“Thank you! I’m glad she’s fighting back. I’ll be calling her shortly to let her know the results of my review of her work.”
“She’ll be relieved. She’s getting ready to work some damned long hours to keep from losing too much financial ground.”
Rick returned to his office and called Morgan.
“Hey, good news! At first, she did think you may have outsourced your assignments, but as she spoke to John, she realized the charges might be bogus. She’s restoring you to the active list at two articles a month. Be ready to write four articles a month for her within the next three months!”
“Yes, she called me, about 15 minutes ago! I’m doing the Snoopy Happy Dance – can you tell?”
“It sounds like it! What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to finish the grading Grace gave to me. She was generous helping me, so it’s the least I can do. I’ll start with two assignments next week, so I’ll keep tutoring students or working at the Writing Center, but I think I can relax just a bit.”
“Excellent. I’ll start the clock on John. If he doesn’t call Lily to retract his allegations, the lawsuit is on. If he does, I’ll shred the papers.”
“Rick, thank you for believing in me.”
“You got it. Stay in touch and let me know what happens on your end.”
“I will!” After Morgan hung up, she covered her mouth with shaking fingers and exhaled a long sigh. “Thank God! I’d better call Ian and let him know the good news!”
“So, your attorney found out that Mack definitely lied about you outsourcing! Excellent! I knew you’d be vindicated, Morgan.” Ian grinned, knowing his favorite writer would still be working with him.
“Yes! I am just so relieved right now, Ian. I was ready to work 20-hour days, grading, tutoring, writing with my remaining clients, working at the Writing Center, whatever it would take to keep from losing too much income.”
“Eck! No sleep for the exhausted, that! What are you doing tonight? We need to celebrate!”
“I was going to do some more grading. Grace gave me what looks like a foot-high stack of assignments. She’s really swamped.”
“Stop at 5. I’m taking you to dinner and we’re celebrating your return to writing – and the restoration of your good reputation.”
Morgan teared up at Ian’s last words. “Ian, thank you for believing in me. I’ll be ready when you stop by here.”
***
The next Monday, Morgan returned to Lifestyles and received her next two assignments and checks for the work she had previously done.
“Morgan, I’m sorry I had to put you on reserve, but the allegations from Mr. Mack were just too serious to ignore. Fortunately for you and us, you chose to fight back. Speaking of which, Mr. Mack still hasn’t called me to retract his allegations. If he does, I’ll call your attorney.”
“Lily, you did what you needed to do. Lifestyles has a reputation to uphold, so you did the right thing. John is the one who’s in a pile of deep . . . schtuff, especially if he refuses to admit he lied about me. I’m just relieved to be writing even two assignments per month. The damage won’t be as severe now. I’d better go – I’m meeting with Ian on some work I’ve done, then I want to get started on these with Mia – and do some more of that grading.”
At home, Morgan called Mia to set up a research planning meeting. Hanging up, she wiped suddenly sweaty palms over her shorts and called Ian.
“Hey, I have some work that needs editing. When can you meet with me?”
“How about this Wednesday, noon, at The Shed?”
“Mmmm! I predict a quiche in my near future! Sounds perfect!”
Ian chuckled, relieved to hear the happiness in Morgan’s voice. “See you at noon, then!”
That evening, Morgan decided to take a break by walking through the university. As she passed through the older parts of the tree-lined campus, she felt herself slowly relaxing. She saw the bright, transparent light as it outlined the leaves on the trees, the shrubs and the sturdy old buildings. Passing the ROTC building, then Guthrie Hall, the business complex, she reflected on the twists and turns her fortunes had taken. John, I might not be rich financially, but I have my values and ethics. Those are much more precious than your pathetic little store. I’d feel sorry for you, but it would be wasted on you. You’re just a sad little caricature of a man. As she approached Milton Hall and the Corbett Center Student Union, she thought about her writing business and her short-term plans. I’m nearly done with the grading. I’ll devote a few hours a week to tutoring and working in the Writing Center and start to build back up on my magazine articles. And for damned sure, I am not returning to John’s store! If he hasn’t gotten that message by now, he never will.
***
That Wednesday, Morgan arrived at The Shed, a local restaurant that specialized in foods made with produce grown locally. Entering the restaurant, she spotted Ian and wound her way to his table. She ordered her quiche, with a salad and iced tea.
Before their food orders came, Ian pulled Morgan’s articles out and began reading slowly through them. As he found areas he found troublesome, he scrawled notes in red pen. Morgan sat silently, watching his editing and drinking her tea. Ian shifted his position as he continued working.
As he worked, he muttered to himself: “This is good. Excellent wording – it makes a good point. This – needs to be worked on. Lookin’ good, Morgan. This one’s going to be a strong magazine article.”
Neither was aware of John Mack coming into the restaurant. The old-fashioned screen door creaked and slammed, but it was a part of the background noise of the restaurant. Morgan was deep in concentration, listening to her editor – and watching the play of thoughts and emotions on his craggy, handsome face. When she heard John’s voice behind her, she jumped visibly.
“So, you still insist that your way is the better way, do you, Morgan? You’ll be regrettin’ that real soon,” John’s tenor voice grated.
Morgan reached for her patience, not wanting to lose her temper in a public area. She clenched her fists, then opened her hands and spread them wide, palms down, on the table. Breathing deeply, she stood, facing her former employer.
“That’s really . . . odd, John. Given that my attorney has assured me that I have an actionable lawsuit pending against you. Let’s review and rephrase just who will be regretting what. You called my magazine editor. You lied to her and told her that I had outsourced my work. You put my livelihood in danger. I didn’t do any of that. So, to my mind, John, you are going to be regretting things in the very near future, not me. Now, leave me alone. I’m going over my magazine articles with Ian.” Turning, she sat down, pointedly ignoring John.
While Morgan spoke to John, Ian sat back and watched her. His eyes flicked to John – he didn’t like what he saw. Possessiveness showed in John’s creased, ice-blue eyes. Greed. Anger. Ian felt his muscles bunching as he watched the big storekeeper. As Morgan finished speaking, Ian saw John flush a deep, dull red.
John’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a good rejoinder to Morgan’s words. He became aware that the small dining area had become quiet as other diners became aware of the tense interplay between him and Morgan. Looking around, he saw the attention of others trained on him, waiting for his response. He glanced at his business counterparts, seated at a large table at the opposite end of the dining area, seeing encouragement on some faces and dismay on others. He decided to go with the encouragement.
“That piddlin’ little lawsuit? It’s nothin’ more than a pesky little dust devil. It’ll blow away, just like the real ones do. And you’ll come crawlin’ back to my store. Just don’t wait too long.” He turned and walked to his table with a triumphant grin making the creases on his face even deeper.
Morgan looked at Ian, releasing a long, tense breath. “Wow! He still refuses to get it!”
“Morgan, he’s trouble. You’d better tell your attorney what just happened.”
“I know. I’ll
be calling him when I get home. Will you provide a statement if he asks for one?”
“You know I will. You’re a damned good writer and your talents would be wasted behind the cash register.” As he said the last sentence, Ian made sure to raise his voice, knowing John would hear it. He returned to Morgan’s articles, resuming his editing. While he worked, the server brought their orders. Moving their papers and Morgan’s computer to one side, they continued working as they ate. Morgan’s stomach fell – she heard a familiar, heavy tread. John had returned to their table.
“Morgan, when will you get it through your thick skull that what you’re doin’ ain’t work? You play around on the Innernet all day long. You don’t work. ‘Work’ means gettin’ up early every day, puttin’ the coffee pot on top of the stove, boltin’ down your breakfast, leavin’ your house and comin’ to my store. It means puttin’ in a full 8-hour day and earnin’ a paycheck that I sign. You could have a guaranteed income if you’d just come to your damn senses . . .”
John’s words were suddenly cut off as Ian shot out of his chair and stood nose-to-nose, facing the taller store owner down.
“Didn’t Ms. Adams tell you to leave her alone a few minutes ago? What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand?”
“Sir, ma’am, shall I call the police for you?” the manager asked. He had been summoned by a server who saw the confrontation becoming more heated.
Ian switched his attention to the manager for a few brief seconds. “Yes, if you would, please. Now, Mack, go sit the hell down and leave her alone.” He returned to his chair, covering Morgan’s work with his large hand.
Ten minutes later, two Las Cruces police officers strolled in. Hooking their thumbs in their equipment belts, they sat and spoke with Morgan, Ian and the restaurant manager. As Morgan pointed John out, the taller, more muscular officer walked to his table and pointed toward the door with his thumb. As John walked out, he followed.
“Mr. Mack, when you’re out in public and someone you’re trying to talk to tells you they don’t want to talk to you, you’re supposed to respect that and leave them alone. If you don’t, it becomes harassment.” The officer paused for a few seconds to consult his notes. “Ms. Adams says that she’s been forced to seek legal assistance because you’ve slandered her to one of her clients. She reported that, in spite of her request to you to leave her alone, you came up to her again and continued to bother her about coming back to work for you. She doesn’t want to talk to you. You have to respect that and leave her alone – or risk arrest. What’ll it be?”
John shifted his heavy frame as he tried to hold his temper. “Look, officer, I don’t intend to bother nobody. It’s just that I know better than she does that what she’s doin’ is bound to end in failure and I want her to come back to work for me.”
“Is it more likely to end in failure if you, say, slander her to her clients?” asked the officer pointedly.
John had the grace to blush. Laughing slightly, he said, “Hey, I’m just gonna use everthin’ I can to get her to come back to my store. Can’t blame me for that, can ya?”
“Actually, if you’re slandering her, yes, we could. She can sue you. You’re standing on very shaky ground, so you’d better stop it right now.” As he spoke, the big officer’s voice hardened. “What you’re doing could be considered harassment, which is a crime. Leave her alone.”
At the end of Morgan’s and Ian’s editing session, Ian paid for their meals and Morgan said she would go through Ian’s changes. They walked out to their cars and, as Ian walked Morgan to her car, he looked up and down Valley Drive, looking for John Mack. Not seeing him, he put his hand on Morgan’s arm, then pulled it back as he felt an immediate and visceral reaction.
“Morgan, I have a suggestion. Rather than meeting at restaurants to do our editing work, let’s change things. Mack’s not going to stop harassing you, no matter what the police tell him. He’s a jealous egomaniac and, in his perfect little world, he’s right and what he says, goes. I don’t want to deal with that braying jackass any more, so I’d like for us to work at your place or mine. Same schedule, but, depending on where we meet, one of us would either bring or prepare the meal. Deal?”
Morgan gave it a few seconds of thought. She liked the idea, but she was nervous about having Ian in her home. It was hard enough for her to hide her attraction to him in public – what would happen at her house or his? Still, the idea of not having to worry about John was . . . appealing. As was the thought of being truly alone with Ian. Throwing caution out the window, she nodded.
“Good idea. Let’s meet at my house next week. We’ll set up a day and time and I’ll make the food.” As she finished talking, she felt her heart pounding.
Ian smiled. “I’ll be there. For the record, I love coffee cake with streusel topping.” Winking one blue eye, he tipped her a casual salute, blew a kiss to Morgan and went off to his car.
Morgan returned home and sitting at her computer, she made the changes Ian had asked for. The work went quickly because she agreed with most of the changes Ian wanted, knowing that what he had suggested made the premise of the article stronger. Her fingers slowed on her keyboard as she thought to Ian’s suggestion that they move their working meetings to her house or his . . .
She opened her door, inviting him in. The fragrant scents of coffee and streusel-topped coffee cake wafted from the kitchen, causing Ian’s eyes to close in delight. They sat on her couch with dessert plates and coffee cups on the coffee table and began working. Ian edged closer and closer to Morgan as they worked. Eventually, his hard thigh was pressed firmly against her as he pointed to a phrase he felt needed revision.
Morgan, feeling the hard pressure of his thigh along hers, found it hard to breathe easily. She forced herself to concentrate on his words.
“Yes. I see what you mean. I can change this.”
Ian set the article down and, turning to Morgan, set his arm behind her on the back of the sofa. He took her hand and laced his fingers in between hers, pulling her closer. He lowered his head toward hers, brushing his lips against hers. At the soft contact, he moaned. Tipping his head, he changed the position of his lips on hers, making it easier for him to penetrate her lips with his tongue, which began to explore the dark recesses of her mouth.
Morgan, feeling the intimate invasion, felt her heart rate zoom into the danger zone. She smelled the woodsy scent of Ian’s cologne, liking the smell. She felt his arms go around her back, his hands roaming over her back, hips, sides and under her breasts. Feeling the touches, she felt her desire for him ratchet up.
Ian, feeling her ready response, leaned into Morgan, pushing her back onto the sofa cushions. His legs tangled with hers as they continued to kiss intimately.
Morgan’s arms went around Ian’s neck, bringing him even closer. She followed her body’s instincts and allowed her tongue to tangle with his, imitating the thrusts and parries of lovemaking. As her tongue played with his, she felt his physical response – his penis began pressing hard into her thigh, growing and pressing for her secret place. She moaned . . .
. . . And jumped. What was that sound? She blushed, realizing she had really moaned as her fantasy grew ever hotter. Blushing, she got up and went to look at herself in her bathroom mirror. Wow! Her eyes were so . . . bright and her cheeks were flushed. Get a grip on yourself, girl. He’s your editor, not your lover. Repeating this to herself, she turned the cold water and splashed it over her wrists. Returning to her computer, she forced herself to focus on her work.
In his office, Ian was having similar difficulties. He kept thinking of the next week’s editing meeting and his red pen slipped out of his hand. Shaking his head, he got up and grabbed a bottle of chilled water, scolding himself silently. You damned idiot, she’s a colleague, not your girlfriend. Still, he found it difficult to concentrate on the editing he had scheduled for the day. His thoughts kept straying to Morgan – her large eyes, her shapely, petite form and her long, pepper-and-salt hair. Fina
lly, throwing his pen against the wall, he swore under his breath, went to the bathroom and stripped down – for a long, ice-cold shower.
Chapter 6
Ian, feeling nervous, called Morgan.
“Hey, I’m just calling to set up our meeting for this week. I’m free on Tuesday, any time between 9:30 and noon. What works for you?” Ian asked Morgan.
“Let me check . . . okay, I have a meeting with two magazine clients tomorrow and Wednesday, so Tuesday’s perfect. How about 9:30? I can make breakfast.”
“Excellent. Remember - coffee cake,” said Ian softly. And, preferably you, Morgan, dressed only in a sexy red teddy. I’d prefer to . . . edit in your bedroom, on your bed. Once we’re done, I’ll start making hot love to you.
“Uh, coffee cake, it is.” After hanging up, Morgan grimaced, knowing she’d need to go through her cookbooks to find a streusel coffee cake recipe. She decided that ham-and-cheese omelets would be a good choice, along with strong coffee. She scribbled a note to herself to find a recipe and buy the needed ingredients.
On Tuesday morning, Morgan got up earlier than usual and took a little more care with her appearance than she normally did. In the kitchen, she flipped her cookbook open to the recipe she had chosen and started working on the coffee cake. One hour later, she sniffed in appreciation, knowing she had made a good choice. She mixed the spices and brown sugar for the streusel topping and set it aside. Straightening out her living room and kitchen, she heard the timer ding. After checking the coffee cake, she placed it on a trivet to cool down.
Ian drove up to Morgan’s house just before 9:30. Before getting out of his car, he warned himself to behave around his star client. Running his shaking fingers through his hair, he exhaled nervously.
Morgan heard the doorbell chime. Willing her heart to behave, she opened the door and smiled brightly at her editor.
Freelance Love Page 4