"Where is Mr. Briefs?" There was a hush all around the boardroom table, and ill-disguised glances Pan's way. She stood.
"I'm sitting in for him this morning," She announced, but silence remained. "He's, er, sick this morning, and asked me to take notes." The meeting began then, slowly, but surely. And Pan scribbled away in a notebook.
Two hours later…
"Where were you!?" She slammed her notebook on Trunks' dining room table and gave him a foul scowl. "I had to sit in on that stupid meeting, taking notes you'll never look at, because you're feeling a tad flush?" She started pacing around the kitchen as he munched on a toasted bagel.
"I'm really very sorry, Pan."
"You always are!" She shot back.
"Pan, I—" She held up a hand.
"You know what, just save it." She slapped her notebook down in front of him and retrieved her coat from the table chair. "There are the notes I took, even though you won't end up looking at them." She swung her coat around her shoulders and left.
"Here are some messages for you," She set several slips of paper down on the edge of his desk. "and some girl named Vivki said she'd be ready at eight." Trunks looked up at her, but she didn't meet his eye, just took her gaze from the stack of messages to the door where she attempted to escape without another word.
"Pan," She stopped dead in her tracks, and then turned around blankly. "I know you're still upset with me," She raised her brows, folding her arms and trying to act unaware of what he meant. "You haven't spoken to me in three days, and you're hardly ever around." He said pointedly.
"I've spoken to you lots of times, and I'm around whenever I'm needed." She returned in feigned innocence.
"You know what I mean." He leaned back and folded his arms. "Now come here." She set down in the chair across from him. "I'm sorry, I really am. It's just—"
"You?" He furrowed his brows. "It's just you? It's just how you are. You don't try to be superficial or a prick. It's just how it happens. It's just how you are." If he was upset at the words "superficial" or "prick" being used to describe him, he gave no sign of it. "And you really are sorry, I know you are. It's just that, Trunks…" She shook her head and looked down, but he leant forward, tucking a finger under her chin and lifted it up for her to look him in the eye.
"What?" Pan had been used to a whole lot of different tones and different lilts Trunks used with that word, but when he said it to her this time, she didn't know what to make of the sincerity and the intimacy that this "what" bore.
"It's just I don't want to see you ruin your life this way. I hate seeing your irresponsibility distort the way they see the Trunks I know. You're smart, quick, and people don't see that because you're always late, or running of with this model, or throwing this expensive bash.
"It's just that, with these past few months, I've really become…close to you. And I just, well…I feel I owe it to you to tell you the good and the bad. That's what you asked for, right?" And he nodded, with a small smile on his face. That genuine smile that made a small dimple appear on his right cheek.
"Thank you, Pan." She pulled at her skirt nervously and stood.
"All right then—off to work!" She splayed a peppy smile and started out of his office.
"Great. Oh, but Pan, before you go. Did you happen to take down Vivki's number?" She stopped in her tracks, turning around and ready to glare, but then she saw his teasing grin and the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Pan glanced at the clock in her office. 4:25. She snatched her electronic organizer and dashed down the hallway. She skipped down some stepped, turned a corner, then another, and brought herself into hiding in an unused office.
She tapped-tapped-tapped away on the organizer, it gave a beep, and a little name went from faded lettering to bold and italic. Briefsman began a conversation with her instantly, typing away with the abbreviated words common with teens in chatrooms. She began tap-tap-tapping a series of dates, figures, numbers, and key information through the instant messaging system.
Meanwhile, in a major meeting two floors up, Trunks sat at the head of the table, his hands hidden below the desk, where they were carrying on a digital conversation with his personal secretary. He nonchalantly glanced around the room, stealing quick peeks at the important series of instant messages displayed below him.
"Mr. Briefs, your opinion on this venture before we discuss further?"
Trunks flashed a brilliant smile. "I think with the positive response we received through a similar venture two years ago—with the same department—it will definitely prove itself worth our time, and I foresee substantial profits. And equally substantial growth in that department." There were nods around the room in agreement. Trunks was just glad it didn't sound too much like he had just read it point blank from his text message conversation with Pan.
"Good job," Pan and Trunks met in the hallway, both saying the same thing. As they fell into step together, they exchanged smiles and both said, "Thanks."
"So what are you up to tonight?" He asked her, sliding his palm pilot into his inner coat pocket.
"My parents are coming over for dinner, actually."
"I'd like to meet your parents eventually." He commented thoughtfully.
"You have." She pointed out.
"I mean really meet them. I've only seen them in passing once—twice."
"Well, they're staying for a couple days so you might just bump into them. So what are you doing tonight?" He bit his lip and looked around the offices as if for something, then turned to her.
"Oh, just going out. I've got a date, it would seem." She shook her head, but with a smile, and didn't comment. "Why are you giving me such a bad time? It's the weekend, everyone needs to cut loose!" She looked to him in amazement.
"It's Tuesday, Trunks."
Pan and her parents sat around her living room late that night, flipping through televisions shows, each one waiting for another to announce their own bedtime. And just as Pan had given up the competition to announce it was late enough for her, the phone rang, flashing Trunks' cellphone number.
"Phan?" His voice slurred on the other end. "Phan can'oo hear me?"
"Trunks, where are you?" She asked worriedly.
There was silence, and then he said, "I don't know, Phan." Pan rolled her eyes.
"What bar, Trunks? Are you at a bar? A party? On the street?" She exclaimed sarcastically. There was muffled noise and she heard him ask someone where he was.
"Jwilli-anns." Click. Pan cursed as she turned off her phone and her parents looked to her in alarm.
"The babysitter must go and save the day," She announced glumly, throwing on the closest coat she had. "Seems little Lord Fauntleroy got himself drunk and delirious." She slipped her feet into her pink polka dot slippers.
"Pan, I'll go," He father insisted, but she held up a hand, said she'd be right back, and left without further word.
Half an hour later she was riding in Trunks' Cadillac with a slightly more sober Trunks, thanks to some tricks of the trade she had become good at. He wasn't a slurring fool anymore, just a quiet, overly-solemn man staring out the window as if he might be thinking hard on life or perhaps the Buddha's philosophies.
And then he turned around in a great motion, catching his balance with his arm on the seat, his face suddenly inches from her. And he looked thoughtfully at her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the wisps of her hair that had fallen from her ponytail.
"Thank you, Pan, for coming to get me." He wasn't waiting for an answer or a "your welcome". "You know," he said, tracing the curve of her jaw, "you're always so good to me. You—you always pick me up when I'm drunk, or give me advice, and you see me, Pan." Her lower lip dropped just a touch, her dark brows slightly furrowed, slightly raised. "Especially when no one else wants to." His finger came to her lips, and moved ever so slowly across them, then stopping, right at her pout. "So soft," He whispered to himself, and she blushed, pulling back. "What?" He asked, but she only shook her head, now smiling in an embarrassed way. The neon signs flashed past the tinted windows, giving a strange, strobe-like light.
"What are you so embarrassed about?" He asked once more, leaning her way, his fingers coming to rest on her lips once more. "I just never knew they were so soft." His drunken honesty was almost amusing, and as she had no room to pull back again, she simply bowed her head.
"You're teasing me," She said.
"Not at all." was his response.
"Then—" His lips met hers and she nearly gasped for shock. Her heart starting beating so heavy she knew he must be able to hear it, and he took her hand in his, clasping it before his chest. She didn't know what to do. Her annoyingly spoiled boss was drunk, kissing her, and she hadn't the faintest notion of what to do. And she lacked any desire to push him away, strangely enough.
He kissed her so softly, like she was a delicate porcelain doll, but there was a passion behind it that was tangible. And his warm fingers around her cold hand. It was so nice kissing him she lost herself in the rush, and then felt like a silly schoolgirl when their lips parted, her eyes darting to the floor nervously. Her heart was beating fast, ba-dump! ba-dump! ba-dump!, and he wasn't saying a word.
"Mr. Briefs, Ms. Son, we're here at your apartment, miss," The driver announced through the speaker and Pan nearly jumped straight up like a cat. She fumbled for the door handle, opened the door and stepped out without a word, then leant her head back in.
"Good night, Trunks." He smiled a small, secret smile.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Pan." She nodded. "And thank you." She nodded again, awkwardly, and then shut the door. She watched the car drive off into the late night and bit her lip, hard. She must be having a dream. Or a nightmare, perhaps.