A Winning Battle by Carla Neggers

Author:Carla Neggers [Neggers, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Windmill Press

* * *

AT NINE O’CLOCK the next morning Chris still wasn’t dressed. He lay flat on his back on his bed, stark naked, and contemplated his bedroom ceiling. No coffee stains there, but the white plaster, almost gray now, needed painting. There were a few cracks that could use patching. When he made love to Page, she’d probably comment on the state of his ceiling.

He shut his eyes and groaned. “My man, that’s not funny.”

But in an odd, painful way, it summed up his confusion. He had lain awake most of the night wondering what the hell was going on between him and the unexpectedly unpredictable organizer. Was he doing the column? No, no way. He couldn’t. At the very least, it’d be unethical. So why had he agreed to show up this morning? Because he wanted to know more about her, and it seemed a good way to get at the inner workings of Page B. Harrington. But also a dishonest way. Which was why he wasn’t dressed.

He supposed Page was fuming by now. He should call, but what would he say? I’m not coming. But he might. I’ll be late. But he already was, and he hadn’t decided he would in fact go. I want to see you, but not on business. She’d tell him not to bother; she wasn’t going to waste a morning’s work. I’m lying here in bed wishing you were here with me. For sure she’d tell him not to come.

The course of least resistance was just to get dressed and get moving.

But when he arrived at the Four Seasons, one of his security guard buddies handed him an envelope. Inside he found a key and a note printed on Get It Together Inc. stationery.

I don’t know if you’re just late because you’re irresponsible and inconsiderate, or if you chickened out and aren’t coming. I don’t even care. If you get here, here’s the key to my apartment. Go on in and have yourself a ball. I have a 10:30 meeting and won’t be back until 4:15.

Sincerely, Page Harrington

He loved the “sincerely.” From the looks of her handwriting—she’d practically punched holes in the paper she’d pressed so hard—he guessed she’d have liked to send him off with a less professional closure, something in the vein of rot in hell.

Inconsiderate and irresponsible, was he? From her point of view, maybe. From his, he had simply tried to spare her feelings—and his own, too, he supposed. Would she have rather he’d called her and told her he was lying in bed naked thinking about making love to her?

What the hell. He scrawled that on the back of her note, tucked it back in its envelope and returned it and the key to the security guard.

“Wait,” he said. “On second thought, I’ll take the key.”

No point in burning all his bridges.

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