Freelance Love (5 page)

“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.