“Like hire a private investigator? No, I did not. I assure you.”
“Then what?”
He shrugged.
I took my plate over to the table and started eating, acting like I didn't care. It bothered me, though. What else did Smith know about me?
Finally, when I couldn't stay quiet any longer, I said, “It's not fair.”
He joined me at the table with a bowl of granola and milk. “People who say 'it's not fair' are usually those who are too meek to take what they want in life.”
“First you insult my food, and now you're calling me meek?” I picked at my food, my mouth sour with unhappiness. “I'm not feeling so great. I may call in sick to work today.”
“You can work a half-day.”
I coughed into my hand, frowning. “I don't think so. I feel a … a migraine coming on.”
“You don't get migraines.”
“First time for everything. Dealing with extremely conceited people can cause enough anxiety to bring on stress-related illness. And my current boss is a real buttplug.”
He kept eating his cereal. “I hope all this stress doesn't cause your hair to fall out.”
“You know, you could just apologize for being a buttplug. It would probably help my stress levels.”
“I already apologized for coming too soon this morning. I haven't done anything wrong since then. In fact, from the way you were moaning my name, I think I was doing everything right.”
His gold-brown eyes twinkled, and he smiled, which nearly broke through my anger and got me to smile, but I resisted his charms.
I said, “How do you know what my mother does for a living?”
“She told me.”
“Did she phone here for me and get you, instead?”
He tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. “Sure. That sounds plausible.”
I pushed away from the table. “Why must you be so infuriating?”
He rested his chin on his hand. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
I stood. “No, it's a real question.”
“You're adorable when you're angry.”
“I want to strangle you.”
He closed his eyes. “I bet you're so wet for me right now.” He licked his lips. “I want that pink little pussy of yours so bad I can taste it.”
“I hope you have a good memory, because you're not getting it again.”
His eyelids flicked open quickly. “Challenge accepted.”
I grabbed my plate of food and stomped off in the direction of my bedroom. “Fuck you, Smith Wittingham!”
He called after me, “I'm ready if you are!”
I let out an exasperated cry and slammed my door shut behind me.
After about ten minutes of punching my pillow and calling him all sorts of bad names, I picked up the land line telephone and dialed my mother. She didn't want to talk long, because she was at work, but I cut to the chase.
“Mom, have you ever spoken to that author guy, Smith Wittingham?”
“We've exchanged a few emails, but I'm sure it was someone at his publicist's office, not the man himself.”
“You're sure it wasn't him?”
She sighed. “I wish.”
“Did you tell this publicist or whoever what you do for a living?”
“We chatted a few times, and I even sent a photo—that nice one of the two of us, at your graduation.”
“You sent him a photo of me?”
“What is this about? That author you're doing the secretarial work for—does she know him?”
“Yes. She knows him a little too well.”
I heard keys tapping. “How about you tell me all about it tonight? Call me after seven?”
“Sure. If I'm not on my way home.”
There was a long pause, then she said, “You'd better finish that contract so you get a good recommendation. You have to start taking your career seriously now.”
“Oh, it's pretty serious.”
“Or marry rich and don't worry about work.”
“Mother!”
She chuckled. “Gotta go!”
I hung up the phone and sat on my bed for a moment, until the quiet of the Vermont forest felt like it was suffocating me. I picked up the phone to call one of my friends, but I didn't know anyone's number off by heart. My poor cell phone was completely fried, and with it, all my phone numbers.
Smith tapped timidly on my door.
“Go away,” I said.
“Tori, I just wanted to offer a blanket apology for being rich and snobby.”
I got up and whipped the door open. “Blanket apology?”
“I, Smith Wittingham, apologize for making disparaging remarks about the dining habits of you and people in your social class. I'd like to take you somewhere fancy so that you can even the score by making fun of rich people food. I know a place that serves flavored air as an appetizer.”