. I jogged through the space, looking for my favorite apple vendor. He was deep in conversation with a customer when I approached but turned to me with a smile.
“Can you hold some apples for me? I’ll be back in a bit,” I said, still jogging in place.
He sketched a salute, and I ran off in the direction of my apartment. He was still wearing a Hawaiian shirt, I noticed, wondering how many he owned. Or if it was the only kind of shirt he owned.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I felt like a new woman. Running was the best decision I could have made that morning. I looked at the clock, worried that maybe I’d taken too long as I hurried out the door. But luckily, I was in time. The market was just breaking down for the day when I showed up.
I looked around, finally spying the familiar Hawaiian shirt. My friendly ‘Farmer John’ was loading up his truck and had just closed the tailgate as I approached. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.
“Just under the wire,” he said, grabbing a bag of apples from the bed of the truck. “I hoped you’d make it.”
“I’m glad I did. I’m addicted to these things.” I took the bag with a grin, then reached for my wallet. He held up his hands.
“Please, my treat. I’m always happy to reward a devoted customer.”
I hesitated, my hand still stuck in my purse. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t take them for free.”
A dimple appeared. “Not even if I insist?”
I shook my head. “Not even.”
He pursed his lips and stroked his chin, pulling at his neck as he did. Then he tilted his head to the side with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take me out for a cup of coffee to pay me back?”
I considered his proposal for several long moments. “I think I can swing that.”
We walked the short distance to the coffee shop at the corner, chatting about how the day had gone.
“I just realized something,” I said as we sat down with our coffee. He looked at me with an inquisitive smile. “I don’t know your name.”
He laughed, and his laugh was rich and warm. It made me laugh too.
“Well, my friends call me John,” he said, “and what’s yours?”
“Sarah.” It seemed so ridiculous that we hadn’t introduced ourselves before now. I was glad my ‘Farmer John’ had a name. Then I let out a laugh.
“What?” he asked, those friendly eyes still gleaming.
“Oh.” I hoped I wasn’t blushing. “I didn’t know your name, so I’ve thought of you as ‘Farmer John,’ which I guess is who you actually are. I hope you don’t mind.”
“That works.” He grinned. “Now that we’re old friends, Sarah, we can enjoy a cup.”
“My pleasure.” I held up my cup. “Here’s to John, the man who sweetens my tea every day.”
“It’s not me,” he joked. “But I’ll be happy to thank the bees for you.”
“Well, be a little careful. Don’t get too close to them,” I warned.
He gave me a very serious look. “I’ll wear protection. I always practice safe beekeeping.”
I cracked up again, and we spent another few minutes laughing as he told me about the work he was doing at the farm, getting things ready for spring. I loved hearing him talk about his work. It brought back the good old days with my grandparents, a time I treasured. I was actually disappointed when it was time to go, but I knew I’d run into him again at the Market, and we each had things to do.
On the way home, I smiled, appreciating how his stories had deepened our sense of connection. I found myself thinking even more about my grandparents as I swung my bag of apples. But this time, I didn’t miss them as much as I had previously. For some reason, I thought they might even be smiling down on me.
Chapter Ten
Right on cue, Scott picked me up at seven. I leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek as I climbed into the car. Only he leaned back, away from me, something obviously bo
thering him.
“A bit overdressed, aren’t we? For a simple movie?” he said with a touch of sarcasm.
Surprise shot through me. “Excuse me?”
I looked down at myself, at my sweater dress and riding boots. “I think this is a perfectly attractive movie outfit.” True, it wasn’t as casual as his jeans and sweater, but it wasn’t a cocktail dress either. I thought he preferred dresses to pants? And besides, I liked to look nice, regardless of where I was going.
At that, he turned and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, you just surprised me. I didn’t expect you would need to show off to compensate—”
“Compensate? Whatever for?” I did my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Just because I like to look nice?”
He glanced at me with a frown. “I’m sorry to put it that way, please don’t be upset. But you’re such a beautiful woman, and so smart. You shouldn’t feel the need to dress in a way to impress me or anyone else. Unless your self-esteem is suffering a little right now, and then, of course...”
I wrapped my arms around myself and bit my lip. “I didn’t think it was.” At least, not until I got into this car with you, I couldn’t help adding in my head.
I was more than a little upset with him, and his words weighed heavy on me as I sat in the darkened theater. He’d chosen an esoteric psychological thriller with a highbrow artsy aspect to it. I liked all kinds of movies, but I generally enjoyed them more when the person I was with didn’t mutter comments under his breath the whole time.
When we’d first come in, he began by commenting on the way the couple in front of us cuddled even before the movie began. “They’re trying too hard,” he murmured, nodding toward them. “They want everybody to see how in love they are.” He scoffed, shaking his head.
“Maybe they’re really crazy about each other,” I replied, trying to whisper quietly enough to avoid being overheard. “Or they don’t get a lot of time together, so they make the most of the time they have.”
He smirked, shaking his head again. “You would say that.”
A spark of anger made my cheeks burn. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Before I could say more, the lights went down, and the movie began. I turned away and dropped the subject.
WTF was going on here?
Was he just being pissy because I left without waiting for him to wake up? Was his ego that fragile or was he trying to make me pay for some imagined slight?
I wasn’t used to this kind of treatment, and I didn’t like it. I certainly didn’t like feeling the need to constantly defend myself around this man. He did have that way of inferring that nobody was a smart or clever as he was. The man was intelligent, that’s for sure. But I was no slouch. I had always prided myself on my own intelligence. I’d built a million-dollar business, for God’s sake.
But something else was going on tonight. Apparently, I wasn’t the only target he had his sights on. I’d always kept my chatter to a minimum once the movie started, but Scott didn’t seem to think that was necessary.
“Look at them, making out in public. I could write an entire thesis on them and their inappropriate public behavior.”
“Shh!” came a voice from behind us.
“Excuse me?” Scott turned slightly in his seat.
“Can you please be quiet?” the man hissed.
“Let’s just watch the movie,” I whispered, tugging on Scott’s sleeve. If I was as insecure as Scott seemed to think, I would have died of embarrassment. At least for the moment, I was glad somebody else pointed out how rude Scott was being so I wouldn’t have to. I spent the rest of the movie listening to him snort and scoff under his breath at every twist and turn on-screen.
As strange as the man sitting next to me that night was, we’d had a pretty good time just a couple days earlier. I wondered if he’d simply had a bad day. There had to be a reason why he was acting like such a jerk all of a sudden. I wanted to ask him about it after the movie ended, but he cut me off before I had the chance to say a word.
“I can’t believe films like this don’t have experts on-hand to advise. It would save the public the pain of swallowing garbage like that.”
I frowned. He’d picked out the movie, and while it wasn’t necessarily something I’d have chosen, the story seemed to hold together pretty well.
He was going on about all the places where it was obviously wrong, and I started to wonder if we’d seen the same movie. “What was so unbelievable about it?”
“Are you kidding? Jeez, where do I start? For one thing, a competent analyst doesn’t talk to their patients the way the one in the movie did. Getting all passionate about the work they were doing together, forcing the client to move forward even when she was still clearly traumatized.”
He had a point. “Oh, I can see that. It’s sort of a common trope, though, isn’t it? I mean, they only have a couple of hours to get the whole story in.”
“Hell yes it’s a common trope, but it’s a cheap and sloppy one. For another thing, people with repressed memories don’t act or react the way the girl on film did. The whole reason repression happens in the first place is to keep things out of conscious memory—it’s a protective mechanism. Her memories were too close to the surface to be considered truly repressed.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize that. Thanks for the insight. I guess it’s a good thing I came to this movie with you. Imagine how misguided and erroneous my opinion of it could have been otherwise.” I said it sincerely with only the tiniest hint of sarcasm. It was an attempt to get him to smile, but he seemed determined to be irritated. He must have had a terrible day—that was the only excuse for the way he was acting.
This time, he asked first if I wanted to go to his place, which I saw as an improvement over his just driving us there. Since I’d already expected to end up there, it was a fairly easy answer. And the fact that he asked helped ease my earlier concerns.
I was greatly relieved that by the time we got up to his apartment, his entire mood had improved tremendously. He was calmer, sweeter, even a bit flirtatious. Certainly a lot more like he’d been the previous time. When he pulled me closer and nuzzled my throat, I relaxed and wrapped my arms around his neck, ready for more excellent foreplay.
“Don’t do that, please,” he said, extricating himself. “I feel like you’re strangling me. There’s no need to clutch at me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize.” I placed my hands on his shoulders this time. He ran his hands down my back, fondling my backside before pulling up the bottom of my dress to skim my thighs.
“A thong?” he murmured. “So what is our naughty girl anticipating?” He fondled my ass as he frowned at me.
“What do you mean?” I didn’t understand why he was scrutinizing me like this. And his overbearing demeanor wasn’t giving me a clue about where his thoughts were going.
“It’s obvious. You’re aching for it.” He slapped my bare buttock. Hard. “And I can’t wait to give it to you.” He slapped it again, harder. Then he rubbed the area with one hand as he worked his fingers from the other hand inside my cleft, stroking my button. Even with my ass stinging, I was starting to get turned on. Then he slapped the same area again.
“Ow!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not wet.” It was almost an accusation.
I pulled back slightly. “We just started. I don’t get wet on demand.”
He shook his head. “You’re a healthy young woman. You should be more responsive. You were pretty happy with last time. What’s with the repression tonight?”
“Repression?” Seriously?
“You’re wearing a thong. You obviously came prepared. Then you grab onto me as soon as we’re alone. And now you’re pouting like an angry schoolgirl who isn’t getting her way. Come on, Sarah, you’re sending seriously mixed messages.”
Angry schoolgirl? Mixed messages? Something about that comment just set me off. That was enough for me. I pulled away entirely
. “You know what? I need to go.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.
“Wait, what? You’re just going to leave like that? You get me hard and walk out the door? Are you seriously going to leave me with blue balls? What sort of cheap cunt game is this?”
I turned back to him as I reached the door. “I’m the only one here who isn’t playing games. If you want someone to kick around and criticize, get a dog, a stuffed one. Or better yet, a blow-up doll. Maybe she’ll be quiet and submissive and do everything the way you want her to.” And with that, I left.
I stood outside the building for a moment, angry and upset. This was more than just a bad day. I stood there thinking of all the things I could have said, and happy that I hadn’t given him more ammunition to criticize and analyze me in an attempt to justify his own boorish behavior.
Flagging down a cab, I realized I was shaking with anger. I forced down my emotions, doing my best to control my thoughts so I could make it home without exploding into outrage or dissolving into tears.
It was clear this was not the man for me, regardless of how intelligent he might think himself to be—or maybe because of it.
In the cab, I thought back to the times I’d tried to read his book. I’d picked it up no fewer than three times since he’d given it to me, but each time I’d put it aside with a scowl. There were too many paragraphs of exposition—paragraphs that rambled on and on, peppered with psychobabble and endless analysis throughout. It made the story impossible to follow. If I couldn’t follow a story, I certainly couldn’t stay interested in it.
I was beginning to wonder if Scott wasn’t exactly the same as his book. Way too confusing and convoluted, way too full of himself for me to be interested in, or even spend much time trying to figure out.
In some ways, he was even more committed to his work than I was. Only, in his case, his work made him obsessed with picking people apart. And I certainly wasn’t going to be yet another of his case studies. You had to be pretty mean-spirited to constantly find fault—especially when you had at least as many faults as the people you were criticizing or belittling.