His Secretary:Undone(15)

And he's right. It doesn't suck.

He laughs, trapping my foot between his. "Ouch, Ms. Burns. But you'll  have to strike a little quicker than that to get the best of me."

I wriggle my foot free. "I'm rubber, you're glue … "

"You know, a good employee would thank me for taking them on this  wonderful adventure," he says, gesturing to our surroundings. "Instead  of acting like a little brat."

"And yet, going on five years, and I'm the best you can do." I pout at him. "It's a sad, sad story, Mr. Risinger."





***

I step out onto the tarmac in Austin, and I don't feel the instant  prickles of sweat on my scalp that I expect. It's hot, sure, but it's  not inhumanly hot.

Adrian's insisted that we arrive the day before the conference actually  starts, so we've got time to "settle in." I don't know what that means,  but I've saved all of my really nice outfits - including the silky  underwear - for the actual conference. I'm hoping that we don't run into  anyone I'm supposed to impress, but part of me suspects it doesn't  really matter. Nobody actually expects writers to dress like models, do  they? Don't most of them wear bathrobes and slippers?

I glance sidelong at Adrian, trying to picture him in a bathrobe.

Danger! Abort abort abort. Okay, yeah, picturing him in anything that  can be removed easily with a single flick of the wrist probably isn't  good for my sanity.

The ride from the airport seems to take forever, following a complex  grid of side streets and alleyways that make me wonder where the hell  all those massive highways go. Clearly, not wherever we're headed. But I  start to enjoy the local color as we creep our way from stoplight to  stoplight; the psychic palm reader across from the expensive-looking  luxury homes, the taco trucks with the neon lights, the city bursting  with a joyful energy that defies any thoughts of beige gentrification.

We've got adjoining rooms at the hotel, both under his name. I wonder  what the clerk's thinking, as she checks us in. I wonder why I care.

The first thing I do, after dropping my bags, is make sure the  connecting door is locked. He made a big deal about the adjoining rooms  when we checked in, and I can't figure out why he thinks it's going to  matter. Unless he thinks we'll have a reason to travel back and forth  without being presentable enough for a hotel hallway.

Stop it.

It's a pretty nice place, but I'm guessing it's a far cry from the  ultra-luxury hotels he's used to staying at. I wander over to the  picture windows to draw the curtains back, only to discover that the  windows are actually sliding glass doors.

The midday heat is really starting to settle in now, but curiosity draws  me out of my air conditioned oasis to explore the little balcony. It  extends much further than I expect - and I soon realize that's because  it connects to Adrian's room, as well.

He's pulled his curtains back, too. I can see him pacing, with his tie  undone, talking animatedly on the phone with someone. I immediately feel  like a creep. He probably hasn't realized yet that our balconies are  attached. He's got no idea anyone can see him, least of all me. This is  the tallest building in the block by far.

Face burning, I creep back to my room and make sure to lock the the  sliding glass door behind me, and close the curtains again. I don't know  why. It's not that I actually think he has that little respect for my  privacy, but I feel better anyway.

I flop down on the bed and start flipping through the channels. There's  nothing on TV here, either. The streets below us are bustling with  activity, and when I was outside I could hear the thudding of live music  starting somewhere down the street. A few years back, I would have  thrown on a cute dress and gone down to wander the streets, stopping  into any bar that had the doors open to see how cheap their beer was.  I've heard Austin is a friendly city, and nothing I've seen so far can  contradict that. Back before Adrian, I probably would have tried to pick  up one of those hipsters with a handlebar mustache and rolled-up jeans,  riding a rental bicycle to the Alamo Drafthouse. And I would've had a  good time, too.         

     



 

But that was me, then. This is me, now. I hardly recognize myself anymore.

The fact that I've agreed to speak on a panel is proof enough that I'm  not even recognizably Meghan anymore. Of course, I didn't really have a  choice. But something that would've put me in a cold sweat, once upon a  time - suddenly it doesn't feel like such a bad idea. Maybe because I'm  not me, I'm Natalie. And Natalie knows how to speak to a crowd. It's  something about romance trends or whatever - basically, I feel like I  can reasonably fake my way through it, especially if I let everyone else  do the talking.

My stomach's growling. I frown at it, trying to remind it that I just  ate on the plane. But traveling always makes me ravenous, and as usual,  it's not listening to reason.

I pull out my phone and text Adrian.





Any plans for dinner?





He starts typing back quickly, but it takes him a while to actually finish the message.





Got reservations with Kara actually. Feel free to order whatever you want from room service.





My heart sinks. Kara's here? I don't know why that surprises me, but it  does seem odd that she didn't fly with us. I'm grateful, but  disappointed that she'll be monopolizing his time like this.

Great. I don't want to be around him, but I can't stand to be without him. This is shaping up to be a fantastic trip.

I don't answer his text. Fucking room service? Really? I'm about ten  feet from some of the country's best barbecue restaurants. I realize he  was just offering to pay, but I'll fucking buy some brisket myself if I  want to.

I'm overreacting. I know I'm overreacting. But there's something rude  about the way he told me, isn't there? Not even letting on that Kara was  here, until he absolutely had to. He knew I wouldn't react well. Why do  men always try to hide things until the last possible second, thinking  it's going to be better that way?

It's never better that way.

I run a brush through my hair, grab my purse, and stalk out into the  lobby. I'm going to find some good barbecue, damn it. And I'm going to  do it without Adrian.

***

I'm sitting on a crowded deck with the smell of hickory smoke all around  me. I've got a plate of melt-in-your-mouth barbecue and my new favorite  side dish, green chile mac and cheese, sitting in front of me. But I'm  not smiling.

Fucking Adrian. Dragging me down here, and don't get me wrong, it's nice  - people in this city are so friendly I'm starting to get suspicious -  but now he's ditched me for his publicist, and since when do authors  even have publicists? I guess he doesn't need an agent, seeing as he  publishes under an arm of his own damn company.

I guess a part of me has always believed that what I share with Adrian  is unique. Special. Why, I don't know. It seems stupid now that I'm  really examining it. And why do I care? The man's heart is constructed  from splinters and rusty nails. His approval shouldn't mean so much to  me.

But it's all I have.

"You want another beer, hon?"

The server is beaming at me. I put on a smile, with a supreme effort, so she doesn't worry about me too much.

"Yes, please," I say. "Please keep them coming until you're legally obligated to cut me off."

Her face contorts in sympathy. "Rough day?"

I nod. "Travelling."

"Oh, I gotcha. You from out of town?"

I nod again.

"Welcome to Austin! I hope you have a great time, once you've had a chance to rest up."

"Thanks," I tell her, sincerely. Because it really is nice to hear a friendly voice, even from a stranger.

I hear a familiar voice over the noise of the crowd, and it makes my  heart skip several beats. Which is completely ridiculous. I know he's  here, but what are the odds? Sure enough, moments later, I see Adrian  round the corner with Kara. Immediately, I avert my gaze, feeling  awkward and guilty like I've done something wrong.

They're seated where I can just about see them, out of the corner of my  eye. Something about the angle must be blocking their view of me. Kara  looks very put-together as usual, but relaxed and smiling in a way I'm  sure she wouldn't be if she spotted me. I've got no idea what her  problem is - like I could possibly compete for Adrian's attention with  the likes of her. He once claimed he wasn't interested, but I don't  believe that for a second. A woman who looks like her, she gets any man  she wants.         

     



 

And right now, she's got Adrian. He's listening to her with rapt  attention, smiling occasionally, even laughing. Having a good time.

When the server brings me my beer, I ask her for the check. I've got to  get out of here before I lose what little is left of my mind.

***

After a fitful night's sleep, I take a long, scalding shower and  actually blow-dry my hair. Usually, this backfires, but I manage to tame  it into something presentable. I know it's going to be a long day.  After the signing, which is the only part of this event that's open to  non-industry people, there will be panel presentations and workshops I'm  expected to attend, not to mention the after-hours events. I've got no  idea what I'll be expected to attend, but I'm bracing myself.