High Horse Bastard Read online

  “You don’t have anything feast worthy in the house.” I reminded myself feeling stupid for arguing with myself.

  A pirate would steal a feast if there were nothing feastable in the house.

  I eyed the biscuit in my hand. Three biscuits through and already I was tired of them. “You may have a point.” I told my tea. I thought back to the evening I’d had. “A pirate definitely wouldn’t have wasted time on buying presents for the enemy.” I narrowed my eyes as anger began to hum through me. “And a pirate would have laid her boss out at sword point for disrespecting her.”

  2

  The following morning, forty minutes late; cake in one hand; presents and bag in the other, I flew through reception down the hall to my office where I deposited the cake carefully in the small fridge behind my desk, dropped my bag containing the two identically wrapped packages the sales associate had, unbeknownst to me, given me the previous evening. I will sort it out later. I told myself as I unbuttoned my raincoat and tossed it over my chair. Grabbing my notebook and a pen off of my desk I strode out of the office smoothing my hair as I went.

  The door to the meeting room was already closed when I arrived and I paused to take a deep breath and center myself. Pirates don't slump. I reminded myself straightening my spine and drawing my shoulders back. Pirates don't sneak into meetings like mice anticipating beatings either. I told my pounding heart and turning the door knob gave it a decisive push.

  Unfortunately, the force of my push sent the door swinging out of my reach and slamming into the wall. As one, all eyes in the meeting room turned to me. "Nice of you to finally join us Ms. Sinclair." My jowly faced boss Reever Cliff all but sneered from his position at the head of the table. "If the building is not on fire, and there is therefore, no urgent reason for your interruption, please take a seat so that we may continue."

  I registered his tone in disbelief. He's talking to me as though I am a habitually disobedient child in need of discipline. On top of the head cold that had my head throbbing, it was too much and I began to seethe as I glanced round the table for an open seat.

  The High Horse Bastard studied me as I made my way round the conference room table to the empty seat next to his. Figures. I was mentally preparing myself to square off with him as I sat down and opened my notebook and was therefore taken aback when a cup of tea appeared in my peripheral vision. Confused, I followed the surprisingly strong looking hand up to a well formed wrist not quite covered by a charcoal gray sleeve, then along the rest of the arm to meet the stony gaze of my nemesis. "I think you need this more than I do." He murmured and so solemn was his facial expression that I was at once suspicious. Why would he give me his tea?

  My distrust must have shown on my face because a hint of a smile appeared on his face then—very small and just around the eyes. "I haven't spat in it or anything. I promise." And then, incredibly he winked at me and turned to redirect his attention back to Cliff.

  Wholly disconcerted and unable to believe what I'd seen I grabbed the cup and sniffed suspiciously. The scent of Earl Gray and nothing else wafted through me and with a mental shrug, I took a deep sip. Almost instantaneously, I felt better. The warm tea restoring both my cold besieged body and ragged temper as few other things, acetaminophen and bed-rest excepted. I thought wryly, could.

  As though summoned by my thoughts, that long-fingered hand appeared again palm lifted slightly but fingers down against the table. Concealed within the space created I could see a small section of blister pack containing two green gel caps that I recognized as ibuprofen. The man didn't so much as glance my way this time as I reached out with my right forefinger to claim the blister pack from beneath his hand. As I withdrew, the top of my finger brushed against his palm and I was surprised to feel heavily callouses there. From the crutches you idiot. I chastised myself as I slipped my hands beneath the table to open the blister packs. Popping the ibuprofen in my mouth and washing it down with a swig of tea, I listened to Cliff with half my brain while with my other half I wondered what kind of person habitually carries painkillers on his person. I felt the stirrings of shame ignite as I realized that I had never put any thought into the fact that the High Horse Bastard used crutches. I mean it's not something you can ask about right? "Why are you on crutches?" It’s the sort of thing you politely ignore unless you are some sort of uncivilized cretin.

  Angling myself slightly more toward the head of the table allowed me to study him side-long as he took notes and because I was looking for it I saw the way he shifted his shoulders around every so often—minute movements nothing more—and realized that I had seen him do it before. It was like a habit—a ritual—one he performed whenever he sat. I flashed on a sudden image of him waiting for the elevator in the lobby. He did it whenever he stood still as well. Whatever the reason you're on crutches, the crutches themselves put a lot of strain on your shoulders.

  That maybe explains the ibuprofen.

  I was still contemplating that when asshole boss decided to target me. "And what do you suggest we do about the situation Sinclair?"

  I met his gaze thoughtfully. I was unsurprised by the malice I saw there. Clearly the man was expecting to embarrass me by asking me a question he thought I was either unprepared or unable to answer. "Or did you miss that part?" He added clearly referencing my lateness.

  Strangely it was that reference to my having been late to the meeting that inspired the cold rage that unfurled within me. I have been late exactly once in the eight and a half years I have worked here. Once.

  Noting that I had the attention of the entire table, I raised an eyebrow at him and let the silence settle for a long beat. It was quite unlike me and I saw several of my colleagues glance first at me and then back at the asshole with something resembling trepidation. From the corner of my eye, I noted that the High Horse Bastard eyeing me thoughtfully. "I suggest," I said with a tone that was all hard edge and ice. Very piratical. One part of my brain approved while another wondered where that tone had come from. "that since this is hardly the first time this author has abandoned a project that you stop pretending to be surprised by this and get on with re-assigning the project to someone else."

  “And just who do you think we can get at this late a date?” The asshole sneered beading the air with spittle as he did so.

  “Me.” I said without thought settling back in my chair as the stillness in the conference room and the shocked expressions on my colleague’s faces inexplicably lit the flames of confidence in me. Pushing my legs forward and crossing them at the ankle in front of me I made a mental note to invest in some boots as I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head back against the headrest of my chair. Boots would so add to the piratical optics just about now. “I’ll do it in return for early release from my contract.”

  The assholes face flooded with fury, his skin going so darkly red that I thought he’d expire from apoplexy. “You?! You’re going to complete this book in fourteen days?!”

  “Sure.” I studied the nails on my left hand briefly before returning my gaze to his. “Provided you take all other projects off my schedule and leave me alone to do it.”

  Silence.

  “I will be working from home as well.” I told him. His face was purple now and I half hoped it would explode.

  “That’s outrageous!” He spat at me.

  I let him know with my raised eyebrows that I thought him and his histrionics pathetic. “It is significantly less outrageous than the expense of delaying production costs for this project.”

  3

  "Here let me take that." Before my eyes had completely adjusted to the darkness of the pub, I found myself divested of both cake and bag. With horror I watched as one of the junior editors set both the cake and presents on the table. "Wait—" I called after realizing even as I said it that because the guest of honor and the majority of the party guests were already present, it was too late to do anything about the presents without causing a scene. What are you going to do? Take them
off to a corner and unwrap them? You're going to look like a lunatic. More of a lunatic. I amended as the majority of the people at the table, the HHB included, turned to stare at me. "Never mind." I said feeling my ears start to burn. Taking my seat at the table—just to the right of the HHB—I frantically tried to think of both a way to ascertain which package contained the sexy underwear and how to get rid of it inconspicuously. Failing to come up with anything that didn't involve me snatching both presents off the table and doing a runner for the door I began instead to wish that the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Reaching out I snagged the wine glass in front of me with the thought of anesthetizing myself and abruptly found myself at the center of a multitude of forks clanging against glasses as my colleagues called out: 'Toast! Toast!'

  "Shit." I muttered under my breath because I hadn't prepared one. I almost instantly regretted allowing the word to pass my lips when I saw the High Horse Bastard tense and tilt his head in my direction. Way to get the party started Pippa.

  "Nobody's forcing you." He told me tightly. So much for the tea and ibuprofen truce.

  "Tell them that." I replied sotto nodding in the direction of our colleagues.

  "You're under no obligation." There was an edge to that.

  "It's called being polite Hastings." I snapped because he was interfering with my ability to think of anything constructive to say in my toast.

  "It's called peer pressure." He returned.

  I threw him a scowl as I rose to my feet glass in hand. Pasting a pleasant expression on my face I turned to face the table at large. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the birthday of our uh— friend and colleague Hadrian Hastings." An auspicious enough start. "A man, I am sure you'll agree, who is so mysterious, that he could quite literally be Batman!" I congratulated myself as that elicited a group laugh and raising my glass higher swung towards the subject of my toast to finish. "Happy thirty-seventh Hadrian!"

  "Happy thirty-seventh Hadrian!" The crowd chorused.

  The man of the hour raised his glass in acknowledgement and then set it down as the others drank.

  I sank back into my chair with relief just as Hastings pushed his back and rose to his feet. Because I was seated directly next to him I saw the way he braced his thighs against the table and it made me wonder if he were capable of walking without his crutches. I resisted the urge to check out his package. It’s not as if you’ll need to make any future purchases in that direction. I told myself severely.

  “Thank you all for the warm birthday wishes." Hadrian began. "And a special thank you to our very own Girl Friday; Pippa Sinclair who can always be relied upon to do the last minute fetching and carrying." As the crowd laughed I looked up into the sardonic gaze of the man now regarding me. "As for the Batman issue," Something that looked like pain glinted in his eye briefly and was quickly gone. "I am not saying that I am not Batman just pointing out that you've never seen me and Batman together in the same room. Salut!” Amid the startled laughter he took a large swallow of wine and reseated himself.

  * * * * *

  Although the rest of the table was talkative and jovial, dinner was a fairly silent affair at our end of the table with Hastings nodding and smiling and answering when spoken to but not making any visible effort to initiate or prolong a conversation. It would be hard to think of ways for you to make it any clearer that you would rather be elsewhere. I thought in annoyance as I watched him push his food around on his plate taking small bites here and there but not really eating much of anything. I have heard of people not enjoying surprise parties but this is ridiculous. "If you're finished pretending to eat," I leaned toward him. "There is still a cake and present to be endured before you can leave."

  That earned me a look rife with disbelief. "Fine." He said flatly positioning his silverware appropriately on the plate and pushing it forward. Almost immediately the server came by to collect it and I indicated to her that we were ready for the cake.

  * * * * *

  To my surprise, he did eat the cake. In fact after the majority of our colleagues had abandoned the table in favor of the dance floor, he had a second and third piece of the massive strawberry topped cheesecake I had procured the night before. "I like cake." He told me when he caught me looking. "Have some more Sinclair. It'll sweeten your disposition." He told me pushing the cake in my direction.

  I thought about that as I contemplated the remainder of the cake before me. Does my disposition need sweetening? Deciding that I was ultimately too tired to pursue it, I reached forward and maneuvered another slice of cake onto my plate. "I like cake too." I told him when he raised an eyebrow at me.

  Taking a bite of cake, I contemplated the bag containing his birthday presents that now sat on the table in front of us. "Thank you for the tea and ibuprofen this morning." I told him absently as I indicated the bag with my fork. "I need to explain about your presents."

  "Do they require instructions?" He asked dryly.

  "I—uh no. Not exactly." I stammered as I flashed on the image of me instructing him on how to put on the sexy underwear I'd purchased ran through my head.

  "Not exactly?" He sounded curious now and steeling myself for what was bound to be an awkward conversation I turned to look at him.

  "I got them mixed up." I blurted.

  "Mixed up how?" he carved another bite of cake off his slice and looked up at me.

  "There should only be one, but the sales associate wrapped them the same way and I wasn't paying attention so I don't know which one is which and I didn't have time to unwrap them and check which was which and then someone put them both on the table and..."

  "You've accidentally given me a present meant for someone else?" Looking thoughtful he ate the bite of cake on his fork.

  "Uh—no. Not exactly." I said for the second time in the conversation.

  "Not exactly?" Amusement. Definite amusement.

  "It was meant for you too. Sort-of." I felt myself begin to flush in embarrassment. "The sales associate was so tall." I said as if that explained everything.

  "Tall?"

  "And beautiful." I added hastily.

  "Tall and beautiful. Right."

  "And I was wet and messy from the rain. And short." I gestured down at myself with a hand. "Very short. So—" I closed my eyes so that I didn't have to look at him as I blurted out the next part. "When she asked if the gift was for a significant other in that snotty tone I uh, pretended you were my boyfriend and bought a bunch of sexy underwear in retaliation. Only she wrapped it up the same as the sweater and I didn't notice until too late." I opened one eye cautiously to assess his reaction.

  "You were mad at a sales associate so you pretended I was your boyfriend and bought me lingerie and a sweater?" He grinned at me in amused disbelief.

  "Yes." I frowned. "No. I never intended to give it to you." I explained. "She was just being so condescending about my appearance and I sort of—snapped."

  "Do you make a habit of snapping and buying lingerie for strange men?"

  "Are you teasing me?" Strange?

  "I am."

  I gathered what remained of my dignity around me. "So if you could just check and—"

  He raised an eyebrow in my direction as he took another bite of cake. "And?"

  So glad you're enjoying this! "Give me the package that wasn't intended for you." I said firmly.

  He waggled his fork at me. "But the package was intended for me."

  He sort of had me there. "Only hypothetically. For the hypothetical boyfriend you." I tried to explain.

  "Are you asking me to go steady Sinclair?"

  "No!" It burst out more strongly than I had intended and I immediately felt bad when he flinched around the eyes slightly in reaction. "I mean no. For gods sake Hastings you're doing my head in with this!" I dropped my head into my palms in a vain attempt to conceal my by now flaming face. "Just keep the damn things already. They'll probably fit reasonably well and god knows I can't do anything with them."

&nb
sp; "Dare I ask how it is you know my size?" There was an odd note to that, but sunk as I was into the mire of my own humiliation, I didn't dare look up to see whatever was on his face.

  "I don't." I groaned into my palms. "I just guessed based on your hips and—" I trailed off in shame.

  "Have you been checking out my ass Sinclair?"

  "Ah come on!" I lowered my hands to glare at him. "Give me a break already Hastings!"

  Leaning back in his chair he cast me an amused glance. "A man deserves to know when he is being ogled Sinclair."

  "You make me sound like some sort of sex-crazed stalker!” I glared at him.

  "Hey.” He held his hands up. "I'm not the one buying you lingerie."

  I rolled my eyes at him. "You're never going to let me live this down are you?"

  "Probably not." He grinned at me and the way it lit up his expression made me realize how tired he didn't look, which in turn made me realize how tired he had looked earlier in the evening. "I am incredibly receptive to persuasion."

  "Bribes?!" I tried to recall a time when I had seen him this animated and couldn't. "You want me to bribe you?!" An abrupt movement form him drew my attention down to his legs. As I watched, he began to massage the muscle in his right thigh. Cramp? "With what?" I asked him glancing back up at his once again serious face.

  His voice was quiet when he finally responded. "What am I supposed to make of you Sinclair?"

  * * * * *

  By the time we had dropped the others off and arrived at Hadrian's it was almost 10 p.m. and I was surprised to see a woman seated on his front steps. In the flash of the headlights that illuminated her briefly as we pulled up I saw that she was blonde and had almost impossibly long legs. "Do you know her?" I hit the ignition switch on the car and turned toward my passenger who was staring out the window at long-legs.

  He let his head fall and rest against the glass of the passenger side window briefly before turning to look at me. "She's my ex."