Part 3

A click flashes out.

"Thanks again for doing this, Mr. Haddock" Ruffnut said, giving him a polite, professional smile. I remind myself that Rachel has been to the best private schools in Washington. Her family has money, and she's grown with confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn't take any crap. I am in awe of her.

"I'm happy to help." He answers, turning his gaze on me, and I flush, again. Damn it.

Thuggory takes several photographs hand-held, asking Haddock to turn this way, then that, to move his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Thuggory takes several more, while Haddock sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Haddock from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from his cloudy gaze.

"How we try few with a smile… or-or not." I heard Thuggory said, before keeping himself busy taking him again.

"You do realize that he hasn't stop looking at you." Ruffnut whispers with no preamble whatsoever.

"He asks me to go to coffee afterwards." Her mouth pops open. Speechless Ruffnut! I savor the moment.

"What?" She asks in shock, then grins.

"Ruff, shhh." I said before looking at Mr. Haddock again.

Ruffnut has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we're here to photograph Henry Haddock CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mr. Haddock is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite, he's terribly young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect it's Ruffnut's beauty and commanding manner that disarms him, because he's putty in her hands. The room are elegant, understated and opulently furnished.

It was nine when we start setting up things. Ruff has been in full flow. And yes, free mistress, Astrid here, Astrid that, she is so domineering sometimes. I just rolled my eyes, but as I told. If only I don't want to see Mr. Haddock but I do. Wait, what?

We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. What should I say to him? My mind suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are we going to talk about? What on Earth do I have in common with him? His soft, warm voice startles me from my reverie.

"So, Is he your boyfriend." I look at him. Oh my… he really is, quite… wow. But whoa… what?

"Who?"

"The photographer."

I laugh, nervous but curious. What gave him that impression?

"Thuggory? No."

"I saw the way you smile him to." His green gaze holds mine. He's so unnerving. I want to look away but I'm caught, spellbound.

"No, Thuggory is more like a family, he's not my boyfriend."

Haddock nods slightly, seemingly satisfied with my response.

"And the guy at the store?"

"Paul? No." Oh, this is getting silly.

We stop at the Portland Coffee House and got inside.

"Why don't you choose a table, while I get the drinks. What would you like?" he asks, polite as ever.

"I'll have…um, English Breakfast tea, bag out." He raises his eyebrow.

"No coffee?"

"I'm not keen on coffee."

He smiles.

"Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?"

For a moment, I'm stunned, thinking it's an endearment, but fortunately my subconscious kicks in with pursed lips. No, stupid, so you take sugar?

"No thanks." I stare down at my knotted fingers.

"Anything to eat?" I shake my head, and he heads to the counter.

I surreptitiously gaze at him from beneath my lashes as he stands in line waiting to be served. I could watch him all day… he's tall, broad-shouldered, and slim, and the way those pants hang from his hips… Oh my. Once or twice he runs his long, graceful fingers through his now dry but still disorderly hair. Hmm… I'd like to do that. The thought comes unbidden into my mind, and my face flames. I bite my lip and stare down at my hands again not liking where my wayward thoughts are headed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Haddock is back, startling me.

I go crimson. I was just thinking about running my fingers through your hair and wondering If it would feel soft to touch. I shake my head. He's carrying a tray, which he sets down on the small, round, birch-veneer table. He hands me a cup and saucer, a small teapot, and a side plate bearing aa lone teabag labeled 'Twining English Breakfast', my favorite. He has a coffee which bears a wonderful leaf-pattern imprinted in the milk. How do they do that? I wonder idly. He's also bought himself a blueberry muffin. Putting the tray aside, he sits opposite me and crosses his long legs. He looks so comfortable, so at ease with his body, I envy him. Here's me, all gawky and uncoordinated, barely able to get from A to B without falling flat on my face.

"Your thoughts?" he prompts me.

"This is my favorite tea." My voice is quite, breathy. I simply can't believe I'm sitting opposite Henry Horrendous Haddock III in an coffee shop in Portland. He frowns. He knows I'm hiding something, I pop the teabag into the teapot and almost immediately fish it out again with my teaspoon. As I place the used teabag back on the side plate, he cocks his head gazing quizzically at me.

"I like my tea black and weak," I mutter as an explanation.

"You seem nervous."

Holy crap, why the question? I'm just nervous around you, Haddock.

"I find you intimidation." I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for my candor, and gaze at my hands again. I hear his sharp intake of breath.

"You should yet - "

"Not to mention high handed." I retaliate quietly.

He raises his eyebrows and, If I'm not mistaken, he flushes slightly too.

"I'm use on getting my own way." He murmurs.

"It must be very boring, why haven't you asked me to call you by my first name?" I'm surprised by my audacity. Why has this conversation become serious? This isn't going the way I thought it was going to go. I can't believe I'm feeling so antagonistic towards him. It's like he's trying to warn me off.

"The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That's the way I like it."

Oh. He still hasn't said, 'Call me Henry.' He is a control freak, there's no other explanation, and part of me is thinking maybe it would have been better if Ruff had interviewed him. Two control freaks together. Plus of course she's almost blonde, well, strawberry blonde, like all the woman in his office. And she's beautiful, my subconscious reminds me. I don't like the idea of Henry and Rachel. I take a sip of my tea, and Haddock eats small piece of his muffin.

"Tell me about your family." He asks. Whoa… he keeps changing direction.

Why does he want to know this? It's so dull.

"My family? Um… ok, my dad died when I was a baby, so, I was raised by my step-father, Ray… he's amazing."

"And your mother?"

"My mother is on husband number four. She's an incurable romantic." I smile fondly. I haven't seen my mom for so long. Henry is watching me intently, taking occasional sips of his coffee. I really shouldn't look at his mouth. It's unsettling. Those lips.

"You?"

"Am I romantic?"

He nods.

"Well, I'm studying English literature, so I kinda have to be." I shrug and laugh a little wishing that he gets what I mean to say in those words. "Oh, the photoshoot went well, Ruff seems to be really happy."

"I'm sorry, I can't- "

"What?"

"I'll walk you out." He stands up.

We're back at the intersection, across the road from the hotel. My mind is reeling. What an odd moment… And I'm aware that our time together is limited. This is it. This was it, and I've completely blown it, I know. Perhaps he has someone.

"You have a girlfriend, is that it?" I blurt out. Holy crap – I just said that out loud?

His lips quirks up in a half-smile, and he looks down at me.

"No, Astrid. I don't do the girlfriend thing," he says softly.

Oh… what does that mean? He's not gay? Oh, maybe he is – crap! He must have lied to me in his interview. And for a moment, I think he's going to follow on with some explanation, some clues to this cryptic statement, but he doesn't. I have to go. I have to try to reassemble my thoughts. I have to get away from him, but I need to know.

"Then what- "

"WATCH IT!" Haddock cries. He tugs the hand that he's holding so hard that I fall back against him just as aa cyclist whips past, narrowly missing me, heading the wrong way up this one-way street.

It all happens so fast, one minute I'm falling, the next I'm in his arms, and he's holding me tightly against his chest. I inhale his clean, vital scent. He smells of fresh laundered linen and some expensive body-wash. Oh my, it's intoxicating. I inhale deeply.

Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can't move. I'm paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. I'm staring at Henry Horrendous Haddock's exquisitely sculptured mouth, mesmerized, and he's looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening. He's breathing harder than usual, and I've stopped breathing altogether. I'm in your arms. Kiss me, please. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of his head as if in answer to my silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it's with some new purpose, a steely resolve.

"I'm not the man for you, you should stay away from me. I have to let you go." What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him, and my head swims with rejection.

Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to Henry, leaving me wired and weak. And the only thing I can think is that I wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and he didn't do it. He doesn't want me. He doesn't really want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning.

"Goodbye, Mr. Haddock." I turn on my heel, vaguely amazed that I don't trip, and without giving him a second glance, I disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage.

Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying? I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am. Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball but I understood that running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field.

Romantically, though, I've never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity, I'm too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of fault goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest, they might get a black eye or a kick in their balls, no one except Henry damn Haddock. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Paul Clayton and Thuggory, though I'm sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps I just need a good cry.

Stop! Stop Now! – My subconscious in metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Go home, do your study and get over him… Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap.

I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together Hofferson. I head to Ruffnut's car, I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exam.