“Mm,” Ingrid replied noncommittally and slurped her coffee loudly.
“Great. Now that that’s settled I’ll leave you two to it. Let me know if you have any problems,” Chuck told Adele before he left them alone together.
Ingrid leaned back in her chair, eyeing the new addition. Adele looked back at her, smiling faintly. “Are you going to ask me to sit?” she said at last.
“Never wait to be invited,” Ingrid replied. “Just sit. Makes you harder to get rid of.”
“Okay,” said Adele. She sat down in the empty chair across the desk from Ingrid. She was carrying a large canvas tote bag, the kind university students brought their grocery shopping in these days. She put it on the ground next to the chair and crossed her legs at the knee, leaning back in her chair and waiting.
“Any previous journalistic experience?” Ingrid asked, twirling a pen between her fingers.
“You mean before my program?”
“Or during. What have you done?”
“Well, during undergrad, a million years ago, I wrote for my school paper. I covered the student union meetings. Since then I’ve written articles for various alternative medicine and self-help magazines. And last semester one of my professors assigned me to a bunch of sorority fund-raisers.”
Ingrid tried her best not to snort into her coffee.
Adele’s smile became a little self-deprecating. “Yeah, you and he would get along great. He always gives me the puff pieces because apparently taking care of my appearance makes me incapable of critical thought.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Ingrid, defensive.
“You didn’t have to,” Adele replied. “And it’s fine. They were fun. The girls had worked really hard. Besides, your first pieces were restaurant reviews for your university paper, so it apparently doesn’t matter.”
Ingrid frowned.
“Yeah, I’ve done my research,” said Adele, seeing Ingrid’s confusion. “This may come as a surprise, but I actually asked for you. I used to read your work when you wrote for The Times. When I was a teenager, I thought you were the most amazing woman I’d ever heard of.”
“I…thank you,” said Ingrid. It wasn’t every day that journalists received praise from strangers. “What was your favorite piece?”
“The on being a female guerrilla fighter in Colombia. I thought it was incredible.” Adele smiled, “It also inspired me to take up gunmanship for six months at the age of sixteen. My parents weren’t very pleased.”
“Why did you stop?” Ingrid asked, curious despite herself.
The other woman looked a little sheepish. “I hated all the noise,” she admitted. “Guns are deafening!”
Ingrid nodded. “They certainly are.”
“I was crushed, though,” Adele continued. “I had been planning to become an expert markswoman and fight dictators in South America. I don’t think many rebel groups need their own yoga instructors.”
“No,” Ingrid agreed. “I don’t think that’s high on their priority list.” She looked down her desk, wondering what on earth she was going to do with this amateur. “What do you hope to get out of this internship?” she asked, hoping that maybe Adele would occupy herself.
The redhead shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to work with you.”
Ingrid grimaced. “As you can see, it’s not that much fun. It’s just bureaucracy and reading other people’s work to make sure they haven’t screwed something up.”
“You completely forgot I was coming, didn’t you?” Adele asked.
“Yeah,” Ingrid admitted. “Not that this is a very exciting job, to begin with. Like I said—”
“Bureaucracy and editing,” Adele finished for her. “Well, why don’t you use me as an excuse to get out from behind your desk?”
Ingrid brought out her phone to check her calendar. “We go to print in two days, no time to get out from behind my desk. Plus I have to publish six tweets today.” Ingrid looked disgusted.
“I take it you’re not a big fan of social media?” Adele asked unnecessarily.
Ingrid shook her head. “I used to cover wars, and now they want me to fulfill a tweet quota every day.” She glared down at her coffee as if the situation were its fault.
“Well, why don’t you log me into your Twitter account and I can do that part at least? I’m pretty good with Twitter.”
“I bet you are,” Ingrid replied dourly.
“You know, usually when someone offers to do you a favor, you say thank you,” Adele retorted. She stood, coming to lean against the desk, giving Ingrid a view of her long, elegant legs. Ingrid quickly looked away, focussing on turning on her computer.
“You’re my intern,” Ingrid shot back. “Interns don’t get thanked. The sooner you learn that, the better.”
Adele rolled her eyes. “Just show me your Twitter account.”
That night, Ingrid was sitting in front of her TV watching a documentary on North Korea, eating Chinese takeout, and generally feeling sorry for herself. As if her job wasn’t painful enough already, now she had some lippy new-ager to deal with. She wasn’t sure if Adele’s attitude made her harder or easier to work with. If she’d just been a vapid bimbo, it would have been excruciating, but at least Ingrid could have sent her off to a bunch of pointless photocopying expeditions to keep her out of her hair. As it was, she got the feeling that Adele would see through that ploy right away.
As it stood, however, Adele talked back too much. Ingrid didn’t like being called out on her irritability, which was why she and Chuck would never get along. She was unhappy in this boring desk job, and she wanted everyone to know it.
It was the only thing that made it more bearable. She’d hoped that by taking this editing job, she would find a sense of purpose that would keep protect her from the descent into alcohol and drug abuse that so many of her compatriots succumbed to. Theirs was not a job that left you unscarred, and the memories that war correspondents carried with them drove many of them to drink and often worse. So far, keeping her too busy to self-medicate was the only thing that the job had succeeded in doing. The sense of purpose she’d hoped for was still proving elusive.
Halfway through the documentary, Ingrid got bored. She shut it off and went to get ready for bed. Lying under her gray and white sheets in a pair of everyday cotton underwear, Ingrid crossed her arms behind her head and contemplated her ceiling. It didn’t hurt that Adele was so beautiful, though, she admitted. At least she would have something nicer to look at than Chuck for the next three weeks.
Chapter Two
The next day Ingrid arrived on time, dressed in her usual combination of black jeans and a button-down shirt and worn brown leather boots. Summer was approaching, and she hadn’t bothered with a jacket. Adele, waiting for her in The Chronicle’s lobby, on the other hand, was wearing a fluffy, bright green jacket that looked like it had been made from a refurbished shag carpet. It had been paired with matching green high-heeled boots and a short, gauzy, brightly-printed summer dress. Ingrid rolled her eyes skyward.
“Can you walk in those?” she asked by way of greeting as she headed straight for the inner doors.
“For miles,” Adele replied, grabbing her purse and trotting to catch up with Ingrid’s long strides. “Good morning to you too.”
“Huh,” said Ingrid.
It was Adele’s turn to roll her eyes, but she followed Ingrid to her office without further comment.
The morning passed faster than Ingrid thought it would. Adele was a quick learner and knew just when to catch Ingrid off guard with a well-timed quip or sarcastic comeback.
Despite Ingrid’s fears that she would find Adele’s bluntness insufferable, she was relieved to find that the intern didn’t actually take Ingrid’s grumpiness personally and was quick to laugh when Ingrid admitted to her own bad behavior.
This was a relief because Ingrid was terrible at taking other people’s feelings into consideration and often had to deal with sulking or insulted employees. Mu
ch to her surprise, by the time the end of the day rolls around, Ingrid discovered she was actually enjoying herself.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” she asked Adele as they were closing up for the night. Despite having clearly stated that an intern’s lot was a thankless one, Ingrid was grateful for Adele’s help – especially with the online portion of her job. Ingrid hated Twitter with a passion.
Adele looked surprised. “Okay,” she said. “That would be lovely.”
They went to the café across the street where most of The Chronicle’s staff ate lunch. It was bland and boring, but also cheap and filling. As they sat, sipping black coffee and mint tea respectively, the two women eyed each other, each sizing the other up.
“Why do you want to become a reporter?” Ingrid asked, at last, her natural curiosity getting the better of her.
Adele shrugged, looking out the window at the street. “I want to help people see the world around them. The good in it, not just the bad. I know that the news is mostly war after disaster after the kidnapping, but other things are happening out there as well. I want to talk about the little things, the day-to-day things that make it all worthwhile.”
She looked across the table at Ingrid and smiled wryly, “I’m betting you think that’s pretty dumb.”
Ingrid didn’t bother lying. “Yeah,” she answered.
They sat in silence for a moment. “Plus,” Ingrid said finally, “what day-to-day things are there that make it worthwhile? What do you see out there that I don’t?”
Adele laughed. “Well, like our waitress who’s been helping that old man in the back booth with his crossword because of his eyesight’s disappearing.”
Ingrid craned her neck to see what Adele was talking about. Sure enough, their waitress was sitting next to an old man, calling him Tom as if she knew him, and quietly reading the clues out to him.
“She just wants a good tip,” Ingrid said, shaking her head.
“Okay,” said Adele. “If you say so.”
Ingrid contemplated her intern. “So you what? Just want to make people happy?”
Adele shook her head. “If I’ve learned anything from my time teaching yoga it’s that I can’t make people happy. But I can show them that they can make themselves happy and that it’s worth the effort.”
“You hippies,” said Ingrid, but she was smiling.
“You cynics,” Adele replied, returning Ingrid’s grin.
The week went on, and Ingrid got used to having Adele’s light, sarcastic presence around and by the time Friday rolled around, she had even stopped sending her on mostly-unnecessary errands. It helped that Adele always made sure Ingrid knew that she knew when an errand was an excuse to get her out of the office.
On Friday evening the women left the room together because Adele had stayed late to help Ingrid finish some paperwork. “Just think, Ingrid,” said the intern as they locked up, “only two weeks left with me. You’re a third of the way through!”
Ingrid chuckled. “I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel,” she replied. Then, hesitantly, she put a hand on the other woman’s arm. “It’s been…nice, having you around,” she admitted.
“Nice’?” Adele replied. “You really do know how to compliment a girl, Ingrid.”
“Look, I’m…”
“Shitty at small talk. I know. Don’t worry about it. It’s been ‘nice’ to me too,” Adele put her hand over Ingrid’s. “See you on Monday, Boss!”
“See you,” Ingrid replied as Adele headed towards the bus stop.
Saturday was a slow day. Ingrid went for a run, caught up on her reading, emailed a few far away friends, watched an old rom-com about a bookstore, and then went out to enjoy the sunset from her apartment’s balcony with a cold beer in hand. She was bored.
Her thoughts wandered, and she found herself wondering what Adele did with her weekends. She didn’t seem the type to aimlessly drift around the house. Probably spent half her day doing yoga and chanting, Ingrid thought dismissively.
But that got her to thinking, and the next morning (purely out of curiosity, she told herself) she looked up drop-in yoga classes. There was one that afternoon at a community center nearby where she felt reasonably sure that she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew from work. She packed a bag and went to check it out. After all, she told herself, retirement’s all about trying new things, isn’t it?
The class was surprisingly enjoyable, even if the teacher did insist on addressing her students’ inner light too often for Ingrid’s liking. Despite her severe skepticism, Ingrid found that she did actually feel better afterward. Just maybe, she thought as she left, she would come back next week.
“Ingrid!”
At the sound of her name, Ingrid jumped. Turning, she saw Adele smiling at her from across the community center lobby. “I didn’t know you came here!” Adele said when she’d joined her at the doors.
“I don’t,” Ingrid replied. “This is my first time. I came for the drop-in yoga class. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” she admitted grudgingly.
Adele grinned. “And? What did you think?”
“It’s okay. It helped my lower back.”
“It was ‘okay,' huh? Coming from you, that’s almost as good as ‘nice,'” Adele joked. “But seriously, I’m really glad you came.”
“Well, I don’t know…” Ingrid said. “The teacher was a bit too…” Ingrid searched for a more polite term, “spiritual for my taste.”
Adele laughed. “Some of us can be pretty out there. But hey, if you’d like, I can teach you some basics that you can do at home. That way you don’t have to listen to anyone being spiritual – or run the risk of being caught enjoying yoga in public,” she winked.
Ingrid looked sheepish. “That would be ni—” Ingrid caught herself mid-word. “That would be great.”
The younger woman smiled but didn’t make a joke. “Awesome. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Ingrid!” And, with a wave, Adele pushed through the front doors and was gone.
“Bye,” Ingrid called. When Ingrid got home, she was surprised to discover that she missed her.
Chapter Three
Tuesday was one of Ingrid’s least favorite days of the week. The paper went to the printers that night and all the last minute details had to be sorted out before then. She thanked God that at least The Chronicle wasn’t a daily paper.
“I have meetings until noon,” said Ingrid as she and Adele set their things down in her office. “Do you want to come to them or do you want to stay here and tweet?”
“Meetings,” said Adele quickly. “I want to learn.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes too high,” Ingrid responded.
“Duly noted,” said Adele. “Do you want me to take notes?”
“Uh…” Ingrid paused, unprepared. Usually, she just scrawled a few important dates and times onto whatever scrap of paper she found in her pockets.
“Yeah. Notes would be great.”
“Okay,” said Adele, fishing a notebook and a pencil case out of her large purse.
It turned out that Adele was actually quite good at meetings. Instead of zoning out, she asked a lot of pertinent questions about everything from layout to how articles were assigned. She also took extensive and legible notes. Ingrid was so impressed - and secretly so thankful – that she offered to take Adele out to lunch when the meetings were over.
“I’d love to,” said Adele. “Unless you’re planning on going for burgers or something.”
Ingrid sighed. “Let me guess. You’re a vegetarian.”
Adele said nothing but made a “keep going” motion with her hand.
“God, not a vegan?” Ingrid looked horrified.
Her intern giggled. “No, I’m just messing with you. I’m only a vegetarian.”
The older woman groaned. “Thank God. Those I can deal with. How does Indian sound? There’s a place around the corner that I really like, and they have all sorts of vegetarian options.”
�
��Perfect,” said Adele, swinging her purse onto her shoulder.
The restaurant had an enclosed courtyard at the back, and the two women settled themselves around a slightly wobbly round metal table next to a bamboo hedge.
“This place is really cute,” said Adele, looking around the plant-filled oasis. Above them, a square of blue sky was visible high above them, wedged between encroaching apartment buildings.
“You sound surprised,” said Ingrid.
“I am,” the redhead replied, perusing the menu. “I thought you’d be the kind of person who ate solely in grimy dives because they’re the only kind of restaurant with ‘real’ character in this corporate, pre-fab world.”
Ingrid thought about her other favorite restaurants and pulled a face. “Touché,” she said.
Adele smiled at her over her menu. “Are you buying?” she asked, an impish grin forming.
Ingrid looked at Adele’s teasing smile and felt something unexpected flutter in her chest. “Yeah,” she replied. “Order whatever you want. You’re the size of a Chihuahua, how much can you possibly eat, anyway?”
Adele cackled, and it seemed impossible that someone so cute could make such a devious noise. “Oh, dear, sweet, innocent Ingrid,” she said.
The blonde raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first time anyone’s called me innocent in a long time.”
Adele gave her a once over and smiled again, biting her lip in a way that was not at all innocent either. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together so that her arms pushed up her cleavage ever so slightly. “I bet it is,” she said.
Adele’s little performance caught Ingrid off guard, and she coughed in surprise. “What are you going to order?” she asked, changing the subject and directing her eyes back to her menu.
The intern giggled, leaning back in her chair again. “Garlic naan, palak paneer, the vegetable biryani, and a mango lassi. Oh, and chai.”
Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “Did you not eat breakfast?”
“Pff,” Adele replied, waving a beautifully-manicure hand dismissively. “Of course I ate breakfast. Cream cheese bagel with cucumber and a blueberry smoothie. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Ingrid. Did you eat breakfast? And coffee and a cigarette do not count.”
One Little Letter_A Bad Boy, Second Chance Romance Page 37
