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A/N: This is a sequel to the end of chapter 43 of Plane Talk. It may be helpful to read that first. I wrote this continuation on the "very tempered suggestion" of mablereid. How could I say no? I hope you enjoy.
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Reid turned on the interior light in his old Volvo. He looked at his hair in the rearview mirror to be sure it looked neat. Then he opened his mouth to inspect his teeth. Once he found himself presentable, he turned the light out and got out of his car. After standing frozen in place for a moment, wondering if he should carry on or make a run for it, and asking himself for the umpteenth time what he was doing here, he headed for the doors of Tempo, a popular piano lounge in DC. He stopped outside the door, dreading going in. How had he gotten himself into such a predicament? Trying to get back at Morgan, he told himself. He'd felt he had to one-up his friend over Morgan giving his number to the press. He could hear the muffled sound of the music from inside as he put his hand on the brass handle of the tinted glass door and pulled it open. He might as well get it over with.
The lounge was dimly lit. The first thing he noticed, you couldn't help but notice it, was the grand piano to his left. The shiny black instrument sat in a semicircle of gleaming black flooring that reflected it. The white keys were a sharp contrast to all the black. The only other white in the area was the white shirt that accompanied the black tuxedo the pianist wore. The total polarity between the two colors was striking. A chubby bald black man brought the piano to life, his dexterous hands tickling the keys effortlessly as he softly played New York New York.
To his right was the bar in a semicircular shape like the area that housed the piano. The bartender was dressed like the pianist, minus the tuxedo jacket. Customers sat in two of the black leather bar stools. Reid took in a deep breath. Time to face the music, he thought somewhat ironically as he listened to the piano. He approached the bar. "Pam Elliot?" he addressed the bartender.
The bartender inclined his head further in the lounge, "Second table."
Reid looked in the direction the bartender had indicated. The lounge broke off into two areas. There was an aisle, on one side a few booths upholstered in black leather with tufted backs, all with seating for four except the one at the back which was semicircular for a much larger group. On the other side there was a single step up to a section with smaller round tables, some with two, others with four Louis XVI type chairs also upholstered in black leather. In the aisle chandeliers hung from the ceiling at intervals while the rest of the lounge was illuminated with pot lights. On the side of the booths mirrors hung on the wall, framed in ornate antique gold frames, but on the other side they had no frames at all. The mirrors reflected the beauty of the chandeliers. It was an impressive effect. A few people occupied the booths and a few of the tables. At the second table he noted a woman sitting alone. "Her," Reid motioned for the bartender to see.
"Yes sir," he replied.
Reid took another deep breath. "Here goes nothing," he mumbled to himself as he walked over, up one step from the hardwood floor onto the carpeted area, which held the tables, and toward the second table. He saw the woman more closely and stopped abruptly. She was stunning. He couldn't do this, he told himself. The bronze skinned beauty had an oval face with dark eyes that seemed almost black in this light. Her high cheekbones revealed a beautiful pair of dimples. Black hair cascaded just past her shoulders. She wore a black skirt with a wine top that was shiny, sequins he supposed, topped with a black bolero jacket sporting a mandarin collar. She wore little makeup other than a little pink blush on her cheeks and matching lipstick. It was all she needed.
Finally he realized he couldn't stand there forever and took the few steps to her table. She looked up at his approach. "M… Miss Elliot?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, her eyes widening, looking rather confused at the man before her. He wasn't who she was expecting, that was for sure. He was over six feet she decided and around her own age. He had short brown hair and the loveliest pair of brown eyes she thought she'd ever seen. He was dressed neatly in charcoal gray pinstripe pants, a white shirt, topped with a sweater vest of a wine and gray motif, black around the neck and waist. His tie was wine and gray as well. It was all covered with a black jacket.
Of course she's confused you idiot, Reid thought noting her expression. She's expecting a guy who looks like Morgan, black, muscled with a self confident swagger, not a stuttering, skinny white geek in a sweater vest. "May I sit?" he asked.
"I'm actually waiting for someone," she said.
"Yes, I know," Reid replied.
"Oh dear, Dr. Reid had to go away on a case didn't he and he didn't have my number to call and cancel; I only had his. He's sent you to tell me; well, that was nice of him instead of just standing me up."
Hey, Reid perked up, that might not be a bad idea. It's an out for me. If she thinks I have nothing to do with Morgan, she'll just think he's a jerk and I'm planning on changing that damn phone number tomorrow anyway so if she ever called it again she wouldn't get anything. That was doable. "No, that's not exactly it," he found himself saying for some damned unknown reason. Again he asked, "May I sit?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. She looked around her as if to make sure there were enough people around that she wouldn't be in danger if she let him sit, "Okay."
Reid sat and put his hands on the table in front of him. "I'm afraid this is all my fault," he said at last.
Pam's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
He was silent for a moment looking at his hands. "I'm afraid I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." He admitted at last.
"But… I don't understand," Pam replied.
Reid reached into his pocket, pulled out his credentials and handed them to her. Pam took the ID and examined it. "So, it would indeed seem that you are Dr. Reid. Like I said before, I don't understand. I was at that press conference in Boise when…"
"…One of my colleagues gave out my number to the press as a practical joke. It worked. My phone rang almost nonstop."
"Well, we're nothing if not relentless," Pam agreed.
"Anyway, as payback I tinkered with his Ipod and his phone, but then while we were on the flight home, you called. He was sitting right across from me and…" Reid paused for a moment. "I'm not proud of this, but I couldn't say while he was there listening that I wasn't the guy you wanted to talk to. I don't know if it was just to get back at him or my male ego or what, but I just couldn't."
"Okay, I can understand that. Why didn't you say something when I called about tonight?"
"Morgan was there again and I just couldn't. If I'd had your number, I'd have called you back. I considered not showing and you would think it was Morgan but I didn't think that was fair to you since it seems like I used you in a game of one-upmanship with Morgan. You, at least deserved to know the truth."
She nodded her head for a few moments and then he saw her lips curl slightly before she burst into laughter. "I think this is totally hilarious!"
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"You know if one of the girls I worked with had done something like that to me, I'd have done the exact same thing," Pam said. She took a sip of her wine as Reid dipped his nacho into the salsa and took a bite. They had a basket of Nachos and two glasses of wine in front of them. "So, how will he react when you tell him about this?"
"He likely won't believe me." Reid replied. "He's the ladies' man, not me. He'll never believe that I got a date that was supposed to be his."
"We'll have to see about that." Pam winked.
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Morgan almost dropped his coffee as a beautiful black woman walked into the BAU. "I think the woman of my dreams just walked into my life," he said causing JJ, Emily and Garcia to turn and look. Morgan studied her curves, the way her hair fell just below her shoulders. She wore black pants a pink cowl neck sweater covered with a black suede jacket.
They watched Anderson approach her and then turn and head toward them. "Have you guys seen Reid? That woman would like to speak to him, something about the press conference in Boise. "
"Let me handle this Anderson. I think she wants to speak to me anyway." Morgan replied.
Strange looks passed between the others. "Why would she want to talk to you if she wants to see Reid?" Garcia asked.
"It's complicated," Morgan said. "Believe me, she wants to see me."
Morgan strode toward the woman. "Hello, what can I do to help you?" he asked.
"Oh, Dr. Reid, Pam Elliot from the AP, I was doing a supplemental story on the Boise killings and I just wanted to check some information."
"Certainly, we can go to my office," Morgan said.
"Office?" Pam looked confused. She looked at the desk right next to her. "Isn't this your desk," she pointed to the name plate that specifically said, Dr. Spencer Reid.
"I just got some papers from a cop in Albuquerque; three girls murdered in the last three weeks, the cops have no leads. I know Hotch said there was nothing pending but I think they might need us down there," Reid babbled as he burst into the bullpen and dropped some files on his desk.
Pam looked from Reid to Morgan then back to Reid. "Is this your desk?" she asked Reid.
"Of course," he replied. "Why do you ask?"
She pointed to Morgan, "But I thought you were Dr…"
"There's really a simple explanation for this…" Morgan began.
"Yeah, really simple," Reid said innocently. "Agent Morgan goes to press conferences, gives out my number and tells everyone he's me."
"Why would he do…?" She paused for a moment. "I guess because you're the man with all the answers." She looked snidely at Morgan. "To misrepresent oneself in that manner is not a very professional thing to do if you ask me."
"Did you need help with something Miss…?"
"Elliot, Pam Elliot," she offered Reid her hand ignoring Morgan. "I do have some questions about the Boise killings." She looked at her watch, "But I don't have as much time as I thought. It took a while to get through security. Do you think we could do it another time?" She looked Reid up and down appreciatively, "Perhaps over dinner?"
"I…I'd like that," Reid replied.
"Good, it's a date," Pam turned to leave.
"Wait, don't I need to know how to get in touch with you?" Reid called as she headed for the door.
"Don't worry, I'll call you; after all," she gave Reid a flirty smile, "thanks to Agent Morgan here, I have your number."
Rossi watched from the walkway as Morgan turned from Reid in disgust and the girls in the break room, the entire bullpen for that matter, giggled. He also noticed the satisfied grin on Reid's face. For some reason, he'd been sure that Morgan would be the victor in this little prank war, but he'd been wrong. Reid had found Morgan's Achilles' heel and used it to his advantage. Note to self, he said to himself before turning into his office, never underestimate unassuming guys in sweater vests.