For someone whose close friend was hospitalized, Natasha had been very matter-of-fact. True, it had been years, but the actress didn’t seem very sympathetic. Celia couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the story. Was it truly just pure good luck that Natasha’s friend had relapsed, making the way for the opportunity? She wanted to chide herself for being jaded, but then again, Natasha had killed five people. Manipulating a few circumstances wouldn’t be a stretch. Celia knew how easy it was to use someone’s behavior or circumstances to her advantage. After all, it’s how I got my break too. She made a note of it, reminding herself to explore it more later.
Chapter 5
“So how’s your friend?”
Celia looked up and smiled at John. She’d expected him to come by at some point to check on her. When he was focused on one of her projects, he was a pest. “Much better, thank you for asking. I’m working on the next article now.”
“Good. When do you think it’ll be print-ready?”
“Probably tomorrow by lunch.”
“I was hoping for today, but tomorrow will do. Too bad you had that side trip.”
“Well,” Celia said sweetly, “the more I focus, the faster it’ll be ready.”
Taking the hint, John grunted and walked away. He was annoying sometimes, Celia thought, and a bit of a slave driver. However, the job paid well and afforded her many benefits. She could usually charm John out of her way. She was relieved he didn’t press for information about the “friend.” The man was like a bloodhound, almost as bad as Celia was. She had a plan if he did, though. All she would need to do was begin a sentence about “gynecological problems,” and he’d run for his office. The thought made her laugh.
The phone rang as Celia was finishing the first paragraph of her article. It was Bart. He’d called the night before, but it was so late she’d ignored it.
“Hi, Bart.”
“Hey babe, glad you’re back in the office. How was the trip?”
“It was fine. I got home late last night. Working on the article now and trying to get it done by close of business.”
“You mean your business closes?” Bart laughed at his own joke. “How about lunch around noon?”
“I can’t, Bart. I have to finish this. But dinner later this week?”
“Sure babe. I’ll call you later. Don’t work too hard.”
“I’ll try not to. Oh, and Bart, I’m not the biggest fan of being called babe. It’s just not me.” Celia doodled in the margins for a few seconds.
“No problem, Celia. Just a pet name. No more babe then.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later on.”
Why did the pet name bother her so much? Celia wasn’t one of those who thought all pet names were demeaning, but Babe? It was presumptive, somehow. Sure, they’d slept together before she left for Delaware, but “Babe” implied an intimacy she didn’t feel comfortable having with Bart. Women were thought to be the ones who got clingy. In Celia’s experience, it was the opposite. It was why she had never married or had a true long-term relationship. They were invasive.
On Tuesday at exactly noon, Celia submitted the finished article. She’d had most of it done by Monday afternoon; however, John had stopped by two more times hounding her, so she held it until her original deadline. He was happy enough once she submitted it, and once that was off her list, she could look toward her next interview with Natasha. She hadn’t been able to get their initial conversation out of her mind, and the woman fascinated Celia.
After two more phone calls, Celia agreed to meet Bart for dinner Tuesday evening. They decided on a Tex-Mex place near his apartment, and Celia was looking forward to some queso; it was her weakness. He was waiting at the bar when she arrived, and she had to admit he looked hot. His jeans were just tight enough, and the sweater fit in all the right places. Now that she knew what those shoulders looked like unclothed, she appreciated them even more.
“Hey B—Celia.” Bart gave her a quick kiss. “Want something to drink?”
“A margarita would be perfect, thanks.”
“Done.” He signaled the bartender, ordered, then turned back to her. “You look great.”
“You too. I definitely approve of those jeans.”
Bart slipped an arm around her waist. “Maybe later you’ll take them off.”
Celia stiffened a little, uncomfortable with public affection, but she managed a smile. Margaritas made her horny. “You never know,” she teased, pretending to push him away in a flirty manner.
They sat at a table and began perusing the menu. Celia always ordered the same thing, but she felt compelled to survey the menu as some sort of ritual. They ordered drinks and cheese dip, and then Bart pulled her menu down slightly to look at her.
“So do you have plans this weekend? I’d love to take you somewhere.”
“I wish. I’m going to be traveling several weekends in a row.”
“Man, John keeps you busy, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he know his star reporter needs vacations too?”
“It’s not all work. My... friend still needs my help.” Celia pulled the menu up slightly and pretended to keep browsing.
“That must be some friend if you’re willing to sacrifice weekends,” Bart grumbled.
“Meeting with a friend is not a sacrifice,” Celia said.
The waitress took their orders and menus, and Celia asked Bart about work to change the subject. She supposed she could tell Bart about her interviews with Natasha and swear him to secrecy, but they had only been out a few times. She had agreed to keep them confidential. Besides, she didn’t owe an explanation to a man she had only gone out with four or five times.
Bart told her a few funny stories about crazy clients—no names, of course. He did have a way of telling a good story. Celia found herself relaxing
