The Plan (21 page)

I will fake it. Control.

It is a plan.

I am still contemplating the merits of Fake Control Plan 4782 while I dress.

I slide on black stockings and heels. Black panties. My bra doesn’t cooperate.

My arm is bent back and arguing with the hook and eye when I feel him behind me.

His fingers brush my back. He fastens the fabric together. Runs a finger under a strap, untwisting it as he moves up my back to my shoulder.

“Thank you.” My voice is soft.

He says nothing. I feel his lips against my hair.

Never mind. I think I’m no longer a fan of plans.

7:03 a.m.

*
Breakfast
: Most interesting eggs ever.

I A
M
S
TARING
A
T
M
Y
P
LATE
. He’s in a tie.

I don’t even know what to say. Uneasy. Almost…maybe…scared? I don’t know if it is because he is so imposing elsewhere, or that I had him on a pedestal, or that this simply feels…different.

I remind myself I’m acting different than myself in every way.

I pack his things. The weather is turning. I hand him his coat. We leave.

I can feel him watching me. It’s warm. Not unwelcome.

There’s nothing I can think to say that will transition us.

Then he spares me the awkward move from night to day.

“Write up a temporary transfer proposal of Sean Becket to oversee our warehouse build,” he says in the hall.

“Yes, sir.”

“Rebecca needs a progress report.” In the elevator.

“I will send it by end-of-day.”

“Ms. Fralin has set up a dinner meeting with me tonight.” In the car.

Oh. Lovely. “What would you like for me to do while you’re at dinner, Mr. Canon?”

He switches lanes. “Wear whatever outfit goes with those black lace shoes and sit to my left.”

I can’t help but smile. His eyes flicker to mine. The corner of his mouth turns up just slightly, then he refocuses on traffic.

Incoming text: Just checking on you. You okay?—Rebecca

Reply: Fine. How’s the betting?

Incoming Text: Bert will be so disappointed. He had down that Canon would eat you alive by last night.

Note to self: Never bet against Bert.

1:51 p.m.

*
Location
: Break room.

*
Task
: Fetching drinks. Arf.

C
LICKS
S
OUND
O
UT
B
EHIND
M
E
.

“Alaric tells me I need to change the reservations because we will have the pleasure of your company at our dinner this evening.”

“Yes, Ms. Fralin,” I say without turning around. “That is what he told me as well.”

I stack cans and cups, pour coffee. Her nails tap the counter.

“Have you made any headway with your little foreign accounts pet project?”

“Not yet.” The relentless patronization grates at me, my words are clipped.

“Perhaps tonight would be a good opportunity.”

“That would have to be cleared with Mr. Canon.”

“Of course, of course. Though…” I stir in sweetener. She sounds like saccharin. “LaCygne is the best man for working side-by-side on that particular project. That’s his area, and he has the most flexible schedule. He might even be available on short notice.”

“Again, whatever Mr. Canon says—”

“You do,” she finishes for me. “I can tell. You’re quite the dutiful one, are not you? He says ‘jump,’ you say ‘how high,’ and if he says ‘bend over’—”

“I need to get back,” I snap and walk past her.

“He’s so focused.” Her voice, shrill, echoes in the room behind me. “Last trip, he made time for fun.”

My steps falter. Fun. I sincerely doubt he did any such thing. A vision of Canon wearing Mickey Mouse ears and holding balloons pops into my head.

Then, I recall his absence when she showed up the other day. But he has said every hour is critical. He doesn’t waste time. A date would be a waste.

He couldn’t get that time back from her. Unless ol’ TARDIS tits can also time travel.

Not asking him questions has never been harder.

I just wanted him to notice me. This has been so much more.

I don’t know what to do with all the “much.”

Real? Convenient? Why do I care? Oh.

Oh
. I do care.

I am going to ask him. Tonight, after dinner, I am going to ask him.

Maybe this is one plan that will not go awry. The others have sorta bordered on best laid.

I will probably berate myself all afternoon for letting Fralin get to me.

The atmosphere back in the conference room is oppressive. Claustrophobic. There are too many people and too many independent conversations being carried on.

11: Number of times Diana Fralin has found a reason to touch Canon during this meeting.

I suppose it’s too late to say I’m not counting.

“Ms. Baker?” His voice breaks my concentration. Not good. Should have been concentrating on his voice. “The printouts?”

“Uh, yes, sir. Here they are.” I dig out the papers. Fralin smirks and wraps her hand around Canon’s to tilt the words toward her. He moves and sets the report out in front of her as his eyes turn up to me.

Don’t mind me.

I’ll just be over here. Enjoying a nice round of self-flagellation.

6:10 p.m.

*
Location
: Hotel bathroom.

*
Clothes
: Rebecca’s black skirt. Clara’s taupe, drape blouse. My never-worn taupe heels with black lace overlay. Unknown owner’s citrine earrings.

*
Hair
: Up, twist.

*
Makeup
: Earth tones.

*
Reflection
: Not me.

“W
E
N
EED
T
O
L
EAVE
,” Canon says from behind the door.

“Yes, s—” I say, stopping myself. In the main room, he’s messing with his tie in the mirror.

I step behind him. Straighten his collar.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t go to this dinner.

Neither would he.

At the restaurant, we are seated near a large, stone fireplace. Bottles of house wine line the tall, stone walls.

As requested, I’m seated at his left. He’s right-handed, so either he doesn’t want to spend all evening keeping his elbow out of my face or…

Under the white tablecloth, his palm glides long my forearm and down until it rests over the scratch I got last night.

A chair scrapes as it’s pulled out from the table.

“Mr. LaCygne, I didn’t realize you would be joining us,” Canon says, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

“Call me Mitchell.” He offers his hand.

After a pause Canon actually shakes it.

Then Mitchell steps in it. “Diana said Emma is anxious to begin working with me.”

I’m about to clarify, but Canon beats me to it. “Anxious or not, she only works with me.”

“Oh, Alaric.” Diana slips into her seat. Across from Canon. Prime footsie access. “Don’t give the kids such a hard time. I tried to tell you Mitchell would be the best person to look over things with her. He has been a veritable workaholic ever since his divorce.”

I feel Canon stiffen beside me, but his hand stays on my leg. Seems Mitchell and I didn’t get very caught up the other day…

“I suppose that’s the upside of it. I’m flexible, Emma. Whatever works for you, works for me,” Mitchell says.

“Traditionally that is the sort of thing one clears with an employer,” Canon says, looking at them, then his menu.

I unfold my napkin. It’s a task that doesn’t take nearly long enough.

Mitchell’s eyes meet mine. He looks at me as if he has just realized he’s not gotten the whole story here. “If it’s a problem, we can get together another time,” he offers.

Diana smiles into her wine. She must’ve gotten a head start in the restaurant bar. Great. Fralin even less inhibited. “Oh, it’s not a problem, is it, Alaric?”

“Why start asking me now?” Canon says without inflection.

The waiter appears to take drinks orders. While the others make selections, Canon excuses himself. He may never drink again.

When he reaches the far side of the room, he turns to look at me; he wants me to meet him.

I chug water down my dry throat and leave wordlessly while Fralin and LaCygne discuss something.

Canon is leaning on a thick wooden door frame. Somehow, he looks purposefully positioned. As if aiming for blasé.

“Yes?”

“You should know that I can tell what’s going on,” he says, jaw set.

“What do you mean?” With Mitchell?

He glances at me, then looks straight ahead. “With her.”

This is new. Volunteering info of a personal nature. What a novel concept.

I look at him, encouraging him to continue.

He stands up and starts toward the table, pausing to speak low, near my ear. “I will handle it.”

The waiter takes our orders almost as soon as we return to the table.

Canon stops him as he starts to leave. He waves a finger between Mitchell and me. “Box their food to go. They have urgent business, it seems.”

“And bring us a bottle of this,” Diana adds, holding aloft her glass.

Uh, that is not what I was expecting. At all.

6:43 p.m.

*
Location
: Parking space near Buca di Beppo.

*
Mitchell’s Truck
: Equipped with gun rack.

*
Food
: Going to waste. No appetite.

T
RY
A
S
I M
IGHT
, I could not get Canon to let me discuss anything privately with him before our orders arrived.

Mitchell opens the passenger door. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

I manage a smile. Not a good one though. “He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?” Mitchell says and offers his hand.

“Huh?” I step toward the door. My voice sounds foreign to me. “Oh, Canon? I suppose he can seem rather terse.”

“Terse?” Mitchell laughs as I slip into my seat. “Does he have you bugged or something? I was just glad to get you an evening away from that asshole.”

He pauses for a moment then shuts my door.

What is this I’m feeling? Oh, who am I kidding? I’m jealous. That bitch. “Handle it” as he said he would or not, she got me out of the way. She set this up, and I said nothing. Now Canon thinks I may have lied to him about Mitchell being married and maybe even that I wanted to be alone with him and I really was flirting with him. I was not, and I don’t want to be alone with Mitchell, and I don’t know why I don’t want a break from Canon because he really can be an insufferable son of a bitch. I don’t want Canon to be alone with Diana because I only want him to be alone with…me…

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you had a thing for your boss?”

What? “That’s crazy talk.” Crazy, crazy, craziness kind of crazy. Like post anti-helmet law Gary Busey crazy.

“Crazy or not, you definitely have feelings for him.”

“Of course I have feelings for him. I feel he drips disdain and breathes arrogance and harbors standards designed specifically to ensure their failure to be met.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me, Mitchell.” It would not do me any good to have feelings for Canon. Sure, yes, he is proving himself to be capable of being nicer than I ever thought possible. But he wants the exact opposite of me: obedient in the day and some sort of aggressive bedroom role with which I am not accustomed, not comfortable with, at night. How crazy would I be to have feelings for someone who pushes me around during the day and then wants to be pushed around at night? Who confuses me with desire and doing up my bra?