Freelance Love (7 page)

“Hello? Ian, how are you?”

“I’m great – how are you? You sound . . . congested or
something.”

“I’m fine, just watching a sad movie on DVD.” Morgan cringed.
Great. Now he knows you
like weepy romances!

“Well, hopefully, this will help dry some of those tears up – I
hope, anyway. I’d like to set up a date with you. Take you to one of Las
Cruces’ best Italian restaurants so we can drink good red wine and enjoy some
great food. Come on! Please? Say yes!”

Morgan was tempted to say no – after all, they had only recently
admitted they were attracted to each other. That admission was so new, she was
still figuring it out. “Ian, I don’t know . . . I don’t think it’s wise.”

“Morgan. The woman who decided to quit working retail and strike
out on her own in the uncertain world of freelance writing? Who’s facing her
former boss down in a lawsuit? Come on, you’re braver than that!”

When Ian put it that way, she could see his point. Still, the
thought of riding in his car to one of the Italian restaurants – which had
romantic atmospheres – she quailed at the thought. She’d only allowed herself
to get involved in a significant relationship twice before now. And . . . the
lawsuit . . .

“I’ll do this, Ian. I’ll go out with you and we can discuss
things. But . . .”

“Awww, so there’s a ‘but.’ Okay, what is it?”

“We can discuss things, but until the lawsuit is decided one way
or the other, I’d rather hold off on . . . anything more,” Morgan said, feeling
breathless.

Ian was silent for a few long, slow beats. Then, “Okay. That’s
fair enough. I can understand you not wanting to be distracted while you’re
fighting that goof. Man, he’s an idiot!”

Morgan laughed. “I agree! A goof with one of the best attorneys in
town, according to Rick.”

“Oh, man, what’s that going to mean for you?”

“I just need to get my managing editors to agree to talk to Rick
to show proof of my good professional character . . .”

“Give Rick my number. I’ll gladly add my information to theirs.”

“Really, Ian? I will, thanks!”

“Truthfully, I’ve gotten to know a helluva good writer who sticks
to her guns when it comes to what she’s written. She’s ethical. And she’s
damned sexy, too.” Ian said the last in a low, gravelly voice.

Morgan, hearing the last sentence and how it was said, totally
lost her ability to breathe and think. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced
herself to respond.

“Well, thank you. Uh, getting back to your request for a date
– where and when?”

“This Saturday, 6:30, your choice of Lorenzo’s or Si Bistro.
We’re limited to one Lorenzo’s, since every single last one of them but the
University Avenue has closed, dammit!”

Morgan, caught by surprise, laughed. “Okay! I’ll think about
where I’d like to go . . .”

“And dress up. I’ll be proud to walk into any restaurant with you
– you’re beautiful, woman.”

Morgan shook her head. Ian’s point-blank statement was out of
character – or was it? “Okay, but be prepared. I clean up real good when I’m
not in jeans and casual tops.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“And you? What’ll you be wearing?” Morgan wondered.

“Dress shirt, slacks, maybe a tie. I’ll be looking different,
too,” said Ian.

This may be a mistake, but it’s one I’m looking forward to!
Morgan smiled softly. “Okay. I’ll be ready. I’d better go.” Before I melt into
a puddle right here in my living room.

Morgan was in bed, thinking of Ian and any relationship that
might develop between them. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep  . . .

She was sitting in a large, sunny room with her desk at one end.
The furniture was comfy and the room was filled with several green plants. She
looked up and Ian walked in, carrying several sheafs of paper in one hand. He
walked over to her and gave her a long, searching kiss. Morgan, looking at his
hand, saw a wedding band on his ring finger. Shocked, she looked at her own
left hand – she was wearing an engagement ring and wedding band. She
looked at Ian in shock and he smiled mysteriously and shrugged.

“So, how long do you think it’ll be before you have those stories
finished? Your deadline’s the end of this week,” he said.

Morgan, dragging her mind back to her work, looked at her
progress.

“I should be done by tomorrow before the end of the day. I have a
ton of work coming in that I need to work on with Mia.”

“Okay, I’ll be done with these sometime tomorrow. I’ll start on
yours when you’re done. Hey, before I forget – I think you got a settlement
check from Rick in the mail. I brought that in a little while ago – go take a
look!”

Morgan’s eyes rounded. If the check had come in, she could buy an
iMac computer with a large monitor. Her work would be made so much easier! She
ran toward the kitchen table and, rustling through the bills, magazines and
junk mail, she found an envelope from Rick. She tore it open – and found a
check for a sizable amount.

“Ian, you’re right! I can deposit this and start shopping for
that computer!”

“Told you!” Ian’s voice floated in from the sunroom-office.

Morgan thought of the gift she wanted to buy for Ian. He also
struggled to edit quickly on his own laptop, and she knew he was especially
partial to the Mac computers. Depending on the price, she could buy two . . .

That night, Ian came to bed. Turning off the overhead light, he
left the bedside lamp burning as he turned to her and began kissing and loving
her sensually. His fingers and hands roamed everywhere over her body, lighting
little fires that combined to take her down a sensual path of sensation and
discovery. Morgan’s own hands went on an exploratory journey of their own,
feeling the hard, muscular planes of his chest, back, shoulders and legs. His
breathing quickened as he began making love to her . . . Suddenly, Morgan woke
up, drenched in sweat from the hot, sensuous dream she had just had.

The next morning, Morgan woke up, remembering the remnants of her
hot dream. She blushed remembering how aroused she and Ian had become – in her
dream! Pulling her pillow over her face, she groaned, wondering how their date
would go. She knew she would need to hide her reactions from Ian, not only
during their date, but every time they met to work on her articles.
How the hell does he think
it’s realistic for us to work well together if we acknowledge that we have the
hots for each other – and we want to jump each others’ bones? Geez! I hope I
don’t need to find a new editor and break him – or her – in.
The thought
put her into a sour mood. Throwing her covers back, she started her work day.
Drinking her coffee, she continued to puzzle over her situation with Ian. Yes,
she was attracted to him, but she respected his writing and editing abilities
and she didn’t want to lose her working relationship with him. She decided that
she would just have to find a way of communicating that to him. Besides, she
liked her solo life, and she just wasn’t sure if she wanted to add the changes
and complications of a romantic relationship. She knew that a “friends with
benefits” arrangement wouldn’t work for her or Ian. It would have to be an
all-or-nothing situation and, except for her desire for Ian, she was probably
going to opt for the “nothing” choice so she could continue working with Ian.
Except . . . the thought of not exploring a romantic or sensual relationship
with him made her feel . . . sad and bereft. Sipping carefully from the hot,
fragrant brew, she continued to think – her eyes reflected the pensive
direction of her thoughts.
Was
he right? Could they add a new dimension to their relationship and make it
work? How? Wouldn’t the emotional and sexual attraction get in the way of their
established working pattern, which involved sometimes heated discussions about
the changes he insisted she make to some portions of her articles? Some of
these discussions had become strong, passionate defenses of their positions.
Wouldn’t those discussions endanger the new, possibly fragile feelings involved
in a personal, romantic relationship? Wow, Morgan, what have you gotten
yourself into? You are going to have to sit down and discuss all this with him.
Soon!

She roused herself and started her workday. After cleaning her
kitchen, she got dressed, combed her hair and put on some light makeup. Sitting
at her computer, she forced her mind away from the topic of the delectable,
sexy Ian and onto the topic of early childhood intervention services for
children with developmental delays. Working from her interview notes and an
audiotape, she wrote out a basic outline. Once she had finished, she read over
what she had. Satisfied with her first draft, she saved the article and made a
quick lunch. Continuing her writing, she moved to the next article on her list
– about the high-end, luxury homes and condos scattered in and around Las
Cruces. Once she had written a first draft of that article, she emailed the
photographer who had taken the photos that were to accompany her words –

“Hey, Charlie, I’ve just finished the first draft of that luxury
articles assignment. If you could, please attach and send the photos you feel
best represent the angle that
Homes
of Las Cruces
will want. I’d like to get this submitted to the publisher
no later than mid-week next week. Thanks, Morgan.”

By the end of the day, Morgan was satisfied with the amount of
work she had gotten done. As she was making a light dinner, Grace called her.

“Hey, girl, how’s it going? Have you started getting more
assignments yet?”

“Yes, and it’s exciting! When I get to the point where I have to
schedule my work out two and three weeks ahead, I know I’m making progress.
I’ve got, let’s see, four articles in first-draft status. How about you? How’s
it going?”

“It’s going well – but I miss your help on my paperwork. I have a
student and she’s painfully
slow!
What you get done in a day, takes her three days, and she’s not taking
classes this summer. I’m thinking of hiring a second student so I can get
graded assignments back to my classes.”

“Wow. It’s not hard, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s not a matter of not knowing what she’s doing, Morgan. It’s
a matter of distraction and lack of focus. She’s told her friends she’s working
in the English building and I’ve told her repeatedly that her desk isn’t Gossip
Central. I’ve resorted to telling her friends they can visit with her after
working hours are over. I haven’t made any friends lately!”

“That’s not your fault, Grace – your student should have known better
than to invite her friends to use her desk as a gossip station. You’re just
making sure she knows she’s supposed to be working. If I had time, I’d go and
help out; if I have time later this week, I’ll go for a few hours, free of
charge.”

Grace was silent, then, “You know, it’s an indicator of how
desperate I am because I’m actually going to accept your offer. What’s
convenient for you?”

“When does your student show up?”

“She’s supposed to be here by 8, but it’s often closer to 9 when
she drags her cute little fanny in. Would you show her an example of timeliness
and attention to work? Once she starts, she does good work. It’s just
timeliness and sticking to her work.”

“Okay. I’ll be there at about 8 and I’ll stay until about 10
tomorrow. Will that be okay?”

“Perfect! She’s coming back in from lunch now. I’ll let her see
you doing some of the assignments. It may give her a scare because she needs
this work. If that’s the only thing that sinks in, I’ll take it! I’d better
go.”

Morgan laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

***

On Saturday morning, Morgan woke up, feeling nervous. Her date
with Ian was scheduled for that night. She had decided on Lorenzo’s. But first,
she needed to go through each article she had written and make sure they were
all correct so she and Ian would have something to discuss the following week
at their editing meeting. Sitting down, she shut the evening to come out of her
mind and went through each article, finding and correcting typos and smoothing
out areas with awkward wording. After lunch, she went to the mall to look for a
new dress – what she currently had was outdated and looked . . . old.

Ian rang her doorbell right before 6:30. Morgan answered her
door, feeling her heart pounding double-time.

Ian’s jaw dropped when he saw Morgan framed in her doorway. She
had chosen to forego her usual ponytail or French braid for their date.
Instead, her pepper-and-salt hair appeared to be mostly down, framing her
gamine face. A jeweled hair clip captured the mass of curly hair, pulling the
weight of it from her neck. As her hair cascaded down the back of her head, it
looked as though she still had it down. The look emphasized her large,
deep-brown eyes, pointed chin and high cheekbones. Her eyes, too, appeared
larger. Ian knew about the “magic” of cosmetics, but he was unable to figure
out what Morgan had done. She wore sparkly chandelier earrings that dropped
nearly to her shoulders. Her dress was a royal-blue stunner. It was a simple,
sleeveless shift with a neckline that dipped down low enough to show the
beginnings of her cleavage. She carried a lightweight shawl to drape around her
shoulders if she got cold at the restaurant. Morgan’s shoes were simple slip-on
sandals with a tiny kitten heel. She slipped her cell phone and house keys into
a small, glittery shoulder bag that she slung from one shoulder.

Ian’s mouth opened and closed as he looked for words to express
his reaction to her appearance – he couldn’t think. Instead, he motioned at her
appearance and said, “Wow! Look at you!”

Morgan smiled shyly. She was nervous. She wanted to make a good
impression on Ian and, as she saw him, she, too, had trouble thinking of what
she wanted to say. He had dressed simply in a dark, blue-green long-sleeved
shirt with gray dress pants and dress shoes. His hair was cut, no longer
sporting the wavy ends he usually wore. His blue eyes were even darker,
probably because of the color of his shirt.