Albert knew they were together.
Really! He did. He knew that Rosie was his... whatever, and he was hers. Only, sometimes, what with Mama breathing in his ear and peering over his shoulder at all times, he kind of, well, sort of, well... forgot.
No! No, not forgot, precisely, more like... pretended. Well. That they weren't.
Well! He was shy, and bumbling, and awkward! He'd never been, well, Conrad Birdie, for example. Panties dropped at the snap of Conrad's fingers, but Albert-nothing. Not ever. And he'd been content with that, he had. He figured he'd live with Mama and Lou for the rest of his life, or at least the rest of Mama's, and... well, to be honest, he hadn't thought that far ahead.
But then he met Rosie.
And he thought she was the most hot-tempered, irrational, insane, forceful, beautiful woman he'd ever met. And he told himself he was going to hold onto her because she was the only girl he'd ever met who stood up for him. Only, holding onto Rose was difficult what with how Mama felt about her an all, and aside from that she was now his secretary-weren't there rules against this sort of thing?
Albert-he was easily distracted. It wasn't that he didn't want to pay attention to Rose, or that he didn't-well, you know-but he just sometimes... well... couldn't. Pay attention to her, that is.
And he knew it was horrible and he knew it made her crazy but he couldn't help it, and no matter how many times she threatened to leave him she never did.
It'd been four years-three years longer than he promised her.
And Rosie was getting restless.
He walked into his office to see her sitting on the edge of his desk, red high-heels on and skirt hiked up, her legs crossed at the knees. She had a pencil in her mouth and a notepad in hand, and the moment she looked up, his heart stopped.
She just raised her eyebrow like nothing was wrong. "Albert? You alright?"
"Water," he croaked, and she set the pencil and pad down and hopped off the desk to fetch him a glass. He hardly noticed as he downed it in one gulp. "Uh, Rosie. Rose. Ms. Alvarez. Um. What are you doing here?"
Rose's lips quirked slightly. "I'm your secretary, Albert. I'm paid to be here."
"Right," Albert recovered, "I meant, what were you doing on my desk, but-never mind that, never mind. Uh. You wouldn't mind going out to pick us up some lunch, would you?"
Rosie's smile softened. "No, I wouldn't. Your usual, then?" and she sauntered out of his office, heels clacking and hips swinging.
Hips. Swinging.
Albert sat down quickly behind his desk and looked over his mail, putting all thoughts of Rose Alvarez out of his mind.
Mere days later, the wicked temptress struck again.
She was bent over a stack of boxes, searching for-Albert didn't know, he didn't care, he wasn't looking. Only, then- "Albert?" she looked up, her-well-rear still in the air. "You wouldn't happen to know where the extra pens are, would you? I could swear I-" she turned back to the boxes.
"No, sorry, gotta run." And he was gone, out of the office, hearing a faint, "Albert?" behind him.
Three weeks had passed since, and Albert was very pleased with himself. Rose had been well-behaved, what with Mama in and out of the office, and Albert no longer questioned any of his own decisions, morals, or wants. Yes, Albert was very pleased with himself indeed.
Only then, he was sitting at the piano, his coat flung across the desk behind him and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He played a few quick chords, then scribbled them down on the sheet in front of him, muttering to himself. He was so distracted that he didn't even hear the click-clack of Rosie's shoes until she was right behind him. He swallowed. "Hmm," he heard her say, before he felt her lean over his shoulder and cross out lyrics with her pencil. Her perfume spiraled its way to his nose, filling him with, well, lots of, well, feelings. She pulled back slightly, and he almost sighed in relief, before she muttered, "No..." and moved forward again to correct something else. Her breasts pressed against his shoulder blades, her perfume back in his nose, and all Albert could do was sit there, terrified. And also a little, well, not so terrified, if you-never mind, never mind.
She pulled away again and said, "There," like he wasn't about to die of some sort of femme-fatale-induced heart attack, and click-clacked away. He didn't check to see if her hips were swinging, but his traitorous mind suggested that they most certainly were, and Albert nearly groaned aloud.
A month had now passed, and Albert determined that there was no other possible explanation for Rosie's actions than the concept that she was most certainly doing it on purpose. No normal person naturally puts pens in their mouth, or bends over things, or swings their hips that often. No normal person naturally takes off their sweaters and fans themselves with discarded sheet music, spreading their perfume everywhere. No normal person, Albert decided, stayed with a shy, bumbling, awkward man for three years longer than they'd been promised, by accident. She was certainly doing this for a reason. What it was, Albert didn't know.
What he did know, however, was that it was time to man up.
So the next time he was sitting at his desk and Rosie lay a hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, he said sharply, "Ms. Alvarez?"
Rose smirked at him. "Yes, Mr. Peterson?"
Albert choked, regained composure, and continued. "Ahem. Well. It has come to my attention that you've been doing some very-some very-you've..."
She had walked away from him and was stretching, her arms high in the air and her head rolling back and her chest- "Yes, Albert?"
"You've been doing some extremely-well-distracting... sort of... actions. In this office. That I, for one, find inappro-"
She was back next to him in a flash, eyes blazing. "I'll show you inappropriate!" she cried, before positively flinging herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissing him right on the lips.
He paused. Well, no, he didn't really pause. He wanted to pause, he wanted, quite an awful lot, to pause, but instead what he did was find her hips in his hands and his lips sort of, well, kissing her back.
She finally pulled away from him, removed herself from his lap, straightened her skirt, and fluffed her hair. "So, Mr. Peterson, what was it that you were saying?"
"Rosie, I'm sorry that I'm horrible to you," he burst out. "I'm sorry, I-"
"Albert, it's alright," she said gently. She reached out a hand and smoothed back his hair. "It's alright."
Albert tried to find the words to tell that it wasn't, it wasn't alright, that she deserved so much better than being his secretary, than being with him, she deserved everything, the world, the sun, the moon, the universe. But looking into her eyes, nothing came out. And she just kept smiling softly and carding her fingers through his hair. "Rosie," he croaked. "I-"
"I know," she murmured when he didn't finish. "I know. Me too, Albert."
Albert knew he'd have the words someday. He knew he'd be able to say, with absolute certainty, exactly how together he and Rose were. Well, he didn't know it would take four more years, the deterioration of his career, and a hoard of teenagers from Sweet Apple to do it... but he knew he would. Because, well-for Rosie-he'd do anything.