AN: Long time, no write. But quarantine has got me back on the fanfic kick, and for years I have wanted to rewrite "The Story of You and Me." So, my attempt at that starts here. I've left the original up for anyone who liked it, but this is where that story will be updated and continued. The plot is a bit different, so I hope you all like it.
She sighed and pressed the call button on her desk. "Flora, cancel my two o'clock on Monday."
"Of course, Ms. Winters," came the reply.
Irene leaned back in her chair, kicking off her pumps. She really needed more time to finish running the numbers on the Brown account, but she had the Gala. She only hoped that she would have enough time the next week to prepare the presentation. She sat back up and pressed the call button again.
"Actually, Flora, what else do I have Monday that I can reschedule?
"You have an interview with Forbes and lunch with Dante from publishing."
"I've already cancelled on Forbes twice," she mused. "They won't run the article at all if I cancel again. Call Dante's assistant, and send my regrets."
"Of course, Ms. Winters."
Irene pulled the Brown account out, and began crunching the numbers, pausing every so often to sit up and pop her back. Her chiropractor loved this time of year. Hours spent in her desk chair translated into more sessions for him.
After what seemed like only a few minutes, she looked at her clock and was startled to see that it was already close to five. She grimaced and told Flora that she could go home. Picking up her briefcase and slipping her feet back into her shoes, she strode out of her office, saying a quick goodbye to the few people who were still working. Most of her staff usually left early on Fridays if they could, which Irene allowed. Her people worked hard, and they deserved to spend time with their families. Just because she had no one at home did not mean that she was not aware of the difficulties of balancing a career and a family. She liked to think that her understanding had given her good rapport with her employees.
When she emerged onto the street, the doorman already had a cab waiting for her.
"Thank you, Edward," she said.
"You have the Gala tonight, Ms. Winters?" he asked as he opened the door for her.
"Yes," she sighed. "I'll have to mingle with all those airheaded celebrities the board insisted on inviting."
"I heard Teresa Blackwell will be there this year," Edward ventured.
Irene resisted the urge to sigh again. "Yes. I swear, just because she moved to New York from L.A. and brought a bit of media attention to the Foundation…" She shook her head, annoyed.
"Well, I'm sure you'll be the classiest lady there," Edward assured her.
Irene managed a small smile. "Thank you. I'll do my best." She slipped into the cab and gave Edward a last nod as she shut the door behind her. During the ride, she calculated just how long she had to make herself presentable, having second-or was it third-thoughts about the dress she picked. It looked so good in the store, but she feared that when she stood next to these celebrities, it would not live up to the image she had in her mind.
Irene rubbed her brow, angry at her foolishness. It did not matter what she looked like. This wasn't about her. It was about her charity, her cause. She had started it when she was fresh out of business school, and it had grown steadily since then. Now that she was in such a good position at her firm, she had the resources to give it the attention it deserved. Which in turn meant that she had been forced to set up the board of trustees, who made decisions sometimes regardless of her feelings. Like inviting celebrities and influencers to the annual Gala.
The cab pulled up in front of her townhouse, and she paid the driver before getting out and heading inside. She debated whether or not she should make something to eat before she got dressed, knowing there would be food at the event. She also knew that she would have to mix and mingle and make infuriatingly meaningless small talk with the guests. She more than likely wouldn't have time to eat once there.
Irene glanced at herself in the mirror and frowned. She was thin, but in an athletic way. She had been a runner all through high school and college, and she still tried to run whenever she could. It always felt like she could eat as much as she wanted and never gain any weight, though she rarely had an appetite. Her mother had always worried about her, but Irene had never been able to gain the weight her mother wanted. She was all hip bones and shoulder blades, tall and lanky and gawky, and she always felt judged when she ate in front of other people.
So she popped a frozen meal into the microwave. She was usually too tired to cook for herself, and the thought of a personal chef for just one person seemed excessively wasteful to her. There were much better things she could do with her money.
While the timer counted down, Irene kicked off her shoes and removed her suit, hanging it carefully in the closet to be taken to the dry cleaners. She threw her blouse in the hamper and sat down on the bed to take off her hose. The microwave beeped just as she pulled on a t-shirt, and she ate quickly, knowing that she needed plenty of time to do her hair and make up. She knew she could have hired a hair and make up team, but she tried to keep at least one foot grounded. Through her inheritance and her salary, she knew she could easily fall prey to the temptations of easy living. Her father certainly had. But Irene had always made it her goal to prove to him that she could run a successful firm while still paying her employees a generous wage, while still giving money to reputable charities for more than just a tax break, still supporting legislation that would tax her even further. What was the point of having money and power and influence if she did not use them to try and better the world?
Two hours later, she cocked her head to the side, her long earrings brushing her bare shoulders. The dress looked good. Pleasantly surprisingly good. Dark blue and strapless, it hugged her torso, defining her waist before floating away at her hips. She had her hair pulled up into a sweeping twist on the back of her head, exposing her ears. She supposed there was nothing to be done for it. When she was younger, she had contemplated having surgery to correct the genetic condition that caused them to grow elven points. Her nickname in school had been "Mrs. Spock." By now, she was almost immune to the stares, and the people who mattered most to her did not even look twice at them.
She gave herself one last appraising look before heading down to meet the cab she had called, her heels clicking on the hard floor.
She was one of the first to arrive at the event, not wanting to get caught up in the throngs of people on the red carpet. It was non-negotiable with the number of celebrities that had been invited. Unenthusiastically, she posed for pictures, though she was fairly certain her picture would not be featured in any of the mainstream magazines. She did, however, give her practiced spiel about the Foundation and why she had started it. The one benefit of the red carpet was the exposure it brought them.
As she was approaching the last reporter, she heard an excited uproar behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she suppressed a groan. The cause of the ruckus was none other than Teresa Blackwell, smiling charmingly at all the photogs. Irene had seen her enough in movies and on the covers of magazines to recognize her, and was dismayed to see that she was even more stunningly beautiful in person. Her long, black hair fell in cascades around her shoulders, and she wore a dark green gown that hugged her curves. If Irene had not been so irritated by her presence, she would have very much enjoyed the view. As it was, she turned back to the reporter to give her last soundbite before heading inside.
Irene mingled as she was expected to, talking to the right people, making sure to give attention to the most valued donors. When she was about to take a seat out of the way, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Teresa Blackwell smiling at her.
"Irene Winters?"
Her voice sent wonderful little shivers down Irene's spine. It was low and smooth and sensual, and it hit at a spot under Irene's ribs that made her head spin and her stomach lurch, and for a moment, Irene had an overwhelming, inexplicable urge to hold her tight and never let go. Because it had been so long-
But the moment passed in a fraction of a second, and Irene carefully schooled her features into a calm mask even as her hand trembled. Perhaps she needed to move up her next appointment with her psychiatrist. Something might be off with her medication. It had been a very long time since something like that had happened.
Realizing Teresa was still waiting for a response, Irene cleared her throat, hoping she had not reacted visibly. "Yes?"
"Teresa Blackwell." Teresa stuck out her hand, which Irene reluctantly took, worried that her own still shook.
As their skin touched, somewhere in the back of her head, she heard distant memories of screams and blood and death, and she had to focus on keeping her breaths even and steady.
Teresa's grip was surprisingly firm, her hand soft and elegant. Through her rising panic, Irene noticed that Teresa was as tall as she was, even in heels, towering over most everyone else. It seemed, though, that Teresa did not notice anything wrong.
"It's so nice to finally meet you," she was saying, her voice enthusiastic. It held none of the false niceties of other actors Irene had met. It was warm and genuine. "I've admired your work for several years now. Well, your work with charity, that is. I'm afraid I don't have much of a head for business."
She smiled that beautiful, charming smile of hers, and Irene had to hold back sudden and sharp tears.
"Oh, well...thank you," she somehow managed. "It is a cause that is very dear to me."
Irene needed to get out of there. Now. Before she made a complete fool of herself.
"Yes. It needs more attention. I understand your mother had it."
Irene nodded, her throat refusing to speak.
"I understand," Teresa continued, taking Irene's shining eyes to be a result of her pain over her mother's death. "My sister, well, she died when I was young, and when I found out about your Foundation, I knew I needed to use what publicity I could to try and help. Of course, I know that what I do is nothing to the work you put into it, but I try."
Through her haze, Irene could tell that Teresa was different from the usual guests at the gala. She still spoke in that practice, rehearsed, gushy way that Irene had come to associate with celebrities, but there was something else behind it. An intelligence in her eyes, a sincerity in her words, and Irene knew with a certainty she could not explain that this was not the first time they had met.
Which was, of course, impossible.
"We appreciate any support we can get," she croaked out. "Excuse me. I'm sorry, but I need to find the restroom."
She slipped away, hurrying to the nearest bathroom. She was in luck, as it was empty, and she made her way to the first stall, retching into the toilet. Her stomach heaved again, and again until there was nothing left, and still it heaved once more. When she was certain she was done, she stood, faint and wobbly, leaning against the stall. She pulled out her phone and set a reminder to call her psychiatrist in the morning. Something was very very off. The last time she'd had hallucinations had been years and years ago.
As soon as she felt her legs could support her, she made her way to the sink and rinsed out her mouth, popping a breath mint. She would call a cab and head home. Hopefully, her board could take care of schmoozing the donors.
"Are you all right?"
She jumped and turned to see Teresa standing at the door, brows knitted in concern.
"Ah, yes. I think so," she lied. "I always forget alcohol doesn't agree with my medication."
Yes, that must be the answer. Sure, it had never caused her to hallucinate and vomit, but it was a rational explanation for her entirely irrational reaction.
"I'm not a fan of all this." She waved her hand vaguely. "Not much of a people person. I may have had more to drink than I should have." Except she'd only had one drink, and she felt stone-cold sober.
"Well, I'd been planning on offering you a drink," Teresa said. "But maybe a club soda instead?" If she was curious about what medication Irene was on, she did not ask.
"Thank you, but I should probably go home." Before her embarrassment actually registered. Already, she wished she could sink into the ground.
"That's a shame," Teresa mused. "I'd wanted to get to know you a little more. I'm new to the city, and I was hoping to make some connections tonight."
"You should stay. There are plenty of celebrities here," Irene said, hoping the bitterness in her voice did not shine through.
"I had plenty of those in L.A. I'd hoped to get away from that here."
Irene kept her eyes firmly on the bathroom mirror, diligently fixing her makeup, diligently not looking at Teresa. Diligently ignoring the echoes of clashing metal that rang in her ears. "I'm sorry I'm not of more help. I only do these things because it's what's best for the Foundation. I'd rather be working."
"Sounds tedious," Teresa said. Irene wished she would just leave. "Do you work a lot of weekends?"
"I do." What else did she have to do? Putting the finishing touches on her lipstick, she finally turned her eyes to the woman who would not take a hint. Teresa stood with her arms crossed, head tilted to the side. God, she was gorgeous. "Especially this time of year."
"I can't imagine the work that goes into this."
"Yes. It's quite a lot." The ringing in her ears was finally starting to fade, and her stomach had stopped rolling.
"It makes what I do seem so frivolous."
"Providing escapism isn't frivolous," Irene murmured, still uneasy. "Not now, especially."
"Maybe so." Teresa sighed. "I really had hoped to talk to you more, but it looks like you're about to keel over. Let me call my driver."
Irene shook her head, then immediately regretted it as her vision blurred. "No, it's fine. I'll catch a cab."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, thank you." She straightened her dress. Before she left, she would have to speak to the head of the board. Give some sort of explanation.
"Can I give you my number?"
Irene frowned. "I suppose." Confused, she handed over her phone so that Teresa could put in her number.
"Give me a call when you're feeling better. I want to be more involved with the Foundation."
Nodding, Irene took back her phone, slipping it into her clutch.
"I will."
With a final nod to Teresa, she made her way back into the ballroom, quickly finding the director of the board. She feigned a stomach flu, apologizing profusely until he waved her off. As the relief washed over her, she trotted down the steps outside, heedless of the crisp fall air.
She slept restlessly that night. In the morning, she could not quite remember her dreams, but she knew they had been violent and dark. And she was fairly certain Teresa had played a large role. It annoyed her greatly that she could not stop thinking about their encounter the night before. It was unlike her to dwell so much on someone she just met, even someone as beautiful as Teresa Blackwell.
The rest of the weekend, she poured herself into closing the Brown account and forgot all about Teresa's number. She called her psychiatrist on Monday, managing to get an appointment the next day. They adjusted her medication, and even though it would take time to fully integrate into her system, she did not have any more nightmares or hallucinations. She could deal with the stiffness, the restlessness, the dry mouth, the libido suppression that came as a side effect as long as her head was clear. It was a guessing game, anyway. Her psychiatrist had never been able to give her a solid diagnosis for her hallucinations. Her brain function was typical as far as her neurologist was concerned. There was no physical reason, no tumor or trauma. Her symptoms did not fit the typical mental disorders. But, the antipsychotics helped, and that was what mattered.
It was the next week when Flora called into her office.
"There's a woman on line two asking for you, Ms. Winters."
Irene frowned. That was a private line. Very few people knew that number. "Who is it?"
"She says she's Teresa Blackwell." Flora sounded skeptical. "Should I tell her you're out?"
"No," Irene said, surprised. "Put her through." She picked up her phone when Flora transferred the call, taking a deep breath. "Irene Winters." She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. It sounded formal, haughty. Teresa was not one of her business associates.
"You never called me." Teresa's voice held a playful lift, and Irene could almost imagine her bottom lip pouting.
"I was busy," she replied, hoping it did not sound dismissive. Despite whatever was happening in her head, Teresa could be a valuable ally for the Foundation. She needed to foster this relationship.
"I'm sure. But I got tired of waiting, so I called you instead."
"How did you get this number?" Irene could count on one hand the number of people who had it.
"I have my ways." There was a pause on the other end. "Am I overstepping?"
Irene was surprised by the hesitation in the question. "No," she answered carefully. I'm glad you called, actually."
"Really?"
"Yes." She started when she realized the words were actually true. Something in her settled nicely at Teresa's voice, so different from the last time she'd heard it. Peace. "It gives me a nice break from work."
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"No." Irene leaned back in her chair. She glanced at the door. Flora knew not to let anyone in if she had it shut. Today, she had wanted peace and quiet to crunch numbers. "I'm just going over a new account."
"Don't you have underlings for that?"
"I like to lead by example," Irene explained. "I can't ask them to do anything I'm not also willing to do."
"I see." Teresa sounded impressed. "Well, I called because I was wondering if maybe you'd like to get drinks with me Friday night." She sounded nervous, not at all like the confident woman Irene had met. "I know this great place that has the best martinis." Irene heard a small gasp. "Aw, damn. I forgot you're not supposed to drink. I'm sorry. They have food, too. Good food."
Irene thought about it for a moment. There was really no reason not to. She wanted to see what this woman was about, and she had nothing better to do on a Friday night except work. It had been a long time since she had gone out. Even if this was a business meeting.
"I would like that, yes," she said after a while. "What's the address?"
"I can pick you up," Teresa said hopefully, as if she would prefer it that way. Irene frowned. That was certainly not typical of a business meeting. Teresa must have sensed her hesitation. "Or not. That's okay."
Irene, suddenly worried she had offended Teresa, cut in. "No, that's fine. Cutting down on carbon emissions, and all that."
"Exactly." Teresa's sparkling laugh sent flutters through her heart. "Should I pick you up at, say, seven?"
"That sounds good." Irene did not realize she was smiling until she caught her reflection in the window. "I um, I'll see you Friday, then."
"Can I have your cell number, at least?"
"Oh, right. Yes." She rattled off the numbers, listening as Teresa repeated each of them as she wrote them down. "Got it?"
"Yep. Okay, then. I'll let you get back to work. See you later."
"Bye." She hung up the phone and glanced at the clock as nervousness welled inside her. Was this a date? The more she thought about it, the less it felt like a business meeting. Teresa had suggested drinks first. And they were meeting at seven. What was this about? Just getting to know people in the city, like Teresa had said at the gala? Or more than that? She sucked up her courage and pressed the call button. "Flora? Can you come in here for a moment?"
"Of course." Seconds later, her door opened, and Flora stepped inside.
"Shut the door, please, and have a seat." Her assistant obeyed, looking nervous. Irene put on what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Relax, it's nothing bad. I have a more personal matter to discuss."
"Oh, all right." Flora was surprised, which was understandable. In the three years she had worked for Irene, she had not once been called into the office for anything other than company matters. "Um, what can I help you with?"
"If I were to go to dinner with someone, would that be considered a date?"
Flora blinked at her a few times before regaining her senses, her eyes widening, her mouth forming a small 'O.' "Is this about Teresa Blackwell?"
"That's not important." Irene grimaced.
"Well...I think it could go either way. Is she picking you up?"
"Yes."
"She's always been rumored to be interested in women, but nothing concrete," Flora contemplated. "She's also not known to be excessively social. If she's called you up to go out, it could very well be a date."
"This is strictly between us," Irene warned. The last thing she needed was to be splashed all over the tabloids.
"Of course, Ms. Winters." She knew she could trust Flora. "But...no, nevermind."
"What is it?"
"It's just that...Teresa Blackwell is always followed by the paparazzi. I'll do my best to keep you out of the gossip columns, but...if this is more than just dinner...I'm only human."
"Thank you, Flora." Irene ruminated on her assistant's words. "I appreciate the concern. I don't even know if this is anything more than dinner. This really could just be her wanting to make friends. Still, make sure nothing gets leaked from this office."
"Of course, I would never…"
"I know," she assured Flora. "Just covering my bases."
"Ms. Winters?"
"Yes?"
"You should wear your hair down," Flora ventured. "You won't want to look too formal."
Irene let her hand run over her red hair. "Yes, what does one wear to dinner with an Oscar-nominated actress?"
"Jeans?"
Irene managed a smile as she shook her head. "All right, thank you, Flora. I appreciate your help and your discretion."
Flora recognized the dismissal and rose with a nod. Irene was determined to give bonuses this year, even if they had to come out of her own salary. Flora went above and beyond, and Irene was going to do what it took to keep her around.
It was after six when she finally headed home. Her cell buzzed while she was in the cab, and she looked down to see Teresa's name.
"Hello?"
"Just making sure you didn't give me a phony number."
Irene suppressed an unwanted smile, not liking the way her insides twisted in pleasure. "Did you really think I would do that?"
"Not really," Teresa said, chuckling. "But I did forget to get your address. You're done with work, right? I don't want to take you away from anything important."
"I'm on my way home now, actually." It should have bothered her more, how comfortable she felt talking with Teresa. "I did want to ask you, though. Is this dinner about the Foundation, or is it personal?"
The pause on the other end stretched just a little too long, and Teresa's voice was soft, contemplative when she answered. "I had hoped it would be more personal."
Irene's heart skipped. "A date?"
"If that's all right with you."
"So you are into women?" It seemed the rumors were true.
"I'm bi." Divorced with a kid, if Irene recalled correctly. "I don't really date much. But I like you."
"Why? I threw up when we met."
Teresa chuckled. "And I had hoped that had nothing to do with me."
Irene was at a loss for words. It had everything to do with Teresa, and she wondered if she was playing with fire here. "I um…"
"Oh...It did have to do with me?"
"No, no. It was my medication," Irene covered quickly. "All better now. It was just poor timing."
"I'm glad. Because I think you're beautiful and smart, and so much more interesting than anyone I've met in a long time."
"I'll have to scrounge around for something to wear," Irene said, glad that Teresa could not see her blush. She had an image to protect, after all. Somehow, she found herself telling Teresa about the accounts she had been working on, hoping it wasn't too boring. But Teresa seemed rapt. She even asked intelligent and informed questions, which Irene answered with growing delight. She was back home, sitting at her kitchen table an hour later when they finally hung up.
That night, she dreamed of a cabin in the mountains, nestled by a lake. She dreamed of a young woman with an unquenchable fire in her heart. She dreamed of a winged demon.
And she knew that somehow it all led back to Teresa.