Cupid's Contract

Burton of Responsibility

Drew stepped away from Eve as Johnny smiled down at them. "I didn't realise you were sitting in on this, Burton." His normally pleasant tones were decidedly curt.

"Not a worry, Andy. I think it's important for marketing to have a say in all events, don't you?" He moved out of the doorframe to usher the pair in, clasping Eve's arm as he guided her through with all the care of a palliative nurse. "Feeling alright, pet?"

Why was he acting like she was feeble? If anyone was in an unfortunate position it was Johnny, worming his way into meetings and family meals.

"Can the lady not walk on her own, John?" The sharp rasp of Harper Senior cut through the conference room, and Eve tugged her arm from his, and tried to smooth the horrified glare from her face. "Are you not well, Ms. Higgins? That woman with the sangria seemed to have had quite the impact, you weren't the only one to overindulge."

Eve was tempted to snap that she was perfectly fine, and 'that woman' was in fact her favourite person in the world, but Johnny beat her to it.

"Yes, Eve's grandmother is fond of tropical cocktails but I must say, she made the most divine apple tart last night. I must get the recipe off her." He gave Eve an endearing look, before turning back to the table. "But I digress, this is not the time for discussing our home lives."

What in the name of all that was holy was this idiot babbling on about? Home lives? The only home she'd associate with Johnny was under a bridge frequented by billy goats. Or perhaps a home for the mentally disturbed. He'd fit in there quite well. Eve took the empty chair at the front of the room and, under the guise of removing her blazer, risked a glance at Drew. He was on the opposite side of the table and his face was a stony mask, impossible to decipher. It was a million miles away from the Hallway Drew, whom she already missed.

Eve vaguely recognised the other individuals in the room, members of legal and other department suits, people who hadn't a single iota about the work that had gone into the Charity Fundraiser, nor offered a moment of their time during the planning. It seemed unfair that these same invisibles would have a say in the success of the event at all.

"I must say, overall, I found Saturday functional. The purpose of this charade was to give our local clients a chance to form a relationship with Harper and to see us as essential to their plans. I personally felt we made an impact in the community as a whole. Thoughts?"

A grey haired human wrinkle spoke up from behind his notepad. "Indeed, there was a level of interaction that could arguably strengthen our links with these local businesses. I've had numerous meetings with the Pestells but it was only this weekend that I learned about their family, instead of their family business. I had no idea their Danny in design was actually a Danielle."

Eve felt a weight lift from her shoulders. This all seemed quite positive so far. Granted the wheeze bag was from the dark ages but if he was shining an optimistic light on her machinations she was all for it. As the redheaded Ron from Research started to discuss figures and the reaction to their new public image, Eve's attention span drooped, and once again she found her eyes wandering around the room.

Ron was quite nice, actually. The handkerchief in his front pocket was a bit much, but he had a study look about him. Reliable Ron from Research.

Johnny was taking notes as he nodded enthusiastically at everything the senior heads were saying, and Eve didn't have the energy to figure out why he was being so odd with her at the moment. It was common knowledge that she found him odious. So common, in fact, that he knew it himself and seemed to delight in the knowledge. From the moment word had gotten out that she found him detestable he had gone out of his way to seek her out, to create opportunities of conversation and further disgust. She had only herself to blame, to be fair. Telling someone like Johnny, to their face, that she found them abhorrent, was bound to create a challenge. By 'word gotten out' it was more like she had announced to him, over coffee in a busy canteen, that she would rather stick a needle in her eyeball than breathe the same air as him.