for June

2. To Pen a Tale

It was late afternoon when Chad woke up to his cell phone ringing. He felt groggy, like he'd hit an entire bottle of cheap wine the night before, which he hadn't. With no amount of enthusiasm, he answered the phone, "Hello."

"Hello, yourself!" Terry spoke with a hint of agitation. "Where are you?"

"Home?"

"You forgot again."

"Forgot what?"

"Our meeting, Chad. Our meeting."

Chad remained quiet. He couldn't recall a meeting, and even if he could, it was dangerous territory to admit to such mistakes with the woman. Terry wasn't what you'd call a woman of infinite patience.

"You should hire a PA like I keep telling you to."

Chad turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "So she or he can make me coffee and watch me miserably attempt to write? No thanks."

Terry sighed. "I'll be over in half. You and I need to have a heart to heart."

"Sure. Bring food. I'm starving."

At 3:30 pm, his doorbell rang, forcing him out of the sofa to which he'd migrated after the chat. He opened the door to one unimpressed lady. Her striking beauty could have gone somewhere on the catwalk. Then he could have had a terror-free or Terry-free afternoon.

"What's this?" Her jaw dropped. "You're still in your pyjamas."

"I was sleeping," was his rebuttal as he let her in.

"Well, you look dreadful." She dropped her handbag on the coffee table before turning to him.

"I feel terrible. Thanks for noticing." He smirked. "Coffee?"

"Coffee can wait. Go take a shower. I can't talk to you while you're in your pyjamas, and we need to talk."

Chad groaned like a child, yet obliged. Pyjamas had no place in a meeting with the immaculately dressed Terry, he knew that much for certain. "Make yourself at home."

When he got back to his semi-bare lounge, the very lounge Setal had stripped bare off all her furniture days after mincing his heart under her heels, was empty. Except for the sorry-looking sofa and the coffee table; they were his. 

"Terry?" he called out, hoping she'd changed her mind about a 'serious chat', taken pity on him and left, but then again, her handbag was still present. She would never leave without it, and his already empty stomach sunk further. It may as well have hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.

"In here," came her voice from the kitchen. She was inspecting his fridge when he found her. "There's practically nothing in here."

"Why do you think I asked you to bring food?"

Terry considered him for a moment. "You've taken this hard."

"To you? Or the looming doom of cancelled advances?"

"Setal."

"Oh."

"Let's go grab a bite." She slammed the fridge shut and strode past him, her gorgeous hour-glass figure sashaying. "Bring your stuff. We can brainstorm together and find you that story."

"Great. Can't wait!" he grumbled, grabbing the laptop off the bench and followed her out like a puppy, a puppy craving pets galore, maybe even a tummy rub. Praise or two, now that would definitely help.

♡

They settled for a cozy café couple of blocks from his home. Terry drove them there, even if it was within walking distance because her feet 'deserved better'. She would never admit to him that the devil designed heels to punish women for being the fairer sex, even though he'd heard her grumble about it a few times in the past.