by Willa Okati
“Have you seen the man I was with recently?”
“Not even a quick ride for old times’ sake?”
“Not with Ron Jeremy’s severed dick on a stick at ten paces.”
“Up yours,” Patrick snapped, face reddening. “Truce over. You’re on your own and trust me, I’ll be watching for anything I can get.”
“You do that,” Harper replied amiably just to piss him off.
As Patrick stalked away, swallowed by the New York foot traffic, Harper patted the lump of his phone. It really had been dumb of Patrick, all things considered, not to ask if he’d made a backup. Let Patrick stalk him or try to double-cross him, which knowing Patrick, of course he would.
That, however, would keep for another day. Harper tipped his head back, closing his eyes against the brightness of the sun, and let the hamster wheels in his mind run wild. “Work the system,” he murmured. “Work the system. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oh. Harper’s eyes snapped open. Contracts. Clauses. If --
He whipped out his phone and speed dialed Janie. Two rings, three --
“Harper?” Janie sounded almost worried. “Who do you think you are, walking off the job? You haven’t signed a contract yet and that means I still own your balls.” She sighed. “Rory really did leave, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Crap. Harper, are you going to be okay?”
“Maybe.”
She hmmphed. “Better be, because I’ll have your head on a pike if you relapse into who you were.”
Harper’s heart stuttered. Oh, God. That’s it. “Janie? I love you.” In the stunned silence that followed, Harper rushed ahead. “I was thinking back to what Mr. Grudnik said in the video conference. He liked Rory. A lot. Right?”
“Right,” she agreed slowly.
“He’d be pissed if Rory flaked on the writing job, wouldn’t he?” Desperate hope made Harper’s hand shake. “Janie. Tell me. The head writer’s job is a contract for two, isn’t it? Cowriters. Me and Rory.”
“Yeah,” Janie confirmed. Then, “Oh.”
“I’m not going to ask how much you already know.”
“Good.”
Harper forced himself to remain calm. “But if I show up by myself, what’s the risk they won’t go for a last-minute drop-out and take me on alone?”
“Off the record? You’ve got a good track record. They’d still want you.”
Harper’s shoulders slumped. Damn it. He’d thought…
“I’m not done yet,” Janie interrupted his rising disappointment. “You want the clever bitch perspective?”
“Yes.”
“Work the system.”
And if that wasn’t an omen, he’d never hear another closer to it. “Work the system?” he repeated, adding a question mark lilt at the end.
“Sure. They asked for two. They expect two. Make them think they need two. Like your writing’s for shit without the other half of your team. You’re a smart kid, Harper. Think of something.”
“I think I might have already,” he said, dry not only in his mouth and throat, but feeling papery crackly down to his toes. “How do I get in touch with Mr. Grudnik?”
Chapter Eleven
“Misinformation, huh?” Planted in his office on the other side of the country yet in living color and real-time on Harper’s laptop monitor, Mr. Grudnik drummed his fingers on his cluttered desk. “Hell of a thing to miscommunicate. All the paperwork seems clear as a bell on our end. Doesn’t speak too highly of your in-office folks to screw that up.”
“We’re relatively small time,” Harper said, which was true enough. He added, also truthfully, “And to keep confidentiality extra high, the only folks who know about this are Lisa, who’s had to take on management of the writing team, and Janie, who’s got more demanding fish to fry. This is the first slipup to date I know of.”
If he hadn’t heard about Patrick’s attempt at industrial espionage. God, let him not have heard.
“Memos do slip through the cracks from time to time.” Mr. Grudnik’s narrowed eyes told Harper he had his doubts about the whole setup. “For the sake of clarification, then, we do want Rory on the writing team. Our understanding was that you came as a package deal.” He coughed. “Run it by me one more time, what happened?”
Harper rubbed the back of his neck and tried to look sheepish. Not a huge stretch. The tips of his ears burned from telling truth mixed with lies and Rory was still right: he sucked at dissembling. “Rory thought he wasn’t needed, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since.”
“Uh-huh. Is he always that temperamental?”
“No, no, no, that’s not it. His feelings weren’t hurt. Rory’s… a high-energy kind of guy. When one project’s done, he jumps headfirst into the next.” All true. “He’s probably in search of something new now. Thing is, he had his heart and soul sunk into In Outré. Whatever he’s working on now, he’ll jump at the chance to come back.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Grudnik verbalized noncommittally. “And you won’t sign if he doesn’t, is that it?”
“No, sir. I won’t. This isn’t just my concept now. Rory’s an equal half of everything that you and Rialto liked enough to green-light.”
Mr. Grudnik sat in silence for a moment, gears visibly turning behind his assessing stare. “Let me be frank with you, Harper. Setting terms and conditions is not the best way to get off on the right foot out here.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Nor am I inclined to ignore the communication snafu. If you two are going to cowrite, I need you on the same page. Sharp as tacks every damn day you’re on the job. Do I make myself clear?”
Oh God. “Does that mean you’ll --”
“If it were up to me? I’d slam-dunk you two in the round file. Lucky for you, it’s not. The CEO, and I do mean the CEO, well, his daughter’s got him wrapped around her pinky and she’s already starry eyed over the tragic love story of Salomei and Osborne. By the way, we’re changing those names because they don’t bear up to repetition, and how the hell do you even pronounce Salomei?”
“Sah-low-may. And yes, sir.”
Mr. Grudnik sat back and heaved a sigh, complete with motorboat noises through his pursed lips. “As it stands, it’s easier to look the other way -- once -- and the contracts are already made out for two cowriters to sign. But if I don’t hear from you and Rory by the end of the day, with pens in your hands, I’ll take my chances with Sharli, the CEO’s daughter,” he explained.
Harper nodded. He’d missed everything past “two cowriters” and “contracts.” I’ve got you, you bastard, he exulted. “And if I don’t get Rory back to sign?”
“What are you, stupid?” Mr. Grudnik snapped. “Then you’re canned, and after all this aggravation, believe me when I say you’re not in the least bit likely to work in this business again. You can go write menus for coffeehouses and good luck brainstorming new ways to describe dark roast.”
Harper could have kissed him, jowls and all. “Thank you. I’ll go get Rory now. I think I know where to find him.”
“Let’s hope so.” Mr. Grudnik severed the conference. Before the screen went black, Harper was up and running.
Work the system, huh? Appeal to a higher power and see how that works out, huh? Gotcha.
No time to waste. He had a Clerk to annoy and a muse to catch.
He did pause long enough to jump and click his heels together. Now that’s inspiration!
* * *
Harper retreated to the conference room, a.k.a. the writer’s room, a.k.a. the new home for the growing mountains of clutter that Lisa called “organization.” He unearthed the coffee pot, measured grounds and water, tapped his fingers in a cheerful rhythm while waiting for the java to brew, and then made himself comfy at the table.
On the outside, he figured he looked calm, cool, and collected, no more worked up than an ordinary guy waiting to take a meeting. Maybe even bored.
On the inside, bats on Rollerblad
es boogied in his stomach, and swallowing was nearly impossible with his mouth dried out from worry.
Where are you, you smug jerk? I know you heard and saw that. “I want this finished,” Harper said, glowering at the empty chair at the far end across the writer’s table. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The Clerk popped into visibility in the chair. His hair stood up from his head in crazy spikes, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his teeth were on edge. “You…”
Harper hid the urge to slump in relief and brazened up Rory-style instead. “Me.”
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?”
Harper propped his feet on the conference table, crossed them at the ankle, and waggled a green Converse at the Clerk. “I really, really do.”
“Should’ve known Rory would be a bad influence on you. Meek as milk until you had a couple of months with --”
“A hellcat in bed,” Harper began to count on his fingers. “A never-give-up, never-say-die coach. A hellcat in bed. A guy with a zillion ideas a minute and the energy to do something with them. A ballsy son-of-a-gun who takes no prisoners. A hellcat in --”
“Cut it with the sex talk! My virgin ears,” the Clerk grumbled, rubbing the side of his head. He mirrored Harper’s pose and narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.
Harper waited.
The Clerk folded his hands across his belly and interlaced his fingers, twiddling his thumbs.
Harper took a long swig of coffee to hide his jitters. This had to work. It had to.
“Don’t suppose I could offer you a two-for-one on copyboys?”
“Uh-uh.” Harper traced the rim of his paper cup. “I want Rory.”
“Maybe a stenographer who likes traipsing around in lingerie? He shaves his legs.”
“Gah. No.” Harper caught and held the Clerk’s eye. “Give me back my muse.”
“Double or nothing?”
“I’ve got you by the short and curlies and you know it. Rory. Now.”
“You don’t play chess, do you?”
“Rory.” Harper glowered at the Clerk. “I win. You lose. The contracts are crystal clear. If I don’t get Rory back, I don’t get the job, and without the project I have literally poured my soul into, I’ll end up with permanent writer’s block.”
“I told you, you have a full tank of imagination --”
“One: No, I don’t, because it’s all interlaced with Rory’s ideas and thinking of him will keep me from wanting to go near a keyboard. Two --”
“All right, all right, I get it!” The Clerk blew a long, irritated stream of breath out both nostrils. “You understand this is a once-in-recorded-history kind of thing? It will not happen again, ever, to anyone, so don’t go telling your buddies. Matter of fact, I’m going to put a metaphysical gag on your mouth when it comes to talking about who Rory is and where he came from.”
Harper didn’t care for that, but fair was fair. “Done.” He waited. “Still waiting for Rory, here.”
“I’m not through. You’re not getting any extra help. Period. Rory comes to you, he comes as an ordinary guy, flesh and blood.”
Harper dropped his feet. A real boy? They could grow old together? “Agreed.”
“Oh yeah, you could be real old farts wheezing about durn fool young’uns side by side,” the Clerk added, not apologizing for reading Harper’s thoughts. Harper supposed he couldn’t complain -- much -- out loud -- given everything else at stake.
“Sign me up.”
“But what if it’s not perfect? Tell me, Harper, have you ever had a relationship last longer than a handful of months? Wait, I know the answer to this one. No. You haven’t. How do you know you won’t be able to stand the sight of Rory inside a year or two?”
“Because he’s Rory,” Harper answered simply and 100 percent honestly. “If I’m willing to go up against the font of creativity and risk losing the ability to write for him, I think I’ve got the oomph to make this work. To make it last.”
The Clerk grumbled under his breath, visibly grasping at straws.
“You can’t stand to lose, can you?” Harper observed, not unkindly.
“Something else.” The Clerk slapped his gut. “Rory’ll probably be slower with the brilliance. Not as quick on the draw. Not to mention he’ll probably chunk on fifty pounds without the metabolism for all that honey and jam.”
Harper threw his head back and laughed. “Thick or thin, I don’t care and I’ll always love him. Besides, with his libido and mine combined I think we might just find other ways to work it off.”
“Jeez.”
“C’mon, you walked right into that one.” Harper felt as light as a bubble in a glass of golden beer. “You should try it sometime. Rory was right about that. There’s nothing like getting righteously laid to relax a guy.”
“I’ll stick to my mostly peaceful bachelor existence, thank you.” The Clerk glared at him. “At least give me a freebie of what’s coming next on Twilight Rising.”
“Wait. You watch Twilight Rising?”
The Clerk made a sour face. “You owe me a crumb, kid. What’s up with Adreai and her baby? Does she find out the masked man was the father or is she never going to know?”
“You actually watch Twilight Rising. If I’d only known before.” Harper shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t even know anymore now that Lisa’s had charge for a while and is in full control now.” An idea came to him, one so evil he knew Rory would have fist-punched the air in approval over. “Tell you what. Either we cut the crap right now and you bring Rory back this second, as fast as you whipped him away, or I’ll sweet-talk Lisa into killing off the masked man so Adreai will never know.”
The Clerk paled. “You wouldn’t.”
“I so would.” Harper checked his watch. “On the count of ten. One… two… three…”
Slamming his fists on the table, the Clerk stood and swore at Harper. Harper thought he recognized some of the verb forms as that good old Etruscan. “This is the last time I try to be a nice guy. Compassion training? They can shove it up their asses. If I never see you again, kid, it’ll be way too soon.”
He clapped his hands -- and he might have done something after that, but Harper neither noticed nor cared, because at the first snap of sound, Rory stumbled from nowhere. He staggered and caught himself on the conference table.
Harper kicked his chair over behind him in his rush to reach Rory. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he chanted, running his hands through Rory’s hair, over his bare shoulders, and down the smooth expanse of his firm, er, back. “It worked.”
“Smart bastard,” Rory said, his voice raw. He seemed warmer, more pliant, and when he tipped his head back to look up and meet Harper’s eyes, his were ordinary hazel. “Knew you could do it.” He laughed raspily. “So, what took you so long?”
Harper took a wary peek over Rory’s shoulder and relaxed when he saw that the Clerk had vanished. He pressed a kiss to Rory’s temple and impulsively grabbed his muse by the waist in a bear hug.
And while he was at it, he lifted Rory off the floor and swung him around in a circle.
“Easy with the merchandise!” Rory protested, but he was grinning from ear to ear when Harper put him down. “You’ve got me. What’re you going to do with me?”
“For starters, take you home.” Harper murmured this next in Rory’s ear: “And screw you until dawn’s early light.”
Rory’s breath caught and hitched. Harper savored the delicious pressure of Rory’s cock hardening where their hips were snugged together. “It isn’t even noon yet.”
Harper licked his ear. “I know. Are you interested?”
“Hell yes.” Rory grabbed Harper’s hand. “Race you?”
“You’re on.”
* * *
They ended up getting kicked off the subway by a driver who, even given New York standards, said they should either charge for the show or walk. Rory, dressed in a cobbled-together rent boy costume from wardrobe that announced in brig
ht pink that he was a princess, thought it was hilarious.
“Always wanted to see what it’d take to make one of those drivers say ‘boo.’” He punched Harper on the biceps, yelling, “You’re it!”
Racing one another to the top of the stairs, they emerged on the sidewalk to the sound of rolling thunder and drenching sheets of rain slamming the pavement. Soaked instantly to the skin, Rory raised his arms and his face to the sky, whooping at the top of his lungs.
“It feels different!” he shouted to Harper, who barely heard him over the rain, but could read Rory better than any book he’d ever opened. “Warmer!”
Harper jogged to catch up with him and caught Rory with a hand on either side of his face, crushing their mouths together. “Welcome to the human race,” he said, tasting Rory’s breath. No cloves, just a stick of spearmint gum he’d snagged off Lisa’s desk. “How do you think you’re going to like it?”
Rory goosed Harper’s ass. “Gonna like it just fine,” he said with a leer than no one would ever be able to take away from him. “Hey, is there a lamppost nearby? I wanna do the Gene Kelly thing.”
Harper refused to let go. “More than you want to do the thing where I could, if you asked nicely, tumble you over the back of the couch and lick you open?”
Rory shuddered. “A day away and I forget how fantastically kinky you are when you’re inspired. Rain versus sex. How do I ever decide?”
“You don’t.” Harper slipped his tongue between Rory’s lips and kissed him lazily, languidly, thoroughly, not letting go until Rory’s balance wavered. “You let me decide for you.”
“I can roll with that,” Rory agreed, licking his kiss-swollen lips and blinking, dazed, at Harper. “So, why aren’t we home already?”
“Someone keeps stopping to jabber at me.”
“Someone should take being in control more seriously, then,” Rory gibed.
“Trust me. I will.” Harper took one last taste of Rory’s mouth to tide him over and copped a feel as both appetizer and dessert. “Home. Now.”
* * *
Even without the blurring speed of a muse on the move, they made it home in record time.
Harper crowded Rory through the open door and kicked it shut behind him. “The things we’re going to do together,” he breathed over Rory’s cheeks before seizing Rory’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging. “Not just this. We’re going to grow old together, Rory. The Clerk said so. It’s like you’re human now.”
