Cupid's Contract

Fur Ball

Was it possible for a five minute walk to become twenty?

It certainly felt like it for Eve, as she trudged alongside Andrew Harper towards the conference room.

It was as if her mind and body were inhabiting two separate atmospheres, each equally engaged in different conundrums.

Her brain was whirring and whizzing, desperately trying to figure out what the issues were at the weekend and how much trouble she actually was in. If there had been any problems they were not made known to Eve. Not real problems, anyway. She'd heard about the shortage of toilet paper in the women's bathroom, and the lack of parking, but those weren't exactly mountains to overcome. She didn't think they even qualified as molehills!

Eve's brain was less interested in climbing the career ladder and more focused on scaling Andrew's body like the aforementioned tool. Had he always had this affect on her? The hair on the back of her neck was crackling and she was very aware of their proximity. If she swung her arm just a tad more enthusiastically their wrists might brush, and that would be quite nice.

Oh, Lord, no. Now she was swinging her arms like a maniac and she didn't know how to dial it back to a more normal velocity. She looked like the product of a bypassed evolutionary stage. Like, a key stage. Maybe the one where apes stopped snacking on hair insects and began grooming for fashion as opposed to appetite. Any minute now her arms would start flapping about and she'd dislocate a shoulder.

Andrew cleared his throat awkwardly, and Eve wrapped her arms around herself, stopping the insane swooping and instead looking like a mannequin in a straitjacket store.

"Sorry," she croaked, and Andrew looked taken aback by the cracking of her cords. "I'm so distracted. Were you saying something?" He probably thought her so self involved, there he was chatting away and she was auditioning for a National Geographic wildlife shoot. So very rude, really. He was so nice and she was behaving like a loon.

His face became even more quizzical. "Uh, no? No. I haven't said a word."

Right, well that was even worse. Was that how it was going to be? Utter silence every time he was in the same room as her? If anyone was rude, it was him.

"Listen, Eve. I'm sorry about the whole thing on Saturday. I think your grandmother's sangria got the better of me. It was unprofessional and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. No more pouncing on you, I promise."

The finality of the statement made Eve's insides wilt. Smiling awkwardly, she forced herself to make eye contact, albeit briefly. "I would have called it a 'swoop' more so than a 'pounce', to be honest."

"Oh? 'Pounce' sounds a bit more masculine, so I'm going to stick with that, if you don't mind. 'Swooping' is a bit delicate, I think." Was that one of his delightful dimples poking out?

"Hmm. I see what you mean. 'Swooping' is really just a hop and skip away from 'swooning', isn't it? Only a letter away, even."

"Much too close. Birds swoop. Lions pounce."

Two dimples were out, now. Full force dimple-age. Like staring into a car's high beams. Her insides felt like Spring and there was no sign of wilting intestines, or whatever that sensation of dreary cool have been before.

"I never really thought of you as a cat person, but it kind of makes sense, I guess."

Eve expected an equally nonsensical response but all she got in return was a goofy smile. It instantly neutralised the formality of the situation, of Drew's suit and his expertly coifed hair, in the grey and uniformly bland hallways of Harper House.

The full attention of his pearly whites on her made her uncomfortable, and rather than brush it off or, better yet, bask in it, she continued to run her mouth with increasingly silly statements.

"You know, because you're always clearing your throat. I thought maybe you had tonsillitis but I know better now."

"Oh?"

They had stopped now, the pretence of walking to the conference room abandoned as he leaned against the dull walls and smiled down at her.

"Fur balls."

The contained guffaw that bubbled up from him in riposte was succinct.

"That was a tough one, huh?" She stepped closer and rubbed his arm in mock sympathy, and felt his bicep under the thick wool fabric twitch in response. She whipped her hand back but didn't move away.

"It explains the whole glass thing, too."

Drew's smile had gotten smaller, like a secret that was just for the two of them. He was looking down at her, and she was babbling gibberish up at him, and it was like he had nothing but time for it all.

"What glass thing?"

"Well, I've noticed you always have a glass of water with you. At lunch, in meetings, at your desk."

"I do?" He looked at her incredulously.

She was basically admitting to being a secret stalker. When had she even realised this fact? She didn't know, but she knew it was true.

"Yup. You never drink from it, because cats hate water. But you move it around, like a little nervous tic. From left to right, closer to you, further away, it's like a type of sign language or secret code. Did he move it to the left because he approves? Or because I said something stupid?"

"I always approve of you, I thought I made that much clear." His voice was very low, and husky. Eve thought that only happened in Mills & Boon books. Or like 50 Shades of Inappropriate Public Viewing. She was very warm now, her chest radiating heat that hopefully wasn't showing on her face in a big splotch of red.

"You never drink from it, though."

"I don't?" He was staring at her lips now, and both her mind and her body were fully focused on this moment.

"Nope. Sometimes, you raise it up like you're going to take a sip. You lick your lips and look like you're finally ready to taste that glorious, BPA filtered Harper water..."

He licked his lips now, a subconscious moistening of them, and Eve wasn't sure how a conversation about her boss' drinking habits became so charged.

"And then you change your mind, and you move the glass to the other side of table, and the charade continues."

"Charade?"

"You're basically the Rachel and Ross of Harper House. Will they? Won't they? So much angst!"

"You are ludicrous."

He was still smiling down at her and this time she was leaning into his smile.

Then the conference door swung open and Johnny was filling in the doorway.

"There you are, Evelyn. We were just talking about you."

***********

A nice long one, to make up for yesterday's tiddly post.

How is everyone doing?

I'm already in bed and ready to RAGE HARD this weekend.

And by rage I mean nap. Work was rough this week and I am not an early riser.

#CannotAdult

Has anyone seen The Greatest Showman? I watched it and it changed my life. The soundtrack is blasting 24/7 and I'm convinced I missed my calling... both as a bearded woman and as a broadway choir member. 

Does it matter if you can't dance?