“Asshole.”
Eddie cleared his throat. “Anyway, Joseph claimed ignorance, which I partially believe. Dumb of him not to know what his employees are making, but he's definitely learned his lesson now. He and Kinerian are going to meet with you on compensation.”
“Eddie, I don't need compensation.”
“Yes, sweetheart, you do. You need a raise to get you to a fair wage. Even if you quit soon, you want to have the high salary to get a better salary at your next job. Now, I also talked to my lawyer--”
“Eddie!” I threw the throw pillow I was clutching on the couch against the wall in frustration.
“Chill. He said that you have grounds to sue, and they'll probably offer you a nice number to ensure that you don't.”
“How nice is nice?” I asked, suspicious.
“Don't settle for anything less than a hundred and fifty grand.”
My feet fell off the coffee table. “You're kidding me.”
“No, babe. Remember, your salary was at least twenty below everyone else's for five years. Add in a bit for what you would have made in interest, and some for damages, and they should be offering you a lot more. If you can't get them to go at least to one fifty, you need to prepared to tell them to talk to my lawyer. I'll email you his details.”
I stared around at my town home. With a compensation package like that, I practically could have bought this with cash. Add in what I should be getting with the buyout, and the insurance money from my apartment, and I really didn't need to work for a while. I could enter the marriage with some of my own money, and not feel bad about using Eddie's.
“Schroeder? You still there?”
“Huh? Yeah, I'm still here. Wow.”
He chuckled. “No wow. That's just what you're worth.”
“That...that makes a lot of things a lot easier.” It would have helped me to make that a few years ago too, I reflected. I wouldn't have been in the crappy apartment that burned down; I could have afforded a nicer place.
“You are so not egotistical. You are so cute.” I could hear the love through the phone. “Sleep well, love.”
“You too, hon.” I hung up, and smiled. I was regaining control over my life.
Thursday night I went to the Apple store after work, and bought the most tricked out laptop they had. I'd always wanted one, and drooled over the one Eddie had. Since IDI was refusing to buy me a new one – I could drive into the office if I needed to work late, since I worked so close – I didn't have to get a Windows machine for compatibility with the servers. A Mac it was, made even better by knowing the company's compensation package would pay for it.
Negotiations were even easier than Eddie had thought they would be. Joseph was practically groveling, and the acquiring company was close to it as well. They offered to raise my salary by thirty grand, and a bonus of two hundred thousand. Keeping in mind Alan's tire slashing, I also demanded a spot in the parking garage, normally only given to upper management. I was rather proud of myself for making that demand, and even more happy that they readily obliged. Eddie laughed when I told him about it, but was very happy for me.
I spent Friday evening and the weekend researching different times in history, making a list of when I wanted to visit. I also went shopping. Fun, “take these into the past” shopping.
I found a simple linen sack that was similar to some that I had seen in the past, although with much sturdier seams. A small sewing kit that I had picked up at the hotel in New York was inspiration for a travel version, and instead of the thread being wrapped around cardboard, I used some plain cotton fabric. I had found a soft-sided canteen with a leather holder – looked vintage enough for the casual glance. Internet research showed me that iodine worked as a water purifier as well as disinfectant for wounds, and was part of most emergency survival kits – I got the crystals instead of the tablets, and hoped that they would travel well.
Gems, I left for Eddie to get. Not only did he have the big bucks, I didn't know where to get them. Food, however, I felt more confident about getting. While I wanted to try some food in the past, I also didn't want to get ill. Beef and fish jerky, unsliced bread, and rounds of Gouda cheese were wrapped in cloth and packed in the bag, just waiting to be taking back in time for munchies.
While we talked on the phone before bed each night, I didn't tell him of the travel bag. I mentioned briefly looking into times to visit, and he said he had been doing the same, but mostly we discussed our days and how things were going at work. However, I was sure not to mention the problems with Alan. No way I was going there.
Tuesday night Eddie apologized; he wasn't going to be able to come down the next day. The deal in Chicago wasn't looking too good, and he had to fly back there for the next couple of days. I was obviously disappointed.
“Baby, this is how my job works. We've talked about that.”
I bit my lip. “I know that. I just miss you, and was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Do you want me to quit?” He asked bluntly.
“Eddie, no! Will you quit asking me that? I don't want you leaving your job for me. If you're unhappy there, you can leave – but I'm not going to be responsible for you leaving your job. You keep saying that me being afraid of being fired is a symptom of something else. Well, maybe your keeping asking me if you should quit is a symptom of something else as well.”
He was silent on the other end of the phone.
“Hon, you still there?” I asked after a minute.
“Yeah. I'm sorry. I'll stop presuming you want me to leave.”
“Good,” I said firmly. “If I want you to do something, I'll point blank ask you, or tell you. I'm not going to pussyfoot around the situation. I've seen my mom do that to my dad for years, and you saw how well it worked out for them. If I want you to quit, I'll tell you. If I want you to come down to Dallas, I'll tell you. If I want steak instead of chicken for dinner, I'll tell you.”
“Good girl.”
“And?”
“Hmmm?”
“This is a two-way street, buddy. This is where you say the same thing that I just said to you.”
Eddie laughed. “Yes, ma'am. I won't drop hints. See? I even did it in less words than you.” I made a crude comment. “I'll have to take a rain check on that until I'm there on Friday. But then, yes, we can make love all night long,” he said, a bit more delicately than I had.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Good night.”
“Schroeder, someone sent you flowers,” the receptionist entered my office with her hands full.
“Ooh!” I squealed, and jumped up to take the large vase from Barbara and place it down the edge of my desk. I swept the papers on the desktop into a pile, and moved the two dozen red roses into an ideal spot.
“There's chocolates too – I couldn't carry them both. I'll go get them for you.”
Even though I had a good idea who they were from, I carefully removed the card from the arrangement. The writing was in the florist's feminine handwriting, and simply said “thinking of you, Edward”. A bit more formal than I expected, but hey, he sent me flowers, probably trying to make up for not coming into town today.
Barbara returned with a large box of Godiva chocolates, which I received with eyes wide. Yummy. Barbara looked like she was about to ask for one, but I had no plans on sharing – the chocolates or the man.
I popped the ribbon off of the box while dialing Eddie's number from memory. I picked out a dark chocolate truffle and pleasantly discovered it had almond creme filling while waiting for Eddie to answer.
“Hello?”
“Mmrph mrh fmr t' mprchmates.”
“What?”
I swallowed, and tried again. “Thank you for the flowers and chocolates.”
His voice stilled on the other end. “What flowers and chocolates? I didn't send you any.”
I looked at the box of candy suspiciously. “Seriously?”
“Seriously, I didn't send you anything.”
“That bastard,” I breathed, realizing it must have been Alan. The phone clattered to the desk as I fumbled for my garbage can, and stuck my finger down my throat to force myself to vomit.
“Schroeder? Schroeder! What the hell is going on?” Eddie's voice sounded tinny coming from the receiver, but I didn't pick the phone back up until I knew there was nothing left in my stomach.
“Sorry, I'm back.” I reached for the warm can of Coke on my desk – anything was better than the nasty taste in my mouth.
“What the hell is going on?” He repeated. “Who is a bastard? Why are you throwing up?”
“I think it was Alan.” I examined a few pieces, and thought I saw what looked like pin pricks. “Bastard tried to poison me,” I thought out loud, forgetting I was on the phone.
“What?” I heard him excuse himself to someone on the other end, and when he talked again a moment later, was clearly walking while talking. “I'll be on the next plane there. Why would Alan poison you? And why would you think they were from me?”
This was not going to be pleasant. “He signed your name. And I think he's not happy that I got him fired.”
Eddie sighed, trying to process everything. “How many did you eat? You need to go to the hospital.”
“I'm fine,” I assured him, and myself. “I only ate the one, and I just threw it up.”
“One made you sick? Get to the emergency room now, Schroeder.”
“No, once I realized they weren't from you I made myself throw up. It didn't have a chance to do anything – I already had a full stomach from breakfast. I'll be fine. They wouldn't do anything other than pump my stomach at the ER anyway, and I've already basically done that.”
“If you feel sick at all--” he emphasized that again, “--at all – you call 911, you hear me?”
“I promise.”
“Why do you think it's Alan? He was fired weeks ago; he can't still be pissed. It's a little late to try to get revenge.”
“Um, well....”
“Schroeder.”
“I had it all under control.”
“Schroeder.”
“Really, it was no big deal.”
“Schroeder.”
“Who'd have thought he'd escalate to this?”
“Schroeder. If you don't tell me what's going on, I swear to God--”
“All right! He's been harassing me.”
Eddie grew quiet. “For how long?”
“It started the day after he got fired. It hasn't been much--”
“What has he done.” It wasn't a question.
“He signed me up for spam. It was no big deal, I just got a new email account. And I had a flat tire last week. It might have been random, but it looked more like someone slashed it. I don't know that Alan did either, though. I can't prove anything.”
Eddie sighed. “Look, I'm almost to the airport. I'll be there in a few hours. Do not leave the building, you hear me? And if you feel sick, you call 911.” I didn't point out that those were mutually exclusive; he was mad enough at me as it was. “Schroeder?”
“I'm here. I'm sorry. I love you,” I tried.
“I love you too. We'll talk more when I get there.” Yeah, I wasn't looking forward to that. I had the feeling the “talking” would be between his hand and my rear end.
Chapter Eight
Eddie must have caught a flight as soon as he hit the airport, because it was less than three hours later when he rushed into my office.
Delight at seeing my husband appeared on my face. Dylan quietly hoisted herself out of one of the visitors’ chairs to give us some privacy, closing the door behind her.
I stood to hug him, suddenly unsure. He took me in his arms, and put a hand to my forehead. “How are you feeling? Sick at all? Feverish? Nauseous?” He looked into my eyes, trying to read my soul. Or so it felt.
“I'm fine,” I told him, and hugged him tightly.
“Oh, baby, you are going to be the death of me.”
We stood in the embrace for a few minutes before I pulled back a bit to look up at him. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” I whispered, eyes full of tears.
Eddie lowered his mouth on top of mine to kiss me passionately. The sounds of conversation and laughter came through the door as people walked by, and we broke off the kiss remembering we were in public. “We'll talk about it when we get home. Where's the chocolate?” He looked around, but I pulled the box of candy out from a drawer.
“I didn't want someone seeing it and helping themselves.”
“Good thinking, for once,” he said absentmindedly, examining the outside first, then the individual pieces. I flinched at the implied insult, but knew I deserved it. Inspection done, he opened the door and folded his large frame into one of my visitor's chairs.
“Yes?”
“Don't mind me. You still have a few hours left of work. I'll just sit here and be sure nothing else happens.”
I lasted an hour under his intent gaze. I locked my workstation with a sigh, and grabbed my purse from its drawer. “I'm not going to be able to get any more work done. Let's go.”
He glanced at his watch. “You're okay to take off an hour early?”
“I worked through lunch. They got their eight hours.”
“You haven't eaten today?” He asked, exasperated.
“I ate breakfast.” Under his stare, I relented. “And threw it up. And no, I couldn't get lunch – you told me I wasn't allowed to leave.”
“You could have ordered in,” he grumbled, but led the way to the elevators anyway.
“And then you'd yell at me for trusting that Alan wouldn't have intercepted the food along the way. Uh-uh. I wasn't going there,” I said quietly so no one would overhear.
Eddie kissed the top of my head in apology. “Sorry. Let's go home and I can make you some dinner.”
When we got inside, I looked around for his bag. “Where's your stuff? Do you want to change out of that suit?”
“It's in Chicago. I told you, I came straight here.” He tone broke no discussion. I swallowed.
“Um, your sweats are clean, if you want to wear those. In fact, let me go find them for you.” I disappeared into the bedroom and went through the drawers trying to find clothes for him to wear.
He followed me, tossing his suit coat on the bed and unbuttoning his shirt. “Sweetheart, I'm not angry with you.” It was my turn to stare at him. “Okay, maybe a little. I'm concerned, and worried. You don't need to be afraid of me, ever.” He wadded up his shirt and threw it over to the hamper I bought in his absence. He put on the sweatpants I held out to him, and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me into his lap.
I put my arms around him, and wiggled to get comfortable. “I'm not afraid of you.”
“Then why didn't you tell me Alan was harassing you?”
My wiggling turned uncomfortable. “I didn't want you to get mad.”
“And why didn't you want me to get mad?”
“'cause it's bad to be upset.”
“What? Honey, who told you that? It's normal to be upset and mad. What's bad is when you let those emotions take control over your actions.”
I didn't say anything, just curled up small in his lap and buried my head in his neck.
“Have I given you any reason to fear me? No, don't ignore the question, I'm serious. Was it the spanking? Again, I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again. Have I given you other cause to be afraid of me?”
“I wish you would let that go,” I muttered into his throat. “The spanking was nothing. I liked it, it turned me on, and I'm ashamed that I want you to do it again – purely as a sensual experience. Drop it. I'm not afraid of you.”
“Then what's going on, Schroeder? Talk to me. Was it Richard—Roger?” He corrected himself.
I didn't want to talk about him, and I was glad when my stomach rumbled. “Can I get changed?”
“Fine, I'll make some dinner.” He kissed me on the cheek, and stood me up and gave me a swat on my behind.
&
nbsp; “Hey!”
“I thought you said you liked it?” He teased, and left me to be alone.
Fifteen minutes later I entered the kitchen, face and body scrubbed pink from the shower. I hoped he couldn't see the evidence of my crying in the shower, but with the look on his face I saw quickly before he schooled his expression, he did.
“Can I help?” I asked, peering around him into the steaming pot of water.
“I'm good. Spaghetti okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. I'll clear off the table.”
“What is that stuff, anyway?” He asked, stirring the sauce.
“Ooh, glad you asked.” He groaned good-naturedly. “I was thinking about what we could bring with us when we travel. What would be invisible to people, or however you want to put it.” I put the items into the pack and set it over on the coffee table to go through with him later.
“Good idea, babe. I got something for you, too. It's in my laptop case. Stir this, and I'll get it.”
I hopped over to him and kissed him on the cheek while taking the spoon from him. “What'd you get me?”
“It's called a surprise for a reason. Hold your horses.”
He disappeared into the foyer and dug in his bag, returning with a small picture frame. “Here.”
I strained to read the faded script on the framed paper. “I can't read this, hon,” I admitted. “What is it?”
“It's our marriage record.” My jaw dropped, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled at me. “We were married in Notgrove, Glouchestershire in 1621. They have their records online, and I found it just doing a Google search. No one would ever think it's us – you can put it on your desk, and people would just think we found another couple with the same name.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I knew this time he wouldn't mind. “What are the odds?”
“Exactly, which is why I knew it was ours. It helps that I found the ring maker -- Charles Davies, by the way -- was from that town. I just went from there.”
“So it's really real. We do go back in time, to our own world.” I stared down at the ring on my finger. Eddie put his arms around me from behind and stirred the sauce. He nuzzled my neck while he did that. I turned around into him, and returned the hug.
Time to Control Page 14