Once everything's in order, I make myself a quick dinner to eat in front of the TV. I'm certainly not drinking any of Adrian's bourbon on an empty stomach, even if I don't particularly have much of an appetite right now.
My phone starts ringing when I'm halfway done, and the name on the screen gives me an instant sense of foreboding. I take a deep breath before answering.
"Hi, Mom."
"That was awfully quick," she says. "I hope you're not just sitting there on your phone all night."
Right away with this shit. Dad must have pissed her off with his expert passive-aggression. "Nope, I'm actually crocheting a life sized replica of the Last Supper."
She sighs. "I'm in no mood for your smart mouth."
"Why'd you call then, Mom?" I'm feeling pretty low on patience myself.
"Stop stuffing your face while I'm talking to you."
My blood simmers as I set down my fork. "You called me right in the middle of dinner, Mom."
"Well, then you shouldn't have answered," she sniffs. "It's rude."
"If I don't answer, you just keep calling." My fist is clenched in my lap. "Over, and over, and over…"
She sighs. "Then just stop eating. I doubt skipping a meal now and then would kill you."
It takes all of my self-control not to throw the phone at the wall.
"I have to go, Mom. I have a date."
"I'm sure you do." She's smiling on the other end, and I can picture it perfectly. "Your father and I just wanted to know when you'll be getting off for Thanksgiving, so we can plan your tickets."
"Actually, I'll just take care of those myself this year," I tell her. "Mr. Risinger gave me a nice bonus."
"Nonsense. You should put that money in a savings account."
"It's my money, Mom. I'll tell you when I'm coming, but I'm getting my own tickets, and if you buy some for me you're just gonna be stuck with them."
"When did you get like this?" she exclaims. "I swear, Meghan…"
"Have to go. Mr. Risinger's calling me on the other line. Bye, Mom."
I toss the phone down on the sofa with a groan. Now I'm definitely not finishing the rest of my dinner.
***
I'm sitting across from Adrian, and he knows something's wrong.
Watching him try to figure out whether or not he should say something, and if so, what, is almost funny enough to make me forget how much I hate my life.
Not quite, though.
"So," he says. "What do you want to know about Natalie?"
It's bizarre, the way he talks about her like she's a real person. Like he's got a broom propped up in the corner of his kitchen wearing lipstick. "You really think of her as a separate person?"
"Not really," he says. "But it's the easiest way to talk about it, without getting confused."
My head's throbbing already, but to be fair, it probably doesn't have all that much to do with him.
"So…she's you, but without a dick?"
"She's no one," he says, only smirking a little at that. "Just a name I attached to my books. Really, you should be having this conversation with Kara."
"Something tells me Kara wouldn't agree."
He makes a little face. "She's very protective of my career. Doesn't like anything that she sees as potentially jeopardizing it."
Right. His career. That must be it.
"I can see you're skeptical," he says. "But trust me, not every woman who meets me is instantly overcome with seething jealousy."
"Are you implying that I'm jealous?" I demand.
"No, Meghan." This is accompanied by a slow smile. "Of course not."
At any other time, in any other mood, this might have been a dangerous conversation. But I just grumble into my drink, and Adrian finally loses his internal battle not to mention anything.
"You seem even pricklier than usual," he says, finally. "Who do I need to kill?"
Taking a deep breath, I interlace my fingers. "What, no joke about how I must be having a fight with my coven?"
"You're clearly not in a laughing mood," he says, taking another sip. "And I don't like that. Come on - I'm sure there's a few kneecaps I could break to make this better."
Now I'm chuckling, a little. "What exactly makes you think violence could solve this?"
"I don't, really," he says. "But at least it got you to smile."
My cheeks are turning slightly pink. "I didn't know you cared."
"Of course I care," he says. "Remember when I broke my arm, and you tied my ties for six weeks straight? A man doesn't forget a thing like that."
I do remember that, and I remember thinking it was the closest I'd ever gotten to him. There's something about standing so close to a man like that, close to his scent, the heat of his body. It felt like an oddly intimate task, something his wife should be doing, if he had one. Which of course he doesn't.
I suppose I'm the next best thing.
He's poking fun at me a little, I think, but maybe not. His smile is hard to read.
"It's my mom," I tell him, finally. "She just called a little while before you got here."
Adrian's face changes slightly. "Ah," he says. "I can see the complication. If my father were still alive, I'd suggest we put them into the Thunderdome together."
I smirk. "Whoever wins, we lose?"
"Exactly." He's chuckling. "I keep telling you to stop taking her calls."
"And I keep telling you, not everyone in the world just wants to cut and run from every inconvenient person in their lives." I give him a pointed look. "And it's a good thing, too."
He shoots me a wicked grin as he leans forward to pick up his drink. "At least I pay you to put up with me."
"I don't feel like I understand Natalie McBride any better than I did before," I tell him, letting out a long breath. "But I do feel better."
"And I didn't even have to hurt anyone." He tilts his glass towards me. "Cheers. Why don't you tell me what you think of Natalie, and I can tell you if you're wrong?"
"Oh, good, your favorite pastime." I take a deep breath. "Well, I think she's a kinky broad who likes to get spanked. Her husband's learned to enjoy it, but secretly she wishes he was the aggressor, more like Dirk. He won't do any of the bondage stuff and he lacks the patience to be a proper Dom. But she's happy. She loves her readers, they give her validation that he can't, because he doesn't really understand what she writes."