She stops by his apartment immediately after checking into the hotel. Her hair is disheveled from the pouring rain outside, and water drips down her face as she knocks on his door, waiting for him to answer.
"Birgitte." His eyebrows arch in surprise when he sees her. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought we weren't supposed to meet until –"
She pushes past him before he can finish, not even bothering to take off her shoes in the hallway.
"We need to talk," she says.
"We do?"
"Yes." She continues into the kitchen and turns back to face him. "I know what you're doing, Michael, and I've had enough of it."
He looks at her, uncomprehending.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your comments in the media!" she says, shaking with the anger she's been holding back since she saw him on TV this morning.
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the door frame.
"I thought you were glad that I'd softened my stance towards you."
"I am." She pauses to regain control of herself and removes a few strands of hair that are sticking to her forehead. "But your little remarks have got to stop."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Birgitte balls her hands into fists, wishing she'd brought an umbrella. That way, she'd have something to hit him with.
"Yes, you do."
When she'd been appointed EU Commissioner, he had told TV1 that he was skeptical, but wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Then, a couple of weeks later, he had begrudgingly admitted that she was nothing if not efficient. She'd been happy about that comment – mostly because she knew it had been genuine. After all, he'd told her the same thing in private.
All in all, his shift in attitude has been pretty subtle. He still criticizes her from time to time, but he also gives credit where credit is due.
Recently, however, she has begun to notice a different trend in his commentary.
She takes a deep breath:
"Last month when you were asked about my work, you said – and I quote – 'Nyborg does a surprisingly good job down there.'"
"Which is true." He is still leaning against the door frame, feet crossed at his ankles. "The last couple of months you have been on a winning streak. First, you landed a major deal with China. Then, you concluded pacts with Canada and Japan –"
She puts her hands in her sides, fixing him with an accusing glare.
"Oh, so your choice of words was coincidental, was it?"
"Yes."
"What about two weeks ago, when you said that you were impressed by my stamina?"
"I was talking about your efforts during the latest round of the EU-Australia trade agreement," he says, his voice all innocence. "You worked tirelessly during those negotiations, and it paid off. Clearly, you made lots of progress with –"
"That's not the point!" she hisses, flinging up her arms. "The problem isn't your analysis. It's your phrasing. This morning, you stood on national TV and said that I like to be on top, for God's sake!"
She had been fuming at that point. As they say: Once is by chance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.
"I said that you like to be on top of things, even if they're not in your field of expertise. A pretty accurate description of your character."
"There was a pause," she grinds out through clenched teeth. It had only lasted a fraction of a second, but it had been enough to make her throw the remote at the TV. "And if I noticed, other people are bound to notice, too."
He scratches his chin contemplatively.
"All right," he says after a few seconds of silence. "I'll see if I can make my comments less … ambiguous from now on."
"Good. Or else I'm going to have to gag you."
He tilts his head a little, an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. She puts a hand up in warning.
"Just … stop. Whatever you're thinking, don't say it."
For once, he actually listens to her, keeping whatever comment is on the tip of his tongue to himself.
He pushes himself away from the doorframe and walks over to her.
"Sit down," he says, easing her coat off her shoulders. "I'll get you a drink."
She sinks into a chair by the kitchen table and watches as he hangs her coat on the stand in the hallway. He returns to the kitchen, heading to what she assumes is his drinks cupboard.
"How long are you staying in Copenhagen this time?" he asks, taking out a glass and a bottle.
"About a week."
"Have you booked a hotel yet?"
"Yes, but only for the first two nights. Then I'm going to stay at Magnus' new place, I think." It has a spare bedroom, which is one of the reasons Philip has to help him pay the rent.
"Or you could stay here," he suggests.
"Here?"
He nods.
Birgitte looks around his apartment. She's only been here once before, during a drunken stupor.
There's no denying that it's a nice place: Large and well furnished, with polished wooden floors and loft-like ceilings. Staying here would definitely be preferable to staying at Magnus' apartment, sleeping on an Ikea sofa bed that's bound to make her back ache. But it would also be … difficult, considering the arrangement they have. So far, they've been very careful not to be seen in public together. That's why she normally just texts him the name of her hotel and her room number.
She tucks a dripping lock of hair behind her ear. It would be difficult, yes, but not impossible.
Still, she's surprised by his suggestion.
"I didn't think you'd want me to," she says, keeping her eyes on the table in front of her. "You know, in case you were having … other visitors."
There's a splash of liquid as he pours her drink, followed by the soft 'thud' of the cupboard being shut.
"I don't plan to," he says. "But I should probably let you know that I am seeing someone."
"Oh."
She tries to ignore the tiny tug of jealousy in her gut. After all, they'd agreed when this all started that they weren't going to be exclusive.
"Who?" she asks, looking up at him with what she hopes is casual curiosity.
He plops an ice cube into her drink and picks up the glass, giving a little shrug before walking towards her.
"She's this hopeless workaholic, who used to be a big shot in Danish politics."
Her heart flutters slightly as he puts the glass on the table and bends down to kiss her. That can't be a good sign.
She wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer. A small sigh escapes her as he begins to nip at her lower lip in a way that makes her forget all about how cold she is from the rain.
There's an impish grin on his face when he draws back.
"Would you like me to get you a towel as well?" he asks, brushing a drop of water off her cheek. "Because I can't help but notice that you're very –"
Before he can get the sentence out, she tightens her hold on his neck, pressing her lips to his again.
.
.
*Eric Idle voice*: Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more!