Poor guy, his ego must be smarting. I finished submitting my article and shut down the computer. Laughing at the irony, I decided Mr. Northman needed a bit more time to cool off.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SPOV

I made him wait another week. I probably shouldn't have, but the temptation to stay frosty was overwhelming. I finally sent him a reply tonight:

To: sookie(at)stackhouse(dot)com

From: eric(at)fangtasia(dot)com

Subject: Interview

Mr. Northman:

I apologize for my delay. I am in receipt of your electronic correspondence dated September 13, 2009. I have not, in fact, forgotten about our continuance, nor have I shrugged away from the same. I would like to meet up with you at the same hotel on Setember 27, 2009. Please advise.

Sincerely,

Sookie

cc: file

I received a responding message within five minutes.

To: sookie(at)stackhouse(dot)com

From: eric(at)fangtasia(dot)com

Subject: Re: Interview

Ms. Stackhouse:

September 27, 2009, sounds perfect. Shall I meet you at 9:00 p.m. this time? Should I not hear from you by September 25, 2009, I shall assume that this time and date are fine with you. Otherwise, let me know.

~E.

I'd had alot to think about since I met Eric Northman. He was always in control, of everything it seemed, and he was quite comfortable remaining so. In my world, that was not going to fly. I worked hard through college and my subsequent career, making sure everyone knew that I was my own person.

At any time I could have given up on the difficulties remaining a free lance writer entailed, but I didn't. I didn't want a boss. I didn't want anyone dictating when I had to be at work, where I had to be, what I would wear, how I would act. I wanted none of that bullshit. Sure, a steady paycheck in the beginning would have been helpful, but thankfully my grandmother had inherited our house to me when she passed. I didn't need to sell my soul and become one of the many drones in journalism. I could afford to live on the infrequent paychecks that came with selling my work to the editors. Once I established a name for myself, the rest was easy. I had my own home, my own home office. I could work on anything I wanted to. Celebrity interviews or candid articles written from my perceptions gained by living the piece, the choice was mine. By now I had enough editors on my roster that the contracts guaranteed steady income and my work spoke for itself. I didn't need to sell my articles, hell most of the time I didn't even hint to the editor what the piece was on. They knew that if I wrote it, it was well thought out, well researched and worth the high prices I was now charging for my pieces. I couldn't help but giggle to myself as I thought back to the days when I was happy to receive $1.00 a word.

That being said, Eric Northman could kiss my ass.

I had the perfect outfit for tonight. My power bitch suit that I scored on my last shopping trip in New York was going to be christened tonight. It was Hugo's latest. By the time the southern somebodies, but really nobodies, around here saw it in one of their magazines, it would be last year's news. It was black of course, with a double button jacket combined with sleek leg lines and an 18" hem. The midnight blue silk camisole top underneath was light weight, not too revealing, but didn't make me look like a prude. My new Stuart Weitzman suede pumps could complete the look. With these bad boys I was four and a half inches taller and I'd need every inch to help me move up and out of Northman's idea that I was some tiny thing he could intimidate or seduce. I'm out of his reach and he was going to find out just how far out I was tonight.

I showered quickly, blow dried my hair to barely damp and decided to leave it down. I figured Louisianna's humidity could finish making it curl for me. Make up for me is always light. I couldn't understand foundation. We're in 90% humidity for crying out loud. It just melts off anyway, so why bother? A light dusting of eye shadow, a swipe with my mascara wand and some plum lip stain later, I was looking my part. Tonight, I wasn't playing myself down for anyone, especially not for the blood sucker.

I fed the cat, locked up the house and loaded my Malibu with my overnight bag for the hour long drive to Shreveport. As the valet at the hotel approached my car, I swung the door open and grabbed my purse. I let my shields slide down a bit. Doing this is always alot more fun than looking in the mirror. As I slid one leg out of the car door, I heard the valet loud and clear.

"Oh man, what I wouldn't give to have those legs wrapped around my face."

As I stepped out of the car, I swung my hair over my shoulder and and paused for the full effect.

"That outfit is smokin'. It would like great thrown down on the carpet in my room as we.."

Shields up. Mission accomplished. If that slack jawed moron could appreciate Hugo, I knew the vampire could too. I was already liking him alot tonight. I smiled for my own benefit and checked into the hotel. This was silly of course, I knew that Northman knew damn well where I lived. He probably studied the blue prints to the house when he pulled the deed. But I wasn't going to risk anyone trying to follow me home. Everytime I did an interview, I stayed in a local hotel. Everyone knew Sookie Stackhouse came from some hole in the wall, back water town, but they didn't need to know I still lived there. Besides, it's a tax deduction anyway. Business expense, anonymity and all that crap.

I brought my stuff up to my room, unpacked my bag and refreshed my hair and make up. Ready for the onslaught that I knew was coming, I went down to the hotel restaurant. I ordered the greek salad and a diet coke with lemon. I finished my salad, and told the waiter that I would be moving to the hotel's bar for the evening and had him transfer my bill accordingly. Once at the bar, I took the same table as last time, and checked the time. 8:34 p.m. Right on time. I ordered a scotch and water and proceeded to review our last meeting in my mind. Hopefully he'd tame himself tonight and just let me get this shit done. I didn't want to drag this on any longer than necessary, and if things kept up at the pace like they did last time, I'd be eating costs on this article and not bringing in the profit I deserved after so much fucking work.

After a while, I lowered my shields to entertain myself. Only a few people were thinking about me and it was all indecent. The staff had the same usual issues, money, rent, car repairs. One person was thinking about how she was going to tell her sister that she was knocked up with her sister's husband's baby. Gross. I scanned along not paying attention to anyone in particular when I heard a woman think, "I've died and gone to heaven," and I put my shields back up. I swiveled in my chair and looked at him across the bar and met him straight in the eyes. I could see the surprise on his face when he realized that although I wasn't looking anywhere near his direction, I knew exactly when he arrived and where he was. First point for the night goes to Stackhouse. I couldn't help but smirk as I continued staring him down. Poor thing clearly hates starting off his nights already caught off guard. Game's still on, people.