Friendly Persuasion

by Dawn Atkins

  She tugged Ross’s hand more firmly onto her breast. He squeezed gently, as if he were testing an avocado for ripeness rather than reassuring the woman he loved. So perfectly Ross.

  13

  SEVEN O’CLOCK on a Monday morning and Ross was awake. Bizarre. He rarely came to consciousness before nine-thirty on a weekday, and after nonstop lovemaking all weekend, he should be sleeping like the dead. But he was wide-awake—and happy as hell because Kara was in his bed. Of course he could roll over for more z’s, but he’d rather watch her sleep, her face relaxed, a half smile on her lips, a love bite on her neck.

  He was so glad he’d gone and ripped her away from Baylor the Failer and told her he loved her.

  He was supposed to be the sexual expert, but Kara had taught him things about sex he didn’t know he didn’t know.

  Sex had always been fun, freeing, relaxing and healthy. But now he saw it could be the uniting of two souls, two people striving for a shared pleasure, glorying in this high moment of being human. Far from the French la petite mort, the little death, this was a declaration of life. Life in all its preciousness shared with the woman he loved.

  He’d been going through the motions with other women. Everything changed with someone you truly cared about, someone whose feelings meant more than your own, whose pain was your agony, whose pleasure was your highest goal.

  Jeez. He was getting carried away. Uncertainty tightened his gut. He had no track record with love. He’d loved Beth, after all, and look how that had ended—boredom for him and pain for her. But he hadn’t felt like this about Beth even at the beginning. Surely, this was different. This would last.

  He pushed aside his doubts. He’d taken the plunge and he wasn’t backing out now. Kara was counting on him. They wouldn’t rush into anything irreversible. Like marriage. That made him break out in a sweat. Maybe, after a while, they’d try living together. There was a chance this could just run a natural course. Take it one day at a time.

  Right now he was up early, so he would make love to Kara, start their new life together right. He kissed the sweet spot on her neck, where he’d given her that hickey. He loved that—making her his own, giving her proof of his passion to look at all day at work.

  “Mmm,” she said, turning lazily toward him, sliding against him, tangling her legs with his. Then she opened her eyes. Alert, she jerked to a sit. “What time is it?” Her gaze flew around the room.

  He lifted his Roy Rogers clock and held it close to her face. “Early. Only seven. We have plenty of time.”

  “Seven? Oh, no!” She leaped out of bed. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “I thought we’d have some start-the-week-right nookie.”

  “God, no. By now I should be done with yoga. I still have to shower, have breakfast and fix my lunch. Plus I have no clothes.” She was talking as she galloped around the room picking up underwear and her dress. They’d only gotten dressed once to hit a restaurant, then hurried back, ripping things off as they headed for bed.

  Ross rolled to a sit, shaken by this early morning ruckus. He liked to kick off slowly from the sleep pool and gradually get his day legs under him. Kara was rattling the early morning molecules and it made his head hurt. “I’ve got Cap’n Crunch,” he managed. “Except the milk might be bad.”

  “I don’t do sugar cereals. Thank you, anyway. I’ve gotta get home, Ross. I’ll see you at work.”

  He looked at her from bed, scratching his head, feeling foggy. “What’s your hurry? Siegel and Sampson never show up until ten on Mondays.”

  “I don’t care about them. I have work to do,” she said, clip-clopping on one shoe to his chair, then bending to look under it.

  “On the weight bench.” He’d had to move it out from under him when he’d leaned back on the bench so she could get at him better from her position kneeling between his legs.

  “Oh.” She stood bolt upright and stared at him, remembering.

  Amazingly enough, sex without games was proving to be even hotter than the fantasy stuff. Maybe because they’d become vulnerable to each other emotionally as well as sexually. He was proud of himself for realizing that. Kara was teaching him things. Maybe he could teach her something, too. Something about how much better the day went when you started off with a breakfast boff. He crooked a finger at her.

  She rushed to him and leaned down for a kiss. “I don’t want to go, Ross,” she moaned. “This has been so…so…”

  “Repeatable,” he said. “Come here and I’ll show you,” he said, trying to pull her into the bed.

  She stayed back. “I have to go. Tonight will be great, though.” Then she galloped out of his apartment before he even had a chance to suggest a personal day. She’d never fake a sick day. Not that he made a habit of it, but a mental health day now and then kept his creative juices flowing and made him feel less like a wage-slave.

  He felt a flicker of distress at how weird it would be to live around Kara and her work style. They might be like twins in the sack, but they were opposites in the workplace—and life.

  He used strawberry Quick in his Cap’n Crunch, since the milk was bad, took a quick shower and moseyed into work. First stop, Kara’s office. She was keyboarding like mad, the phone tucked at her ear, nodding her head at the caller’s words.

  He caught her eye, blew her a kiss.

  She looked queasy, then waved him away, as if he were distracting her from something important. Lighten up, he thought.

  “Gabriel?” Uh-oh. Siegel. Not a good start to the week.

  “Hey, Saul,” he said, turning.

  “Step into my office, would you?”

  “Now?” Ross thought back to see if he owed the man any work. Nothing that he could remember. In fact, Saul had seemed quite pleased with the extra stuff he’d done because Lancer was tanking it.

  “Please,” Saul said, motioning toward his door.

  He followed Siegel into his chichi digs—all black leather, expensive wood and original oils—and sat on the edge of a spongy glove-leather chair across from Saul’s desk.

  Saul shut the door. Closed door meeting. Not good. Ross was not interested in overtime, not with Kara in his life and all those new sexual things to explore. Saul smiled at him. He definitely wanted something.

  “So what’s up?” Ross asked.

  “I thought we’d talk about Lancer’s job.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I understand you’re interested.”

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  Saul leveled his gaze at him, as if he thought he was being coy. “Let’s just say a little bird told me.”

  Kara. Had to be Kara. What the hell was she pulling here? “I like my job fine, Saul. I wouldn’t turn down a raise, of course, but everything else is copacetic.”

  “Your résumé looks good, Ross. I’d forgotten you won those Plus One Advertising awards, and you handled the office well when Lancer had that little incident in Las Vegas.”

  “What résumé?”

  Siegel frowned, then opened a folder and pulled out a piece of paper, which he slid across the desk to him.

  Businesslike formatting. Card stock paper. Definitely Kara’s work. “The little bird was misinformed. I don’t want the job.” He shoved the paper back across the desk.

  “Don’t be modest. The starving artist routine gets old. Ambition is a good thing. Trust me on this.”

  Ross just stared at him. “No, thanks.”

  Saul stared back. “If you mean that, we’ve got a problem. I haven’t put out feelers or placed ads, figuring I’d promote from within—good for morale and all.”

  “The problem’s yours, Saul, not mine.”

  Siegel leaned closer across his desk. “I like you, Ross. You’ve got good ideas. I can see you’ve been getting more serious, not watching the clock or playing chicken with morning meetings, letting Kara cover for you.”

  He flinched. He didn’t think the partners were wise to his bad habits.

  “Maybe
it’s time you looked to the future,” Saul continued. “Got some savings going. This means a definite salary boost. Full benefits. A real office. Nameplate and all.”

  “I like my job, Saul, and I’m not interested in headaches. I’ve seen you with the Mylanta cocktail three times a day.”

  Siegel looked annoyed. “I have acid reflux and I’d have it on a yacht in Bimini. It’s physiology, not stress.” He tapped Ross’s résumé. “The job’s yours anyway, at least until we can post the position. Lancer’s a cardboard cutout right now. There are some timing problems with the New Mirage tourism campaign and I need someone to step in before we start a downward service spiral.”

  “You’re telling me I have to do the job? Against my will?”

  “Calm down. This is an honor, not a punishment, my friend. We’re putting our faith and trust in you, our loyal, hardworking employee.” Siegel smirked. Ross liked his wit. If it weren’t a matter of principle, he’d probably laugh. Besides, it wasn’t Siegel he was angry at. It was Kara—the woman he loved. And that was definitely not good.

  She’s just trying to help you. But an ache in his gut told him it wasn’t that simple. Kara wanted to fix him. Like she’d been fixing his apartment. She’d made no secret of the fact that she wanted a man who was going places. Now that they were together, she was trying to jump-start him into a career—whether he liked it or not.

  Next she’d attack his wardrobe. Instead of the surf shop where he bought thick cotton T-shirts and tough-wearing pants and shorts, she’d drag him to Macy’s men’s department with its endless racks of this season’s green, where the only way to distinguish one corporate soldier from the next were the designs on their jewel-toned ties. Before long, she’d have him signing up for a time-share in Aspen.

  Kara, don’t do this to me.

  He started down the hall to her office to confront her, but realized he should wait until he was calm enough to be gentle.

  But then he got busy. Julie and Bob weren’t speaking, which was why the Stone Pony Mineral Baths account had two different logos. Instead of cooking up ideas for a logo for a skateboard club wanting to go national, he spent two hours finessing things between Julie and Bob, then talking to the account exec, even ending up on a conference call with the Stone Pony CEO, gritting his teeth the whole time.

  He was still grouchy when he ran into Kara in the lunchroom.

  “How’s it going?” she said sweetly, stars in her eyes.

  “How do you think it’s going?” he snapped. “It started out with a meeting with Siegel, where, evidently somebody’s been playing fairy godmother.”

  “You met with Saul?” she said. “How’d it go?”

  “Why did you tell him I wanted that job?”

  “You already do the job, so you might as well get the money and prestige that go with it.” She came close to him and touched his arm, but he pulled away. He would not be distracted by her touch.

  “It’s a moot point now. Siegel strong-armed me into it until he can hire someone.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Aren’t you listening to me? I told him no. I don’t want the job. I never did.” And then he added fiercely, “Don’t try to change me, Kara.”

  “I’m helping you get what you want.”

  “What you want, you mean. If you really want a house in the suburbs and a membership in the country club, go after someone who’ll get that for you. Because it’s not me. Where the hell did you get the idea it was?”

  “Why are you attacking me? I was just helping.”

  They locked gazes. She was hurt. Not fair. He was the injured party here. “I’m just upset,” he said. “Forget it.”

  “I understand,” she said shakily. “I guess I should have checked with you, but I didn’t want you to say no before you heard what Saul had to say.”

  “It’s okay.” But it wasn’t and that familiar feeling rose in him—the desire to shake off the sticky webs of obligation, to break free, be himself, ready to take off if he needed to, with no one he could hurt or disappoint.

  “WHOSE TURN IS IT?” Kara asked, staring blindly at her spades hand.

  “Huh?” Tina said, bringing her gaze back to the card game. No one seemed interested in the game today, but at least Tina was happy—she was in a lovestruck haze over Tom. Kara and Ross smiled at each other, but tension buzzed between them.

  She’d never forget the look on his face—how could you do this to me? Like she was his mother making him eat Brussels sprouts or do his homework.

  What had she done that was so wrong? She’d been helping him as a friend. In fact, when she’d spoken to Siegel they’d still been only friends. He’d accused her of trying to change him. Not fair at all.

  They planned to meet at Ross’s place for dinner after work. They’d get past this awkwardness, she was certain. Make-up sex was supposed to be the best.

  FIVE HOURS LATER, Kara stood on the terrace outside Ross’s apartment and watched rain drip off the eaves to form puddles at her feet. Here she was, waiting for Ross in the rain—just like the night of the cab sex. He was an hour late. Where could he be? They’d left the office at the same time.

  The landlords weren’t home or she’d have waited with them. She could go to her own apartment, but she kept thinking Ross would be here any minute. How had it all gone so wrong? The weekend had been so perfect—they’d been best friends in love. She’d thought they had it all—sharing love and work and life.

  But since the argument, it was as if the filter over a lens had popped off and everything that had been soft and hazy and pink and pretty now looked hard and clear and flawed. She’d always promised herself she’d choose her man carefully and with her future in mind. How could she have chosen Ross?

  He was always late, even now when they were both on their best behavior. Was he doing it on purpose? At work, he’d seemed to want to be angry at her about the job. Almost as if he’d been looking for an excuse.

  The rain poured down, increasing her gloom. During their cab fantasy, the rain had been mysterious and sensuous and romantic. Now it was just wet and irritating. Where was Ross? Was he ducking her? Was this some passive-aggressive way to show his anger?

  He was on a motorcycle, she remembered abruptly. Dangerous in the rain. She pictured the bike sliding on a greasy puddle, his poor body tossed onto the street. Oh, God.

  She was about to bang on a neighbor’s door to start calling hospitals when she saw Ross’s motorcycle pull into a parking spot. He bounced off the bike and strolled across the lot, taking his time, as though she hadn’t been waiting for him for an hour, terrified for his life.

  He looked up at her from the parking lot. “Kara!” he said, his face pure delight.

  She would not smile, much as his expression warmed her. They had to reach an understanding about this. When he’d bounded up the stairs to her, she said, “Where have you been?”

  “I’ll show you.” He opened his backpack and pulled out a dozen bedraggled daisies, which he presented triumphantly to her. “For what happened today.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the flowers. He was trying, at least. “I’ve been waiting and waiting, worried sick.”

  “Why would you worry? I picked up dinner and it took longer than I expected to get the Peking duck.” He held his open backpack under her nose, showing her the white sack, grease spotted, emitting the enticing scent of sesame oil and garlic.

  “That’s great,” she said, trying to calm down. “Next time, call me. What if you’d been hurt? I was about to call hospitals.”

  His open expression closed up. “I wasn’t hurt, Kara. I was getting our dinner—and flowers for you.” Again she felt like his mother, or his jailer, and she hated it. “I just forgot you don’t have a key yet.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just…I just worry.” That wasn’t a helpful thing to say, but the day’s frustrations and her fear about their relationship and his possible death by
rain-wobbly motorcycle had just balled up into a panic.

  “I know you do,” he said with a weary sigh, the kind of sigh you gave your parents when they reported you missing after midnight or something equally over-reactive. “I’ll get a key made. Relax.” He reached past her and unlocked the door, shaking his head as though she was neurotic.

  She wanted to apologize for her outburst, to explain her tension and the newness of everything, but instead she joked. “I guess we’re having our first fight.”

  But he only frowned. “We’re not fighting.” As if a fight meant something terrible, instead of just part of a relationship.

  They laid out the food—an activity usually filled with jokes and pokes with chopsticks—in near silence, then sat down to eat. Even the tattered daisies didn’t lighten the mood.

  Ross took a bite of beef broccoli, frowned, then examined one of the small containers. “This is the wrong sauce,” he said, his jaw muscle ticking. He picked up a bite of duck with his chopsticks, chewed, then stopped. “Is yours cold?” he demanded.

  “It’s okay,” she said, though the meat was icy.

  “No, it isn’t. It’s cold. I’ll get them to deliver something better.” She knew Ross didn’t care about things like this. He patronized the mediocre restaurant because the owner was a friend. He didn’t care about the food, just the gesture. He was worrying about it because of her.

  She dropped her chopsticks and felt tears slide down her cheeks. “This isn’t right, Ross. You’re acting strange.”

  “I’m doing my best. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to be yourself, except…” Better? Was she trying to improve him? “I just don’t know how to do this—this relationship thing.”

  “Neither do I,” he said, taking another bite of the cold food. They chewed in silence for a minute. Then he looked up at her. “I know I love you,” he said hopefully.

  “Me, too,” she said. But that obviously didn’t solve the problem. Wanting it to work wasn’t enough. You could shave the corners off a square peg, but it would always be a squeeze into that round hole. “Maybe we can’t do this,” she whispered, voicing her worst fears.