Disclaimer: C chappie #1.
Torn VI:
"Lorelei, Duval wants to speak with you." Yolande said, poking her head inside the cubical.
"Damnit," Rory groaned looking up from the article she was just proofreading. She prayed he wasn't sending her out to do another story. If he'd only peeked inside her cubicle, he'd realize that she was up to her nose on another story, and could barely find her shoe, much less a black pen to write the damn thing.
Rising from her seat, she groaned again as she threw her other shoe under her desk, resolving to find it at the end of the day. Working at a newspaper made things pretty informal. Plus, Duval wouldn't be looking at her feet anyway; he was a breast man!
Weaving through the tens of cubicles, she finally reached his corner office overlooking the Seine on two sides.
"Bonjour M. Duval," she greeted as she entered his office, "I was told that you needed to speak to me?"
"Oui," he waved her in, although not looking up from the documents splayed before him.
M. Duval was an old man who worked hard for his position in society, and made sure that everyone knew it. He'd aged gracefully in his sixty years, with his hair only now starting to be peppered with grey. He was strong when he wanted to be, but mostly feeble. When she'd first met him she almost laughed at his unusual likeness to Dickens's character, Mr. Bounderby.
When he'd finished perusing whatever he was perusing, he looked up at her as if first acknowledging her existence.
"Oh, Mme. Gilmore, I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done with M. DuGrey's interview. I loved the perfect way you balanced his job with his personal life. You left the reader with just enough to be informed, but curious to know more. It was a remarkable piece of work."
"Merci," she smiled, rather relieved that he wasn't asking her to start another project. "Well, I've got to go to my desk and finish-" she said, resigning.
"Oh, are we finished all ready?" M. Duval asked, his sharp, blue eyes cutting into hers with a calm sternness.
"Pardon," she muttered, knowing that she was to be dismissed.
"So," he continued, noting her avoidance to meet his eyes, "I have another assignment for you. One that I'm sure you'll enjoy."
Inside, the groan rumbled so loudly through her frame that it caused little tremors down her spine. God truly hated her, she realized. Instead of voicing her dismay and risking either expulsion or the possibility of never writing again, she faced him again, hoping that her own eyes didn't display her discontent.
"Oui?"
"Oui, I have been speaking to Henry, and we think that you're the perfect candidate to write a piece on . . ."
"You know who I hate," she announced, barging through the large oak door and into the penthouse.
"Everyone?" a voice answered, disrupting her monologue.
"You're damn near close," she groaned, pushing the hat from her head and placing it on the coat rack with her purse.
"Want something to drink?" he asked as she marched into the kitchen.
"Scotch on the rocks," she grumbled, tying an apron around her waist.
"Scotch, must have been a rough day?"
"Janlen, you don't even know! Duval gave me another story, one that I will start after I come back from my mom's, but is going to be time consuming and annoying. Plus, I'm in the middle of another story, and I really don't want to start another."
"Here."
"Thanks," she smiled taking the glass in her hands. "So, what are we going to make tonight?"
Over the last month, she and Tristan had gotten so close that his grandfather, Janlen, had become part of her extended family. Over the past two weeks it'd become a tradition to arrive at the DuGrey's hotel penthouse and help Janlen prepare dinner. Although she hadn't graduated past the making salad stage, he'd let her cut some times, when he was sure she couldn't get hurt.
Taking a sip of her drink, she let the alcohol burn the back of her throat before she let out a sigh. Tonight was a good night to have dinner, she definitely needed this.
"So Rory, when do you leave for home?"
Setting the drink down on the marble counter, Rory turned to him, ready to begin their next cooking session.
"Uh, Friday morning. We're leaving at four in the morning. I can't wait!"
"I can tell," he smiled, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"What?"
"What?" he asked innocently.
"You look suspicious."
"I do not!" he replied, his eyes still twinkling.
"Janlen, those DuGrey eyes don't twinkle like that for just any reason. What's up?"
"Nothing," he laughed, seeing why his grandson was so in love with her.
"If you don't tell me, I'm going to tell Tristan, and he'll make you," she pouted.
"You think Tristan will care?"
"He knows? You guys are conspiring against me? That's against the rules! I hate you!" she argued, pushing her hair from her eyes and taking a hold of his lapels. "Janlen, can you pweeeezzzzz tell me? Peas? Peas and carrots?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he grinned, removing her hands.
"What if I cry?"
"Then I'll be right in believing you're neurotic."
"Janlen, please tell me," she whined, her mouth curved in that priceless pout.
"C'mon Rory, help me make dinner."
"Hey, don't think that that gets you off the hook monsieur! I want details."
A loud banging disrupted their conversation as they stood over the boiling pot.
"I'll get it!" Rory sang tearing off her apron and skipping to the door. As she skipped, she sang at the top of her lungs, "I love Jesus, I love him a bunch, 'cuz he put Skippy, in my lunch!"
When she swung open the door, she was surprised to find a wary Tristan leaning against the doorjamb with a scowl on his face as he muttered obscenities in French.
"Awe, Tristan, do you need a hug?" she asked, gently pressing a hand to his sunken cheek.
"Merde! What I need is a blunt, rusty axe to decapitate all the damn idiots of my department, but what I could settle on a nice, warm, Mary hug." He smiled down at her.
In moments, she enveloped him in her arms, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He relaxed into her arms, pressing her body close to his as he breathed in the sweet scent of her and basked in her aura. He was meant to do this for the rest of his life. He was meant to have her arms around him and his around hers. It was as if they were created for one another; they fit together like puzzle pieces, curve to curve. His arms were created to be wrapped around her body; his chest chiseled to cradle hers.
"Aw, Cherie, I made you dinner," she mumbled, her lips gently brushing the skin of his neck.
A shiver melted his spine as he unconsciously pulled her closer; their bodies completely touching.
"YOU made ME dinner?" he whispered back, speculation oozing from his lips.
"Ok, ok," she smiled against his shoulder, "So Janlen made you dinner. . . . But I cut the bread!"
He pulled away from her in order to see her face, his brow raised.
"There was only one blood soaked piece, and don't worry, we threw-"
"You hurt yourself?" he asked, worry consuming his blue orbs.
"Not badly," she said, seeing the change in his attitude.
"Where?" he asked, his brows furrowed in worry.
Sticking out her hand, she watched him inspect it and marveled at his overwhelming concern.
Slowly he inspected her hand, the bright pink band-aid sticking out like a sore thumb; no pun intended. He opened the piece of adhesive and scrutinized the stark white slice across her thumb. Then suddenly, he pressed a kiss to the break in her skin, his eyes clashing with hers.
She slowly pulled her hand away, her eyes never leaving his.
Suddenly, a loud clamoring came from the kitchen, breaking their moment.
"Uh, Janlen, are you alright?"
"Sure," he replied, tucked away in the kitchen.
Rory turned away to help Janlen when Tristan pulled her back into his arms, burying his face in her curtain of hair.
"Just- let's just be . . . you don't know how much I need this right now." he whispered, as she settled her head on his shoulder.
Janlen walked into the room and watched the two hold each other, love permeating the air. He didn't know why Rory couldn't see how in love Tristan was with her. Everyone could see the way that he looked at her. They could see the way those DuGrey eyes sparkled in her presence. The way his lips lifted into that infamous smirk, wrapping everyone in that deliriousness that had consumed his being.
"Hey, lovebirds," Janlen called, ending their moment. "Dinner's ready."
Breaking away from one another, Tristan pulled his tie loose and undid the first two buttons.
"I'm going to freshen up, ok?" he asked leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then, he turned to his room and closed the door behind him.
"More red wine?"
"Yes please," Rory smiled tearing a piece of garlic bread and placing it in her mouth.
"So what were you saying about the project?"
"Well, it seems some wealthy philanthropists have come together for the greater good. They've decided to build a children's hospital that will specialize in terminal illnesses with some of the best doctors in the country on staff. They also are building a separate sector where the children of St. Nicholas's Orphanage will receive free care.
"It's an amazing endeavor and Duval has given me the story," she smiled. "Although I was happy to accept the responsibility of this story, I'm working on another story that's sort of important to me. I'm already buried to my eyebrows in it, and I really don't want to postpone it again . . . but the hospital is more important," she sighed.
"You can't do them both at the same time?" he asked, forking a piece of chicken.
"I can, but that'll cut into my you time and Lane time and Lorelei time and my Mocha time. I don't have a life to begin with; I don't know if I could give up what I don't have."
"Well, what is your independent project about?" Janlen asked, taking a sip of wine.
Shaking her head, she turned her eyes to her plate. "It's my own private thing. WhenI decide to tell you,I will."
Tristan looked at her for a moment. He watched the way her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and the way she let herself hide behind the curtain of hair.
After a couple of long moments of silence, Rory finally spoke,
"Have you guys found an apartment yet?"
Tristan shook his head before taking a sip of wine.
"Well, I was talking to Adrien last night as I was packing, and it turned out, his roommate, Esteban is moving out. So Adrien is looking for a new roommate."
"Why is Esteban moving out?" Janlen asked.
"He's moving to Spain with his . . . 'Life Partner.'"
"Hmm . . ."
"Isn't his apartment like yours?"
"Well, that's the great thing about our building; each loft is pretty much a compromise. Lane and I got a bigger apartment, but Adrien's apartment has another floor. He's got three bedrooms, a storage closet and two bathrooms. While Esteban was living there, the upstairs bedroom was converted into a storage area for his business- he's an interior designer. If you guys moved in, it'd be perfect. The kitchen is huge so Janlen and Adrien would be able to collaborate on dishes. Two of the bedrooms are on the main floor, so Janlen wouldn't have to worry about stairs and his doctors wouldn't have to scold him. Tristan could have the upstairs bedroom so he could take his latest conquests without disturbing the guys downstairs. And you guys would be close to Lane and I which would prove a really good idea if say, I couldn't get home and couldn't walk Mocha or if someone was out of town and needed help. It's a good idea."
"And how does Adrien feel about this?" Janlen asked, liking the idea so far.
"He's fine with it. He likes Tristan, and trusts my judgment on people. The only problem would probably be Sophie, and she doesn't live there so there's really not much problem. She's there pretty often, but she wouldn't mind.
"And the building is great. The maintenance man lives in the basement, and he's always on call. There's a security guard at the door and there's also a camera to make sure if an intruder does get in he can be identified by the police. The apartment that Adrien lives in is fully furnished, so you don't have to worry about anything accept your rooms, and there's even a balcony! It's a good walk to your office Tristan, but nothing that you can't handle, and there's always great cuisine nearby. 'Le Jour Denier' is about three blocks away so you'll never go hungry. In fact, there's no real reason not to move in to the building." She concluded searching both their expressionless faces.
Janlen turned to Tristan who had turned to him. Tristan shrugged and stabbed the vegatable with his fork.
"We'll have a look at the apartment and then decide if it will fit us," Janlen replied before picking up his fork and wrapping pasta around it.
"So Tristan, before you came, Janlen was being very cryptic, and he had this goofy smile on his face. Will you care to tell me what it was about?"
"Why Mary, I have the faintest idea what you're talking about!" Tristan grinned, his eyes sparkling in that familiar way.
"So, when are you leaving?"
Grabbing a sheet of paper from inside her file cabinet, Rory turned to Yolande.
"Tonight. I'm going to go home, take a long, perfumed bathe, eat rich food and then stay up all night watching movies with Lane and Adrien. Then at one in the morning, we will pack everything in a car and head towards l'aéroport. My plane leaves at four."
"Is Adrien taking Mocha?"
"Yeah, and he's pleased to do it. Esteban's moving out, so he's happy to have some company. Sophie is in Milan for a week, so he's a little lonely. I told him he could come with me, but he's all . . . 'I have to work because 'Le Jour Denier' is my baby and my whole life.'"
"So, he and Sophie are still going out?" she asked, arching her brow.
Rory laughed. For as long as she had known Yolande, she'd always been one to go after someone she couldn't have. When she'd first met Adrien at a Christmas party, she'd instantly fallen for him. Unfortunately for her, that was the year he'd met Sophie and he definitely wasn't going to give her up.
"Yolande, you can't keep going after him, Sophie will kill you if she finds out."
"Whose gunna' tell her," she smiled although everyone knew she was totally benign.
"So, what are you doing tonight?"
"I've got a date with mister right-over-there."
"Is he at least cute?"
"I'll have to get back to you on that one, I met him in a bar last night. I was too drunk to really survey him."
"You need to find a guy-"
"So do you." she laughed, "We both are tired old maids. Maybe we should go out some night and pick each other's dates. I'd find you a biker with six kids and a trailer. You'd find me an accountant with a mansion in Switzerland and his own ski lodge, and in the end we'd both end up switching partners."
"You'd date a biker with six kids and a trailer?"
"I'd ditch the kids, drown the trailer and take a ride on his bike. I wouldn't mind that."
"We're going guy hunting when I get back."
Sitting down on a sheaf of papers, she flicked a strand of hair from her eyes. She was a pretty stylish person which was why it was so weird of her to be without male admirers. She was tall and slim, her skin honey brown and her eyes so hazel they seemed to glow gold. Her elbow length black hair hung down her shoulders like an ebony waterfall; it's beauty almost hypnotic. Her sister was a fashion designer so she constantly wore the latest fashions without becoming a total label and yet she still never seemed to be dating someone.
"What about that guy, the American? Is he single?"
"Tristan? You think he's cute?"
"He's pretty hot! In fact, if you set me up with him, I'll be your bestest friend forever!"
Rory looked at Yolande's excited expression and for the first time since she'd met the flirtatious girl, she was speechless. Yolande wanted to be set up with Tristan, and for some reason, that freaked her out.
"Uh, I'll think about it," she whispered.
TBC . . .
A/N: Hey guys, hoped you liked this one. The first seeds of attraction are being planted into Rory's head, and now we've just got to see what happens. Hey, Review please. I really enjoy finding out what you guys think about this fic. I know I'm moving slowly, but I've got like thirty million fics that I'm writing at the same time. And I'm trying to write the last chapter to one of them and I'm suffering a lot of writer's block for a lot of stories. I'm also trying to get in the mood to read three books I've got to read for school that I really don't want to read.