Author's Note: So sorry this has taken such a long time and is so short! Don't worry though, there's more on the way. Again, endless credits to demonoa and .olive, my extremely talented co-writers. The world and characters in this story were created by the wonderful Rainbow Rowell. Keep calm and carry on (reading)!
Simon
This was harder than I'd thought. It's just that I really never expected there to be so many types of cheese. Gorgonzola, camembert, brie. Why does this supermarket have so many? The Caprese salad recipe on my phone told me to use a soft cheese, but how was I supposed to choose when every label advertised exactly that?
"Okay, I've got this." I mutter under my breath as I close my eyes, spin around, and then grab a random one from the stack. Mozzarella. Maybe I should've paid attention all those times Baz made Penny cook for us. Mozzarella… would that work? Well, it would have to do, because the woman shooting nervous glances at me looks very close to calling security. Maybe that's what happens when you ask someone repeatedly for the Cheesiest, Softest Cheese in Cheeseland. Whoops.
After contemplating the mass of white dairy in my hand for at least two minutes, I give up and walk over to the grains aisle. It'll do.
Anyway, Baz isn't exactly a top chef either. All his meals come out practically flavourless or too flavorful - I guess his superior vampire taste buds can't handle normal food. Penny usually cooks, not by choice, but she knows we'd just forget and starve before we remember to put the chicken in the oven. It's not like it would come out edible either.
But that's all going to change this afternoon when I cook Baz dinner. And I mean a proper dinner, not last night's microwaved curry (I'm choosing to ignore the fact that I still consider the microwave a challenge). After doing extensive 'meals for beginners' searches, I've settled on a dinner of breaded chicken, caprese salad, and this weird rice with egg in it. Scanning over Waitrose's rice options, I'm beginning to regret not calling Penny about the recipe. But then again, she'd probably insist on me informing the neighbours to warn them in advance about the probable burning smell.
The lady at the till eyes my choice of ingredients suspiciously, but rings them up in a consistent rhythm nevertheless.
"That'll be £23.47."
"Er, right. Money. Need that." I'm so used to going shopping with Penny and Baz (they're always worried about me getting lost), that I forget people don't just give away food for free. I pull out a crinkled twenty and a fiver with a mysterious stain on the corner and hand it over to the dubious cashier, giving her a reassuring smile in response to her obvious disgust (whether to the stain or my lack of cheese-knowledge, I can't be sure).
"Want a bag?" I nod, to which she replies, "5p."
I grab the Waitrose bag off the register while at the same time pulling my phone from my pocket, hoping for a least a 'how's your day?' message from Baz. A blank screen stares back at me, empty of any texts. I sigh and slide the mobile back into my pocket as I continue out the door. The doors are just closing behind me when the shopping bag in my hand gives way and all the food spills out on the concrete. I groan and press a hand to my forehead, swearing softly under my breath. Not a great start to the afternoon.
Baz
My eyes narrow and I can feel my upper lip pulling into a sneer. This one isn't out of reflex, it's a well directed scoff.
"I can take it. Please, it's not a problem." The brunette man I'm arguing with tries his best to raise an eyebrow but just ends up making him look like a disgruntled ferret.
"No really, let me help." He replies, and my jaw clenches tighter. "Evan Wimbley, as I'm sure you know. Lovely to meet you." His smile is so sickly sweet that I'm sure I could've smelled it three floors above. The slender man holds out a manicured hand. I have a suspicion that he would do his best to "help" me deliver my article to the editor, and maybe even conveniently misplace it along the way. Or if he likes the wording, he might even pinch a line or too. Amateur. Evan seems to think that as I'm still relatively new in the journalism industry he can plot against me. My lips spread thinly over my teeth in a menacing grin. He flaunts his name like it's something to be proud of.
"Tyrannus Basilton Pitch." The smirk drops from his face. I ignore his waiting palm, and instead pluck the papers from under his other arm. "And the pleasure is all mine."
I promptly turn, walking down the empty hallway to my boss's office. Resisting the urge to sneak a glance back at his flabbergasted face is difficult - I forget sometimes how thrilling it is to revert to my old ways. Snow's voice choruses in my head. Ruthless.
The slight heel on my boot echoes, accompanied only by my the distant whir of printing machinery and my shallow breaths and. Today's my first day turning in a proper article, hopefully one that will make it into The London Daily. Such a Normal-sounding name for a newspaper, ironically it's the only paper that features news for the magickal community. Obviously you need a spell to read it. Black and white and read all over works well, but more obscure phrases are used for messages meant only for The Coven or Watford. I had to subtly interrogate Bunce's mother for well over an hour for that bit of information. It's an admittedly brilliant system, and of course I said yes when the editor herself asked me to join her team.
The open door marked Editor looms closer. A voice is drifting down the corridor, she's probably on the phone. So now I'll have to stand outside, trying my best not to look like a lost intern. And now definitely isn't the time for an Open Sesame.
"I really have gone soft." I mumble to myself just as the door is pushed open in front of me
"Ah, Tyrannus. Good to see you." I'm a full foot taller than her, yet she still seems to peer over her ovular glasses at me.
"You too. Kam." Having only meet me twice, the editor acts as if we're just out for a daily walk. "And just Baz works."
"Right, sorry Basilton. I was just off for a cup of tea in the tearoom. Join me?" Relief spreads through me as we hurry down the corridor to the elevator. The empty, silent elevator. Should I make conversation or just pretend to review my papers?
My worry is short lived - as soon as those doors close Kam explodes into a flurry of questions, all of them centered around my well being, how I'm settling in.
"And how is that father of yours?" I immediately stiffen. I'd know that the editor and my father were acquaintances. I'd also been assured that connection had had no sway when I applied for this job. But when you've spent your whole life with Special Pitch Perks, it's hard to know when you've achieved something by yourself.
"Basilton." Kam looks faintly amused, wisps of chocolate brown hair falling from her bun.
"Pardon?"
"You're here because of your unique writing style." I'm fairly sure she has some sort of mind-reading powers. Or have I lost a grip on my overly-expressive eyebrows? "Not because that father of yours likes to throw his influence and money around." Seconds of analyzing later, I find the right phasing.
"You don't like him." I've found that statements get the truth out more efficiently than questions.
"Hm?" Kam looks up from her tea.
"You don't like him." When I came to the office today I wasn't planning on staging another interrogation, but it's not very often that I find people that will speak out against the head of the Pitch household. Maybe I should take down emails and write a monthly newsletter.
Now she's staring right at me, jaw set.
"And? Neither do you." Merlin, this woman is excruciating.
"Avoiding the subject." I counter.
"So are you." We sit in silence, both of us too stubborn to give in before the other. Finally after a long moment of stalemate, I throw my hands up in frustration.
"Here, just read this." I thrust my writing across the table at her and watch as she silently scans the pages. Her face isn't showing any emotion, and it's not helping my nerves guess what she's thinking. So I some like it hot my tea and take a long sip. Chamomile. Calming, but I should have gone with a caffeine option. I wasn't able to feed this morning and the constant thrum of my coworkers blood doesn't exactly create a healthy writing environment.
"Brilliant." I glance up at Kam's enthusiastic grin.
"Pardon."
"Oh, come off it Basilton. You know what I said." My brow cocks, just to make sure she's serious. "How long did it take you to write this?"
"Five hours." I could've done it much faster had I not had to deal with Simon. Bloody hell. Simon. I'm supposed to be home for six. It's five now, but factoring in the Friday commuter traffic, I'll be lucky to make it in time.
"Well, for five hours, this is pretty damn brilliant."
"Thanks. Thank you. I appreciate it." I'm trying to discreetly wrap up the conversation, if I don't get going now I'll be late for Simon's 'Big Surprise'.
"Leaving so soon?" I must look concerned when I look up because she continues. "Go. Don't worry."
"Yes. Sorry. Thank you so much for your feedback." I quickly reply, breathing a sigh of relief.
I'm practically jogging out the the cafe door, when she shouts, "And Basilton, don't forget to buy a paper to read tomorrow."
No matter how hard I try to school my face, my smile doesn't fade until I open the door to Simon's apartment.