Status: Sorry i know there hasn't been much of interest since my first couple of chapters, but the next one should be much more adventurous
Liaisons
Liaisons - Chapter 3
Perched upon a high backed stool, I studied my surroundings. It was 8pm and the newest chic cocktail bar was in its first week of good reviews. Decked in every shade of purple, delectable waiters circled the high tables with trays jam-packed with cocktails glowing in every florescent colour imaginable. Hands popped out from every passing table as cougars decked in their best animal prints stopped the waiters – not for a drink, but just so they could blatantly ogle them for a touch longer. It was becoming more and more obvious why this place was getting such great female reviews. ‘Sex sells.’ The place even came equipped with roomy bathroom stalls and a condom dispenser in each restroom - it’s nice to know the owners are taking good care of their customers.
Glancing first at my watch, then toward the door for the tenth time since my arrival five minutes ago, I finally see Charli, late as usual, winding her way around the busy tables towards me, her golden hair gleaming in the low light as it swished behind her.
“You late,” I chastised, playfully as she settled herself into the chair opposite me.
“Perfection takes time,” she claimed, smoothing her hands over the short, ice-blue cocktail dress she was wearing, the low cut emphasising her already obvious assets.
“I’d tell you you’re overdressed, but I know you don’t care.” Charli was one to go all out for any occasion, big or small. My ensemble of skinning jeans, 3 inch boots and deep green satin camisole made me feel underdressed.
Ignoring my comment completely, she asked my opinion on the bar, which, through her endless PR connections from the obscure public relations work she did, had gotten us on the VIP list. I was relatively apathetic, preferring small bars with beer and shots in Brooklyn to upscale Manhattan cocktail bars she preferred to frequent. Something more familiar, where you are classed a regular and the barman asks about you day, rather than a pretentious, cold and overpriced experience shared in the company of the rich and snobbish.
Rolling her eyes at my unwillingness to branch out, she got down to business. “So how was the meeting? I need to know whether I’m ordering champagne, or tequila shots.” I didn’t know how to respond, having no clue what had happened and how much I should tell her. My earlier exploits with my well-dressed stranger was something I still couldn’t process. What had gotten into me? I was never like that. I left the bold, sexy personality to Charli. She was couple of years older than me and oozed sophistication and experience. I was always the quiet, shy one that played wallflower to Charli’s flirtatious games. But…there was something about him.
Shaking my head in exasperation, I bare all, knowing she will have valuable, more knowledgeable input, and probably a pat on the back too, no doubt. He eyes get wider and wider the more I reveal, but when I come to the phone call, she is just as confused as me.
Silently contemplating for a moment before she responded, “Well I have no idea how you got the project, but I wouldn’t complain. You must have done something right,” she says, her voice sounding deep and insightful – which is what she does when she is pretty clueless and wanting to move on to more important (in other words ‘juicy’ stuff). “But this guy, what got into you? Not that I’m not insanely proud. Still, it’s so unlike you.” I shake my head, just as clueless of my actions as I am.
Thinking back, I’m caught by the thought of his eyes, deep green, like getting lost in a sunlit forest. “Stop biting you lip. You’re going to chew the whole thing off one day,” she scolds me, half joking, half trying to get my attention. Rolling my eyes at her, I try to rid my mind of all the confusing thought of him.
-------------------------------
The rest of my night was spent being squeezed dry of every minute detail of my close encounter with the well-dressed kind. Charli had every possible detail I could remember out of me and some I didn’t even realise I’d noticed. After many fruity cocktails and overly girlish giggles, I rolled into my apartment at a time that made me surprised the rising sunlight wasn’t streaming through my windows. Rather than going straight to bed, as I knew I should have, I parked myself as my mahogany desk (giggling drunkenly as I remember a random line about a pink haired woman screaming the word “MAHOGANY” in a movie I can’t quite place in my inebriated state).
Flipping my laptop open, I brought it to life and clicked open my emails, an automatic response every time I turned it on. There were various common emails: a notice from amazon to say my new book had been dispatched, an update from my cousin to say her new baby girl had just started walking and a Facebook reminder that some obscure friend has turning 28 next week.
But this wasn’t what caught my eye. Sitting right at them top of the list, was an email, claiming to be from one Daniel Pearson. I blinked, not quite believing my eyes. Focusing again, I was shocked to find it still there. I’d been thinking about him ever since I had bolted from the elevator, and there it was, as though my mind has conjured it up.
Taking a deep breath, I clicked open the email.
TO: Miss Hannah Rosemore (han-rose@av-gar.com)
SENDER: Mr Daniel Pearson (d.pearson@bookaid.com)
DATE: 4th May 2012 (13:55)
SUBJECT: An Inventive Presentation
Dear Miss Rosemore,
I’m writing to officially confirm my offer to create a partnership between BookAid and Avant-garde Publishing. Your presentation was both insightful and illuminating, however unorthodox the location. Your passion for the project was clear from the start. However, due to your hasty exit (I assume only to prepare for your presentation and therefore I shall take no further offence), I apologise for not being able to tell you in person of your success with our company. I look very forward to dealing with you more personally in the future.
Kind regards,
Daniel Pearson
C.E.O.
BookAid Ltd – Non-profit organisation
I read, and then reread the email several times; biting my lip so hard I was surprised I didn’t draw blood. What the hell had I done? I had made out with the C.E.O. of the organisation I was supposed to be meeting with. Oh no! But when he asked about my presentation, why couldn’t he have just told me who he was? No wonder he looked so surprised when I told him who I was meeting with. Damn that bloody organisation! Why did they have to be so secretive about who ran the firm?
My head was spinning in circles, bouncing backwards and forwards between all the questions I had. No wonder he’d not stuck around for the presentation. I practically pounced on him in the elevator. But, that wasn’t true. He’d kissed me first. My mind fluttered back, slightly hazy through my beer goggles, to that kiss. That amazing kiss. He’d definitely kissed me first.
Glancing back at the screen, I read the email for the god-knows-how-many time. I couldn’t help but spot his reference to my interest in the project as “passionate”. Why did I think it wasn’t the project to much as the make-out that was passionate? And he said he was looking forward to “dealing with me more personally in the future.” Well I wasn’t necessarily opposed to spending a little more alone time with him. Just him, me and an empty boardroom. My mind was painting a rather vivid picture that I couldn’t shake. So, taking that in my alcohol-soaked stride, I clicked the respond button.
TO: Mr Daniel Pearson (d.pearson@bookaid.com)
SENDER: Miss Hannah Rosemore (han-rose@av-gar.com)
DATE: 5th May 2012 (03:29)
SUBJECT: A Rather Shocking Revelation
Dear Mr Pearson,
I am extremely pleased you found my presentation so invigorating, though I must apologise for my hasty exit. I feared such actions may be seen as (to use your word) unorthodox and possibly unrequited. However on further contemplation, I’m sure the response I received may alone put my mind at ease. I can also confirm my interest in working closely with you on this project in the future. However, I may like to point out that I little bit of information on whom I happened to be taking my meeting with would have been greatly appreciated.
Many thanks,
Hannah Rosemore
Head Editor
Avant-garde Publishing Co.
Satisfied with my response, I snapped shut my laptop and staggered my way across the cold cherry wood floors towards my bedroom. Without even turning on the light, I stripped off and flopped into bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Glancing first at my watch, then toward the door for the tenth time since my arrival five minutes ago, I finally see Charli, late as usual, winding her way around the busy tables towards me, her golden hair gleaming in the low light as it swished behind her.
“You late,” I chastised, playfully as she settled herself into the chair opposite me.
“Perfection takes time,” she claimed, smoothing her hands over the short, ice-blue cocktail dress she was wearing, the low cut emphasising her already obvious assets.
“I’d tell you you’re overdressed, but I know you don’t care.” Charli was one to go all out for any occasion, big or small. My ensemble of skinning jeans, 3 inch boots and deep green satin camisole made me feel underdressed.
Ignoring my comment completely, she asked my opinion on the bar, which, through her endless PR connections from the obscure public relations work she did, had gotten us on the VIP list. I was relatively apathetic, preferring small bars with beer and shots in Brooklyn to upscale Manhattan cocktail bars she preferred to frequent. Something more familiar, where you are classed a regular and the barman asks about you day, rather than a pretentious, cold and overpriced experience shared in the company of the rich and snobbish.
Rolling her eyes at my unwillingness to branch out, she got down to business. “So how was the meeting? I need to know whether I’m ordering champagne, or tequila shots.” I didn’t know how to respond, having no clue what had happened and how much I should tell her. My earlier exploits with my well-dressed stranger was something I still couldn’t process. What had gotten into me? I was never like that. I left the bold, sexy personality to Charli. She was couple of years older than me and oozed sophistication and experience. I was always the quiet, shy one that played wallflower to Charli’s flirtatious games. But…there was something about him.
Shaking my head in exasperation, I bare all, knowing she will have valuable, more knowledgeable input, and probably a pat on the back too, no doubt. He eyes get wider and wider the more I reveal, but when I come to the phone call, she is just as confused as me.
Silently contemplating for a moment before she responded, “Well I have no idea how you got the project, but I wouldn’t complain. You must have done something right,” she says, her voice sounding deep and insightful – which is what she does when she is pretty clueless and wanting to move on to more important (in other words ‘juicy’ stuff). “But this guy, what got into you? Not that I’m not insanely proud. Still, it’s so unlike you.” I shake my head, just as clueless of my actions as I am.
Thinking back, I’m caught by the thought of his eyes, deep green, like getting lost in a sunlit forest. “Stop biting you lip. You’re going to chew the whole thing off one day,” she scolds me, half joking, half trying to get my attention. Rolling my eyes at her, I try to rid my mind of all the confusing thought of him.
-------------------------------
The rest of my night was spent being squeezed dry of every minute detail of my close encounter with the well-dressed kind. Charli had every possible detail I could remember out of me and some I didn’t even realise I’d noticed. After many fruity cocktails and overly girlish giggles, I rolled into my apartment at a time that made me surprised the rising sunlight wasn’t streaming through my windows. Rather than going straight to bed, as I knew I should have, I parked myself as my mahogany desk (giggling drunkenly as I remember a random line about a pink haired woman screaming the word “MAHOGANY” in a movie I can’t quite place in my inebriated state).
Flipping my laptop open, I brought it to life and clicked open my emails, an automatic response every time I turned it on. There were various common emails: a notice from amazon to say my new book had been dispatched, an update from my cousin to say her new baby girl had just started walking and a Facebook reminder that some obscure friend has turning 28 next week.
But this wasn’t what caught my eye. Sitting right at them top of the list, was an email, claiming to be from one Daniel Pearson. I blinked, not quite believing my eyes. Focusing again, I was shocked to find it still there. I’d been thinking about him ever since I had bolted from the elevator, and there it was, as though my mind has conjured it up.
Taking a deep breath, I clicked open the email.
TO: Miss Hannah Rosemore (han-rose@av-gar.com)
SENDER: Mr Daniel Pearson (d.pearson@bookaid.com)
DATE: 4th May 2012 (13:55)
SUBJECT: An Inventive Presentation
Dear Miss Rosemore,
I’m writing to officially confirm my offer to create a partnership between BookAid and Avant-garde Publishing. Your presentation was both insightful and illuminating, however unorthodox the location. Your passion for the project was clear from the start. However, due to your hasty exit (I assume only to prepare for your presentation and therefore I shall take no further offence), I apologise for not being able to tell you in person of your success with our company. I look very forward to dealing with you more personally in the future.
Kind regards,
Daniel Pearson
C.E.O.
BookAid Ltd – Non-profit organisation
I read, and then reread the email several times; biting my lip so hard I was surprised I didn’t draw blood. What the hell had I done? I had made out with the C.E.O. of the organisation I was supposed to be meeting with. Oh no! But when he asked about my presentation, why couldn’t he have just told me who he was? No wonder he looked so surprised when I told him who I was meeting with. Damn that bloody organisation! Why did they have to be so secretive about who ran the firm?
My head was spinning in circles, bouncing backwards and forwards between all the questions I had. No wonder he’d not stuck around for the presentation. I practically pounced on him in the elevator. But, that wasn’t true. He’d kissed me first. My mind fluttered back, slightly hazy through my beer goggles, to that kiss. That amazing kiss. He’d definitely kissed me first.
Glancing back at the screen, I read the email for the god-knows-how-many time. I couldn’t help but spot his reference to my interest in the project as “passionate”. Why did I think it wasn’t the project to much as the make-out that was passionate? And he said he was looking forward to “dealing with me more personally in the future.” Well I wasn’t necessarily opposed to spending a little more alone time with him. Just him, me and an empty boardroom. My mind was painting a rather vivid picture that I couldn’t shake. So, taking that in my alcohol-soaked stride, I clicked the respond button.
TO: Mr Daniel Pearson (d.pearson@bookaid.com)
SENDER: Miss Hannah Rosemore (han-rose@av-gar.com)
DATE: 5th May 2012 (03:29)
SUBJECT: A Rather Shocking Revelation
Dear Mr Pearson,
I am extremely pleased you found my presentation so invigorating, though I must apologise for my hasty exit. I feared such actions may be seen as (to use your word) unorthodox and possibly unrequited. However on further contemplation, I’m sure the response I received may alone put my mind at ease. I can also confirm my interest in working closely with you on this project in the future. However, I may like to point out that I little bit of information on whom I happened to be taking my meeting with would have been greatly appreciated.
Many thanks,
Hannah Rosemore
Head Editor
Avant-garde Publishing Co.
Satisfied with my response, I snapped shut my laptop and staggered my way across the cold cherry wood floors towards my bedroom. Without even turning on the light, I stripped off and flopped into bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.
♠ ♠ ♠
As promised...(drum roll please)...Chapter 3. I know much hasn't happened in this chapter but every good story needs joining chapters. And don't worry, i'm leading up to something great. I won't say anything but this: There will be masks. Shhh!!!