Late Night Call

by Corrie Kavanaugh
1305480611|%e %b %Y, %H:%M %Z|agohover (updated 1305480822|%e %b %Y, %H:%M %Z|agohover) | 0 comment(s)

IC Date: April 10th, 2011 — early morning
This episode is a followup to 'Dancing with Danger'

I've been having trouble falling asleep tonight. My mind has refused to shut off, and even the cool shower before bed hasn't really helped matters. Groaning, I draw the thin blankets up over my head and try to force myself into a peaceful slumber.

I'm not certain how much time has passed, but I eventually pop open an eye and pull the blankets back enough so that I can peer at the large, bright red numbers on my digital alarm.

Three o'clock.

In the morning.

Too early. Definitely too early. It's not as though I'm scheduled to work tomorrow. In fact, thanks to the abrupt change of plans with Reese Entertainment Media, I'm not scheduled to work for the forseeable future. I'll go back to freelancing without a contract at a firm, that's not a big deal. Still it's the humiliation of it all that's keeping me from sleeping properly.

Tangled up in the blankets, I kick out my legs and begin to stretch. I really don't want to get out of the comforting cocoon that the bed offers, but if I'm going to keep awake, I may as well get a bit of water for my parched throat. Something about sambuca always seems to dry me out.

Just as my feet drop over the edge of the bed and my toes wriggle their way into the soft, fuzzy slippers at the side of it, I hear the shrill ringing of a phone. The sound causes a wince and I fall back to the mattress and rub my temples. I know I've not had that much to drink, but the bloody thing is giving me a headache. It takes at least three good rings for me to suss out that it's the cellular, and I reach to the side of the bed and grab it.

Before I answer, I peek at the clock again. Only five minutes have passed. Who the bloody hell would be calling me this early? This late?

"Hello?" The sound of my voice is dry and cracked. I knew it would be. I rub my fingers gently over my throat before quietly clearing it. "Hello?"

"Corriiiiieee~! Why'd you have to go and quit on me?"

The voice is high-pitched and annoying enough I want to hang up. Instead, I settle the phone on my shoulder and hold it in place by leaning my head to the side. Padding toward the kitchen for that glass of water I reply, "I didn't quit on you. I left Randall's firm."

"But I can't work with Brendan!"

I don't say a word for a bit, waiting for her to extrapolate on it while I sip from the water. When she doesn't say anything, I kill the silence with a sigh. "Why not?"

"'cuz I just shagged him and he's a lousy lay."

I drop the cell phone into the sink, but quickly grab it again. "Amber, you can't fire your public relations manager on a whim just because you shagged him."

I can nearly hear the pout on the other end of the line. "Well I did."

"Good lord, Amber. He wasn't even working for you for a full day yet! Why on earth would you call him a lousy lay?"

"'cuz he's like, ancient, and he wanted to cuddle afterward."

If she were my sister, I'd likely throttle her at this point. It's probably a good thing that she's not in the room with me. "I'll call Randall in the morning and have him find you a replacement." I try to keep my voice even as I point out, "Brendan was only what? Eight years older than you? Nine at the most."

"Like I said. Ancient. I need a movie star on my arm. Or… ooh! Who was that guy you were with at Flare earlier?"

I don't recall seeing Amber at the restaurant, but then again my mind was definitely elsewhere at the time. "Which? I was having a business dinner," I say slowly and neutrally as possible.

"The really hot one. The one that sort've looks like Brendan."

I quirk my brow a little, and move through the flat until I find the couch. The slippers are kicked off and I bring my legs up under me as I lean against the arm. "I've never met Brendan," I point out.

"The one with the dark hair!" There's a giggle from Amber, and I know she's likely quite sotted at this point. I may still be able to salvage the fact that she fired Brendan while drunk, but if she's determined not to work with him…

"Aidan?" I blink. "Mr. Boyle is the owner of the restaurant. He was there as a courtesy to the di —"

"Nuh uh. I saw you with him at Vortex afterward. So are you dating him?"

This conversation is hitting ludicrous, and I've half a mind to hang up on her. I don't owe her anything. I no longer work with her. "No."

"Are you shagging him then?"

"Definitely not."

"Why?"

"He's…" I can't exactly tell her that he's a vampire. She'd never believe me, for one, and I did promise not to tell anyone else about it except those that are already aware. "… involved."

"So? I didn't see a ring on his finger! If I were you, I'd shag him. All. Night. Long. I bet he's really good in bed."

Oh, no doubt. He's had hundreds of years to perfect those skills. I don't say that though, I simply scoff. "Miss Bardot, it's three in the bloody morning. So let me make this perfectly clear — I'm interested in someone else. Now, if you're not in any dire trouble, I'd really like to get back to bed." Not that I'll be sleeping, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Oh." She sounds a bit crestfallen, and I almost feel sorry for her. "Well I want to hire you back. You can't skip out on me right when my party is coming up!" Beat. "And then you can introduce me to this Aidan."

"I'll consider it. You get some sleep, and if you're still interested in hiring me when you're sober, have your solicitor call me in the morning." I don't bother waiting for a reply, I disconnect the call and throw the phone to the other side of the couch.

Bloody hell. That's all I need is for some twenty-something celebutante getting mired in my non-existant love-life. Really!

At least, it seems, I don't have to worry about going hungry. Freelancing may not keep me as busy as having contracted myself out to Randall's firm did, or signing with Reese Entertainment Media would have, but it's not as if I haven't done it before with Dumnonia. Things may just be looking up.


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