Meeting Mr. Steele

by Melanie Marchande

  I've got bigger fish to fry.

  "Diction lessons?" Josh says, grimacing at the paper I've handed him. "Seriously?"

  "They're not diction lessons," I insist. "You just need to talk a certain way. That's all. Think HAL 9000."

  He smirks. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Dave. Is that supposed to be sexy?"

  "Not that soft-spoken, just...measured. Calm. Pronouncing everything carefully."

  "You said I didn't sound natural enough, and now you want me to talk like a robot." He shrugs. "Makes sense!"

  "I thought you said you wanted to do this," I snap. "And I'm pretty sure HAL's not a robot. He's just a computer."

  Josh's smile softens as he plops down on my sofa, cup of coffee in hand. "I knew you had a little bit of nerd in you."

  "Yeah, I really look the part, don't I?" This time, I actually sit down next to him. I'm not sure why. He registers surprise, but it seems to be at what I said, rather than what I did.

  He blows on his coffee lightly. "What's that supposed to mean? I just meant, you know, you're smart." He taps the side of his head. "Glasses. I know it's a stereotype, but it's true, isn't it?"

  "Wait, are you saying I'm smart because I wear glasses?" I'm laughing now, and he's a little embarrassed. "Landon Steele doesn't blush, you know."

  "Fuck Landon Steele." He grins at me. "There, I said it. You can hit me if you want to."

  Rolling my eyes, I take a sip of my own coffee. I'm trying hard not to think about how close he is to me. I could roll over and be in his lap.

  Why the hell would that even pop into your head?

  "I wouldn't hit you. Guys never get Landon. That's just the way it is."

  "Well, of course. No real guy could compete with a man like that." He glances at me meaningfully. At least, I'm pretty sure it's meaningful. I just don't know what it means.

  I just shrug. "Nobody actually expects them to. In spite of what everybody thinks, guys don't watch porn and actually expect that in real life. It's the same thing. These women love their husbands. They appreciate them. I see the way they talk about their real-life lovers with stars in their eyes. Makes me jealous, actually."

  That's much more honest than I usually am...with anyone, really. Especially a near-stranger. There's a lot of things I've done because of Josh that I don't normally do. I'm not much of a hugger, and I don't like people in my personal space. But right now, it feels like a great idea to scoot a little closer on the sofa. I do, disguising it as straightening my skirt.

  I've dressed to impress, which feels weird now. He must have noticed. Oh well, let him think that I'm going on a hot date later. My skirt is a deep maroon color, knee-length and flatteringly swishy. My blouse is low-cut with ribbons criss-crossing in a faux corset look, and it normally flares out nicely over my "problem areas." But when I'm sitting down, I'm quite aware of the roll that forms around my middle.

  This is what I truly hate about my body. Not the thing itself; I know, objectively, there's nothing wrong with it. Back when Rubens was painting portraits of women who looked like me, I would have been hot shit. Sometimes, I still am. But that's just the thing: sometimes. When I meet a man, I never know if he's a fan of the extra cushion, or if he's neutral, or if he's downright disgusted. And it's not exactly a question you can just casually ask somebody.

  "I said you're smart because you're smart," Josh says. I shake myself out of my depressing thoughts. "But your glasses are cute, too."

  He looks down at the floor. Holy hell, is he trying to flirt with me? Does he think it's going to help?

  Well, okay, it doesn't hurt.

  "So, what's the deal with that author signing event?" Josh stirs his coffee, glancing up at me. "I saw you fielding a bunch of questions about it online."

  I shrug. "Just another publicity shtick. I've never done them, for obvious reasons. But they know I'm in the city, so they're bugging me more than usual about it."

  "I gotta admit, I'm surprised you didn't ask me to go." He takes a sip, his eyes still locked on mine. "Don't think I'm ready?"

  "You said you weren't very good at improv. I didn't want to push you."

  He smirks. "That's a very polite way to say it. But if you want to surprise everybody, I'd be okay with that."

  Smiling ruefully, I pour a cup for myself. "Registration was a year ago. If I'd known I was going to end up hiring you anyway, I probably would have. But you can't exactly just pop into something like this."

  "Why not? They got locks on the doors? Armed guards?" There's a glint in his eyes, and I'm not entirely sure that I like it.

  I'm sort of hoping he's joking, but I'm also sort of hoping he's not. Like so many things when it comes to Josh, it's a complicated series of emotions. "Do you really want to crash a book signing?" I'm laughing a little, but his eyes widen, like he's trying to signal this isn't a joke at all.

  "Maybe not the actual signing," he concedes. "But it's a convention, right? I bet we can just wander into the hotel and hang out in the lobby, nobody's going to ask to see our papers. Just spread the rumor on social media. Your fans will show. And I'll schmooze. They'll love it."

  "You're scarily good at this," I admit. "How long have you been planning this coup?"

  He shrugs. "Just popped into my head last night, when I was reading your feed. Your fans want to meet you. Why not give 'em what they want?"

  I have to admit, it's kind of a romantic idea. And it'll be fun to see people reacting to Landon Steele in person, even if the attention won't be directed towards me. We'll have a little more control over the situation, deciding on our own when to come and go, rather than being at the mercy of the TV production company. If things get overwhelming, we can always bail.

  "Maybe," I say, finally. "But I don't know. Things might get a little crazy. You sure you're up for this?"

  "Absolutely." He grins. "You gotta live a little. Here, we'll come up with a secret signal if we need to bail. Owl noises. Do you do bird calls?"

  I'm giggling, starting to forget about why we were here in the first place. "We could just, you know, talk to each other."

  "Right." He lifted his cup. "Cheers. I forgot about that."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Tuggey."

  Josh grimaces. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Tuggey," he repeats.

  I pull my hand away from his. "Your palms are sweaty."

  He lets out a huge sigh, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Of course they are. Every part of me is sweating. My brain is sweating. This is brutal."

  "We're almost there¸" I promise him. "Just a little smoother."

  Josh makes a frustrated noise, raking his hands through his hair. "You keep saying that. I don't know what it means!"

  "Smooth," I repeat. "Like James Bond. Don Draper. Sinatra. Idris Elba. I don't know, just, smooth."

  "You're going to feel bad when I keel over dead," he says.

  He sounds different.

  I freeze, staring at him. "Say that again."

  "You're gonna..."

  "No!" I cut him off, with a vague yet frantic gesture. "No, no, you had it. You had it for a second. Now you're back to Josh. For a second there, I heard Mr. Steele. I really did."

  His chest puffs out slightly when he breathes in. "Really?"

  "Yes, really!" I'm feeling positively gleeful, but also terrified it was a one-time fluke that's now lost forever. "Come on. Try again. Going to, not gonna. It's two separate words."

  "You're going to feel bad..."

  That's as far as he gets before I squeal.

  "Wow." He's grinning, scratching at the back of his neck in that sorta-embarrassed tick of his. But I don't mind, because he's finally got it. "If I'd known how happy you'd be, I would've tried harder."

  "Are you implying you weren't before?" I'm mock scandalized, and he just laughs.

  "You know I've been working my ass off for you." He's still doing the voice, a little bit, without meaning to - and he cringes. "Shit. I sound like I'm about to ask my dad when we're
meeting at the country club later."

  "You do not," I insist. "You sound sexy."

  Well. That just came out of my mouth.

  "Not that you don't normally," I hear myself say. "Shit. Uh, I mean..."

  Josh is smiling - a real smile, without a hint of sarcasm, one that grows slowly across his face. His eyes light up a little. Like it actually matters that I think he's sexy. Like he cares.

  Well, everybody likes to be flattered. I shouldn't read too much into this.

  "Kim, I wanna ask you something." He takes a step closer, and there's a little wrinkle in his forehead that tells me this might actually be important. Instantly, my heart's pounding. "You know when we uh, when we did that roleplay thing?"

  He's completely un-Steele now, and I'm perfectly okay with that. My throat feels like a desert, but I try swallowing anyway.

  Then, I nod.

  Like I could possibly forget about that. I still feel incredibly bad about it, even if he was flubbing the part. I never should have kicked him out like that. But I didn't know how else to cope with the way he made me feel.

  "This is...uh..." He's biting his lip a little, and it's cute, and I'm so glad he's still himself underneath all the alpha male trappings I'm trying to decorate him with.

  And right then, my phone rings.

  The moment's broken. I can tell right away, and I could kill whoever's on the other end.

  "Go ahead, you'd better get that," Josh mumbles, and I do, without even looking at the number.

  "Hi, Kimberly. It's Steve, from Morning Brew. How are you?"

  I swallow hard. "Great!" I say, much too loudly. "What's up?"

  "I just wanted to call and let you know I sent the questions over. If there's anything I can clarify, or anything else I need to do for you, just let me know. Okay?"

  Yeah, can you go back in time and make it so you didn't call me just now?

  "Thanks!" I say, again, way too loud. Hopefully he'll think it's just a weird connection. "Mr. Steele's actually here right now. I'll go over them and let you know if he has any questions."

  When I hang up, the silence is deafening.

  ***

  "Got something fancy coming up?"

  The clerk at the menswear store is giving me a knowing smile. That hey, my boyfriend's a little bit of a fixer-upper too look. I kind of resent it, although I guess I should be flattered. But even though I brought Josh here specifically to clean up his image, I don't like the way everybody here acts like there's something wrong with him.

  But no, he can't show up as Landon Steele in ripped jeans and motorcycle tee, so we have to do this.

  And now the clerk's looking at me like she thinks I'm a little soft in the head.

  "Uh, yeah," I say, quickly. "Sorry. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

  She grins. "Bet you didn't."

  Lord. I'm blushing like a traffic light, and I keep glancing at the dressing room door to see if Landon's on his way back out.

  Josh. To see if Josh is on his way back out. As if that would make it better.

  "Yeah, my sister's wedding," I blurt out, improvising pretty well. I don't even have a sister. "He's going to meet my parents there, so..."

  "Hey, might as well be somewhere with alcohol!" she says, cheerily. "Hope they have an open bar! Make sure he doesn't get too drunk, though. You've got to keep that ink covered up in front of Mom and Dad."

  "Actually, my parents are pretty cool with that sort of thing." That part is not a lie, although I think they might've given up on my love life by now. They'd just be happy if I brought home a human being with a pulse for Thanksgiving. Not that I ever brought home one without a pulse, but sometimes I wonder how long they'd keep the ruse going if I came with a blow-up doll.

  She's chuckling a little, and I don't really know what that means. "Hon, I'm almost old enough to be your mom, and let me tell you - we always say we don't mind that sort of thing, but trust me. We don't want to picture you with some tatted-up blue collar bad boy. But that's okay. I can help you make him look presentable."

  I'm grinding my teeth into a fine powder as I smile.

  "Actually, I like him just the way he is," I tell her. She's smoothing a shirt on a hanger, not really listening to me. "He doesn't need a suit to impress anybody."

  "It helps, though," comes Josh's voice. I realize I let my eyes drift away from the dressing rooms, and he's been standing behind me for God knows how long.

  Then I get a look at him, and I almost forget to be embarrassed.

  Almost.

  The lines of the suit hug his body perfectly, sleek but not too tight. The clerk gives him that spin around gesture, and he does, smiling. He's preening a little. He should be.

  "Y...yeah," I say, finally. "I think that's it."

  "This was way less painful than I expected!" Josh saunters over to the register, and so help me, I cannot stop staring at his ass.

  Cannot. It's impossible.

  He's going to wear the suit home. Of course he's going to wear the suit home. He's like a kid who just got new sneakers that light up when he walks. It's a novelty to him, something hilarious and fun, and he has absolutely no idea that I'm about to explode in a cloud of lust, right here at the menswear store next to the holiday tie rack.

  "Hon?" He pauses, looking back at me. "You ready to go?"

  Right. He needs me to pay. Also, he just called me hon. Exactly how much of my phony backstory did he hear? I don't know why I'm embarrassed of the fact that I pretended we were a couple. I mean, what else even makes sense?

  Still, I'm ashamed of myself. I feel childish, and I'm not even the one who's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet because he got a new outfit.

  The clerk gives us another condescending glance when she realizes this is going on my card. She evidently thinks I'm slumming it, and that's a pretty hilarious concept to apply here. Or, she thinks he's only with me because of my money - and she's right about that, even if the details are a little bit off.

  "What a snob, huh?" Josh says, as we head down the sidewalk.

  "Tell me about it. Somebody should tell her if she keeps making that face, it'll stay that way." I'm still blushing like crazy, but I just keep my face turned away a little bit and hope he doesn't notice.

  "That was really sweet, the way you stood up for me," he says. "You didn't have to."

  I shrug. "It was annoying me. I didn't like the implication."

  "What, that there's something wrong with me, or that there's something wrong with us?" He clears his throat. "Being together, I mean."

  "We're not," I say, quickly, mostly because I need to remind myself.

  "I'm aware," he says, dryly. "But that was your story."

  "It was all I could think of." I hate that I feel so defensive around him all the time.

  "Relax, I don't care." He shrugs. "I mean, I wish we had her blessing, but you know, at least we got each other."

  He's laughing. Because of course, the idea of us being a couple is just too ridiculous.

  And I'm laughing too, because there's nothing else for me to do.

  ***

  On the day of the book signing, I call a town car service and head over to Josh's place to pick him up. It's far uptown, which doesn't surprise me. But I'm a little surprised that he's already waiting on the curb when we pull up near his place. It's starting to get chilly outside, but it doesn't seem to bother him.

  "Sorry you had to come here," he says, climbing in. Considering how much he seemed to like the suit when I bought it, now he seems uncomfortable in his own skin. Like he thinks people are staring at him. Well, there's going to be a lot of staring later. He'll have to get used to it.

  "Don't apologize," I tell him. "Traffic wasn't so bad."

  He glances at me a little askance, like I missed whatever his point was. But I'm not getting into that now, we have some last-minute drills to run.

  By the time we arrive at the hotel, Josh is nothing more than a glint in Landon Steele's eye. I'm terr
ibly proud of him, and myself - and a little unnerved.

  My creation is sitting just a few inches from me. Six foot two inches of pure, unadulterated sex. Every woman's fantasy, wrapped up in dark worsted wool and a crisp white shirt. Pretty soon he'll be surrounded by admirers, but for now, I've got him all to myself.

  Just me and Mr. Steele.

  I wonder what he'd say if I put up the partition and...

  Get a grip, Tuggey. For fuck's sake.

  "Take off your sunglasses," I tell him, instead of please please please ravish me in the backseat of this town car. "You look like a dick."

  "Not until the right moment," he says, smirking. "It's all about timing, love."

  Love?

  "That's my new thing," he says, in response to my unspoken question. "I feel like Steele probably calls people love a lot."

  He doesn't, but I bite my tongue. Because now, he does. Landon Steele is officially out of my control.

  And I thought the dick pic thing was bad.

  Landon - Josh - was right. We walk into the hotel with a crowd of convention-goers, and there's not a security camera or a rental cop in sight. Half of the people aren't wearing badges, and we've put the word out on social media to watch for a Landon selfie that will tell people who to look for.

  All the seating in the lobby is full, so we end up huddled against a wall, already drawing curious stares from those who wonder what a guy who looks like Landon Steele is doing here.

  Josh leans down to murmur in my ear. "Time for my close-up?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  He grabs my phone and snaps an obnoxiously grinning picture, from an extreme high angle. I shake my head.

  "No smiling. Come on. You need to try a little harder."

  "That's the only take you get." He hands the phone back to me. "Post that, or post nothing at all. C'mon. You think Landon doesn't have a sense of humor?"