Unwritten (21 page)

M
y first month at the
Post
had come and gone. I was happy with my job performance, and Rich seemed to be as well. He even had assigned me a fair number of more serious articles to cover. Ever since I made my way into the White House, even though he was trying to sabotage me with fluff, he knew I was an asset to his editorial team. After all, he was a talented journalist and an even more talented editor, and he wanted his best reporters working on the hardest news.

So, since that day before Thanksgiving when I threw a temper tantrum in his office, he was only assigning me hard news assignments. The most recent one I covered was regarding the billions of dollars that the Internal Revenue Service had lost in fraudulent tax refunds to identity thieves.

Chills ran up and down my spine when I saw my article in print that day. I ran my finger across the inky paper, just like I told Cass I would do all those years ago. The byline read:
Brooke Anderson; Washington Post staff writer
and the article appeared on the front page above the fold. I was the star of that day’s paper and I couldn’t have felt more gratified.

As I perused that day’s paper, I heard knocking on my office door.

Looking up, I saw Rich standing in the doorway, “Penny for your thoughts, Miss Anderson?”

“Oh, hey, Rich. I didn’t even see you walk up. Sorry, I just can’t believe that I finally have the main story on the cover of the
Post
. Do you know how many people are going to read my work?”

He chuckled before answering, “Yes, Brooke. Actually, if you’re looking for a number, it’s probably near a half million. That’s not why I came to see you, though. I would like you to accompany me on a business trip to New York City. I’m working on a story out there and I think you would be the perfect addition to my byline. We always worked so well together in college that I thought the dynamic duo could give it another go. What do you say?”

“Are you asking me, Rich, or are you telling me that I’m going?” I asked.

“Well, you’re right. I am your boss and I am requesting your presence. I would rather you go willingly, not that I am opposed to handcuffing you and dragging you screaming onto that plane,” he said with that all-too-familiar, sly smirk of his.

“You won’t need the handcuffs, Rich. I will go on the trip with you, but it’s ALL business,” I reminded him.

“Yes, Brooke. Sadly, I know all your rules. Now go home and pack your bags. We leave later this evening,” he said in his most authoritative voice.

“SERIOUSLY?” I asked him wide-eyed. He simply nodded a yes in response. “Crap, OK, I have so much to do!”

I caught a cab home and immediately began throwing some of my clothes in a suitcase. I didn’t even know what I’d need to wear, or how long we were going to be gone. I probably should have asked Rich for those details before I hurried out of the office.

Oh well, I guess I would just have to wing it this time. I threw in some business-casual items, a pair of skinny jeans, a few sweaters, sweatshirts and my favorite little, black dress. I could also hear Cassidy’s nagging voice in my head as I threw in a few lacy panties and bra sets.
Definitely not for Rich … what if I ran into George Clooney while I was in the city? After all, didn’t I just read in my trashy magazine (don’t judge, old habits are hard to break) that he was single again?

Just as I was drooling over Clooney, I heard a knock on my front door. I looked out my peephole to see Roger standing on the other side.

“Hello, Roger,” I greeted, as I opened the door.

“Hello, Miss Anderson. There is an airport limousine waiting for you outside. Would you like assistance with your bags?”

“Oh yes, thank you, Roger,” I responded.

Roger rolled my suitcase out the door as I pulled on my puffy, pink coat and grabbed my carry-on bag. I was just slipping on my gloves when I saw Rich exit the back of the limo to assist Roger with my bag.

“Brooke, you look gorgeous tonight, as always.”

“Thanks, but I’m wearing my comfy, flying clothes, Rich. I’d hardly call yoga pants and a sweatshirt – gorgeous.”

“In my eyes, Brooke, you are ALWAYS gorgeous,” he said with emphasis.

“And, you, BOSS – are ALWAYS a flirt. Now, don’t we have a plane to catch?” I asked with a quick, and somewhat, flirty wink.

We boarded the first class section of the plane and were waiting for the captain to signal for takeoff, when Rich noticed my jittering knees and legs beside his.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just hate flying. I do this every time. I’ll be OK once we’re in the air. Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. Cass hates flying with me because of it,” I replied.

“Don’t be silly. I love having you by my side. So, any place you want to see while we’re in the city? We have some downtime while we’re waiting for our interviews that I’ve already scheduled.”

“Oh, I haven’t really thought much about it. Someone decided to spring this on me pretty last minute. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve actually never been to New York City,” I replied sheepishly.

“What?!?!” Rich exclaimed, with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“Really, NYC virgin right here,” I confessed.

“First I got to pop your tequila cherry all of those years ago, then your boobgasm cherry and now you’re NYC cherry, huh? I’m such a lucky guy.”
And, there was that damn wink again.

I ignored his previous comment and continued, “I would like to see all of the ‘must sees’ I suppose. Although, I didn’t have time to buy a
Frommer’s
guide before I left, I’d imagine it would tell me to visit Central Park, Times Square, the Empire State Building … Oh – and the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center!”

“You and that stupid
Frommer’s
guide! Don’t worry; with me as your guide, you won’t need that damn book. Did I steer you wrong in D.C.? Those are some great places that you’ve mentioned. I have a few others in mind as well,” Rich said.

Before I knew it, the plane had already leveled out and I had missed takeoff all together, once again.

“You were distracting me, weren’t you?” I asked.

“Maybe, did it work?”

“Yes, thanks, Rich,” I managed to get out, through the yawn that escaped me.

“You tired? Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you when it’s time to land,” he promised.

After what was probably just a few minutes, sleep overtook me. I dreamt of Rich and the amazing sex we shared all those months ago. I woke up awhile later with Rich stroking the top of my head. Crap, I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder.
Oh my god! What if I drooled on him!

Rich must have noticed the sudden terrified expression on my face.

“What is it, Brooke? Something wrong? You looked so happy and content while you were sleeping – and now you just look petrified.”

“I didn’t drool on you, did I?” I asked worriedly.

Rich broke into a full-out, belly laugh. “That’s what’s got you so scared? No, of course not, Brooke – just relax. We’ll be landing in just a few minutes.”

We had a driver waiting for us outside of JFK. Rich wouldn’t tell me where we were staying. The only hint he shared was that it was someplace in Manhattan. Never having been to the city before, this little piece of information didn’t mean much to me.

“The Plaza?!?! We have rooms at the freaking Plaza Hotel?” I couldn’t contain my excitement as our limo pulled up to the grandest hotel in New York City. I felt like Kevin McCallister in
Home Alone 2
when he got lost in New York. “Let me guess, next you’re going to take me to Duncan’s Toy Chest?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but yes we have a suite at The Plaza. I only stay at the best, and this hotel is the best around.”

“Back up – Duncan’s Toy Chest is from the
Home Alone
movie series. You have seen
Home Alone
right?”

He chuckled again before answering, “I swear, Brooke, sometimes I think you’re a nine-year-old girl trapped in a grown woman’s body – albeit a hot, sexy, gorgeous, grown woman’s body.”

I felt my cheeks flush as he held his hand out to help me out of the town car. Rich explained to me as we were checking in that he had booked us to stay in the hotel’s Royal Terrace Suite. Although we would be sharing the same space, we would each have our own bedroom.

The concierge helped us with our bags up to the hotel’s twentieth floor where he showed us to our suite. I resisted my urge to tip him with my chewed gum, as in the movie. I’d probably be the only one to find that funny; besides Rich was already taking money out of his wallet before I had time to reach into my purse for some cash.

“I know it’s getting late, but I’m pretty hungry and was thinking about ordering something from room service, if you’d like to come relax in the living room and have a bite with me? I promise, no funny business – Boy Scout’s honor,” he said, trying to assure me.

As if right on cue, my stomach grumbled. “Well, OK. I guess I am pretty hungry.”

While Rich was placing our order with room service, I took the opportunity to really look around. The lower level featured an elegant, spacious living room that overlooked Central Park, a dining area and a large powder room. There was already a roaring fire blazing in the living room’s restored, marble fireplace.

Rich walked up behind me, put his hand on the small of my back, and led me to the couch that faced the fireplace. We sat with my body nestled into his and made small talk while he waited for our food to arrive. It reminded me so much of that day spent in the
Eagle’s
office all those years ago. I had so many déjà vu moments with this man. It was becoming more and more difficult for my head to tell my heart “no.” I was getting comfortable – almost too comfortable with Rich.

As I was relaxing in his arms after a long day, I began thinking about what Cass had said at Thanksgiving.
“Don’t let him slip away from you, again. I think you’ll regret it, someday.”

But was he already slipping away? He’d looked rather cozy with Janine recently. Maybe he’s just trying to get lucky this weekend when he already has a girlfriend back at home, or maybe he is just trying to be my friend. Maybe he was trying to give me what I wanted. Now, if only I could figure that out for myself.

A knock on the door, followed by the pleasant aroma of food, woke me from my thoughts.

“That smells divine,” I told Rich, as he walked over with a tray of food.

I dug right into the Portobello flatbread pizza while Rich started in on the Red Wine Short Rib Tacos. We also opened the house-specialty Cabernet that the waiter had brought up with our meal.

“This is simply delicious, Rich. Thanks for suggesting dinner. I was even hungrier than I thought.”

“I hope you saved room for dessert. I asked the dining room to prepare chocolate-covered strawberries just for us,” said Rich temptingly.

I smiled at the memory of a much younger Rich serving Cass and me gooey pizza and chocolate-covered strawberries in the limo on the way to our sorority formal. So much had happened since then, yet here we were – together again.

“You know I can’t turn down a chocolate-covered strawberry.”