A/N This is about two days later in posting than I intended it to be. Do not worry, I am not losing steam, just terribly busy this week. I continue to be flattered and encouraged by your warm reviews, alerts, and favourites, so thank you!
"Oh stop pouting already, you're a cute drunk. I promise to try not to bring up your endearing babble again," I say. I hear him huff. I've just cleared away the breakfast dishes and am now digging around the odds and ends drawer for what I am sure is buried at the bottom here. Yes, there we are. Not the notebook, but a notebook. Returning to the table I set it down and then refill his coffee mug.
"Are you ready to try sorting yourself out?" I ask.
"Not really, but I need to come to a decision today, so, let's try it. Should I be holding that?" he asks, eying the pen in my hand.
I explain to him about the need for objectivity in recording the facts, but then hesitate. "If you want, I can just explain the process and you can write it up? I don't want to pry too much."
"No, I would appreciate it. I'm sure I will ramble a bit, and you can just grab the key points." I give him a nod. He gets it.
"So, overall, what's the problem?"
"The problem is that I have inherited the Northman Group of hotels and several other commercial properties as well as the Northman Management Group, which I don't want, but which are now suddenly my responsibility." I start writing. I don't think this is exactly the problem, but we'll figure that out later.
"Okay. Why don't you want them?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, consider it like just any job for a moment. Why would you not want that job? You don't like the work? You don't want to do the travel? You're not interested in maintenance or expansion? You don't want to be responsible for all the employees?"
"It's not really any of that specifically. I don't like the idea of just magically being the CEO overnight. I also object to the way in which it seems to have been forced on me."
"Alright. But those things are cosmetic."
He glares at me.
"I'm not saying they're invalid reservations. I'm trying to determine if the circumstances were different, if it is a job that you could ever see yourself doing, or if you would never be interested because of the nature of the work."
"I'd have to think about it. I've never given it real consideration because of the other circumstances."
"That's fair," I say, nodding.
"Have you been in touch with the management company?"
"No. His attorney informed them."
"Okay, you probably want to do that soon."
"Noted."
"No, I am making the notes, but I will make that one," I say with a grin, writing furiously.
"Are you happy at Area Five?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I've earned my place there. I've moved upward continuously and through my own momentum. I've developed a network of contacts inside and outside our organization that I'm disinclined to just throw away. I'm in the middle of this current project which is going to be a huge coup for us if it works out, and I'm loving the shit out of the fact that I'm making it work out." I smile at that. It's always a pleasure to hear people talk about what they're passionate about.
"So you would like to complete the merger."
"Of course I want to complete the merger. This is all I've been working on for months."
"What's the timetable on that?"
"Two or three months."
"Do you think it would be possible for the management company to handle the NG until then?" I went ahead and abbreviated the company name in the notes.
"I don't know."
"I'm making a note for your meeting," I say. "Would you feel comfortable not taking on your grandfather's company?"
"I don't know."
"Explain that please?" I ask.
"I don't know if I could sell it. I mean, even if I had the full ownership, which I don't, or even if I could convince Fahma... I don't think I would be willing to try to convince her."
"If money, and the taxes weren't an issue, would you give it over to your father?"
"No."
"So you're going to do it then."
"I don't have a choice."
"You do. You could sell the entire thing, or sell it off by pieces. You could get a loan for the taxes that is guaranteed by the value of the properties. I bet you could get the purchaser to front the money for the taxes if they thought they were getting a deal."
He sighs.
"Alright, new line of inquiry," I say quickly. I don't want him to get frustrated with me or this. "What do you do for a living, Eric?"
He raises his eyebrows. "I'm the Senior Vice President of Corporate Development with Area Five."
"Yes I know that, but what do you do?"
"I... facilitate... growth," he says carefully. "Day to day, it is meeting with the business development team to evaluate markets where we want to have a larger impact, and strategizing the best way to achieve these ends, be it in developing new projects or products in-house or obtaining new assets. And then there are always opportunities that just come to us and so we are constantly evaluating them. If something is necessary or too good to pass up, and the Board approves, we plan and we act."
"So you take your cues from the Board?"
"In part, but a lot comes from the bottom up as well as the top down. The people who work inside cultivating our assets in whatever respect tend to be a lot closer. They have ideas and understanding that just wouldn't occur to executive management, and so I need to make myself available to that."
"Wow," I say.
"What?" he asks.
"You're quite the mover and the shaker, Eric. I guess I hadn't fully realized."
"I'm not just a pretty face, Sookie."
"I never said that," I say. "So, do you manage people? Your team or whomever?"
"No not at all really. I just expect people to do their jobs just like I expect things to work. I would be totally bogged down in irrelevant minutia if I let myself, but that's not my job."
I nod at that. "Okay, one other thing?"
"What, we're done already?"
"We're nearing a stopping point. Actually, two other things," I say. He gives me a nod to proceed.
"Would you keep Pam?"
"What? Of course. I mean, if she wanted to. She might wish to stay with Area Five, but I would definitely offer to keep her with me."
I smile again at that. I really can't picture them not being a pair.
"Okay, last difficult one for now, then. Why do you think that your grandfather left this to you?" I see his brow wrinkle while his scowl settles in again and quickly hold up my hand to stop him. "And before you say 'to screw me over' or 'to manage my life', try to take a minute to not think of your grandfather as a villainous old mastermind in a leather chair in a darkened library who spent his evenings plotting your misery while stroking a hairless cat. I am asking you what your grandfather could have been hoping for, for you, not what you think he was trying to do to you."
He sighs again. "Pass." Yeah, I think not. Sorry buddy.
"No," I respond.
"I don't know."
"Then think about it." He sounds like one of my students who decides they are done learning for the day halfway through class. I give him a couple of minutes to ruminate before nudging him again.
"Do you honestly think that your own grandfather would name you to inherit the work of his life as some sort of punishment for not wanting to be involved during his lifetime?" I ask.
"You keep trying to push it in the best light, but you don't know him."
"You're right, and I never will, so I just have to take your word for it," I say, adding a bit of ice to my tone. "If you can answer that question with a yes, then I promise you I will back off and say nothing else about it unless it's an idea on how to untangle you from this mess."
"No, I don't really think that," he finally says. Duh.
"Good," I agree, and take a second to let myself soften again. "And, I am going to go ahead and assume that you acknowledge that you weren't just being handed something to keep you busy and out of trouble like you were idiot royalty, yes?"
He waves a hand with the acknowledgement I was asking for.
"Alright, I'm done for now then," I say. I stay sitting for a while making notes and leaving him to think in silence. He's got a very vacant, weary look about him when I finally finish and set the pen down on top of the very scrawled over couple of notebook pages. He is holding his coffee cup, which is still half-full and must have gone cold. I get up and take it from him and refill it, and then I come around behind him and hug around his neck and shoulders.
"That felt like therapy," he says, coming to.
"Sorry," I say. I'm not really sorry. He could probably do with a little therapy about some of these family issues.
"No, it's fine. Probably necessary," he says. I kiss his neck. Smart man. "I need to make some calls," he says.
"Okay," I say, pulling away.
"We will do more later? Go over the conclusions and write the report?" he asks. I smile. I have a little surge of validation that he's finding it helpful.
"Sure. Bring me your dirty clothes first though?" He nods and heads back to the bedroom to get his things. I will be able to keep myself busy with laundry and tidying up breakfast while he makes his calls and continues to ponder things. Eric returns a short while later in an undershirt and his lounge pants and sneakers.
"I'm going to go run," he explains, handing over his jeans and other shirts.
"Okay. If you go straight back there's a path in to my woods that goes up to Magnolia Creek and loops back around, or you can just go on the road."
"Your woods?"
"Yeah, we have the land all around here. Up to the cemetery in the south, back up over the creek east and north. There's game trails back through there if you really want, but granddaddy actually cut out a path way back when. Jason keeps puts down mulch in the fall after the trees come down in the summer storms. It's nice."
"I'll try that then."
"Sure, you just head straight back, it's hard to miss."
Thanking me he heads off to run and think, or run and not think. I'm not quite sure of his process, but I understand the impulse. I put his things in the wash first. Hopefully they'll be done by the time he gets back. I strip the bed and get the towels. Mrs. Park called while he was out and asked if I were free to be up at the elementary school again tomorrow, but I declined, letting her know that a friend from town had a death in the family and I'd be going to the funeral. I wasn't exactly sure how us getting to New Orleans would work. Presumably he would leave tonight or tomorrow and I would follow him in my own car.
After finishing all my indoor chores I walked down to the road to get the mail. We're a ways back from Hummingbird Road and normally I just pick it up from the car when I'm driving in or out, but I'd been making the effort to grab it when it came in while I was waiting to hear from schools. I had an official, "Thank you for applying, we will keep your resume on file," letter from Hestia. I also got my next monthly bill from the hospital which made me wince. I tucked it away with the rest of my correspondence on the counter.
I sent a text to Lafayette just telling him hello only because I hadn't talked to him in a bit. I knew he'd have been in touch with Amelia and probably knew all that was going on in my world. I still like to check in. It's always nice to let people know you're thinking of them. After that I started envying Eric the outdoors and went out to the garden to putter. I didn't have anything to plant, but there's always something to do. It had been a couple of years since Gran had kept vegetables and there wasn't much left out there but a mess of weeds and what I thought had to be some very stubborn rhubarb. I was up to my elbows in dirt with my barrow heaped full of weeds when Eric strode up, glistening with sweat and looking lickable.
I covered my eyes from the sun glare so I could look up at him. "How do you even do that?" I ask him, part way between agitation and adoration.
"Do what?" he asks.
"I work out for a couple of hours and I end up looking like a drowned tomato. You go run for the same amount of time and come back looking like, well, like that," I gesture up at him and turn away again at the sheer unfairness of this world. Though I suppose since he's insisting on looking like that right here, the world wasn't being all that unfair with me over the whole issue. I grinned to myself as I stood up. He started laughing at me once I did.
"You're covered in dirt," he explains. He leans over and brushes something out of my hair.
"Oh, if only I had someone to shower with," I lament, lifting the back of my hand to my forehead, possibly adding another dirt smear on purpose.
He grins, but doesn't make any advance to sweep me off my feet or anything. I try not to feel offended. I suppose it's best that he be left to think. He and I seem to have a tendency to lose ourselves in each other. It's been a very welcome distraction, but it is a distraction. "Are you done out there, then?"
I shrug in response, looking back over the vegetable patch. "I could finish a bit more or do something else. What is your plan for the rest of the afternoon?"
"If you wouldn't mind lending your network card, I was going to go on the internet and learn about things I do not know pursuant to my inheritance."
"Sure, I can keep myself busy and stay out of your hair then. Your stuff is in the dryer on the porch, could you bring the towels out then, after you clean up?"
"No problem."
"Alright then, go get clean and I'll come bother you later."
I kept myself busy in the garden for another hour and then hauled all the debris I'd pulled up over to edge of the woods and started tossing them by armfuls back beyond the tree line. It was mostly too wet for the burn barrel. I brought the barrow, filled with my gardening gear, back to the shed. There was a very old lawnmower in there. I wondered if it still worked. Jason had bought a riding one a few years ago, and had justified the expensive purchase by the fact that he could easily load it in the back of his truck and tend to the lawn for Gran as well, which he'd continued to do. I decided to just go ahead and clear the shed. It was a nice day, and it would keep me busy. There was a lot of junk. Old broken pots and cracked plastic trays from seedlings, an old kinked hose, some cobwebby old toys that had belonged to Jason and I were tucked in the corners.
I ducked into the house to retrieve a couple of the extra boxes I'd brought back from Seattle. I knew they'd come in handy! I taped them up, taking little care to make them pretty. I was more concerned about keeping the bottoms intact. I spent the rest of the afternoon packing up the little shed, putting everything that would have to go to the dump on the one side, and leaving just the few tools that were salvageable or in use along the other. I'd ask Jason if I could borrow his truck to haul all this stuff away some Saturday. It was ready to go, at any rate. As I was puttering, I thought of how nice it might be to have something like a greenhouse, or at least a shed with windows, so I could do seedlings. A thought for the future, maybe.
I went in the house to find Eric at the kitchen table with his laptop, the notebook, and a small folder full of documents spread out before him. He looked up from making a note and smirked at what had to be my dishevelled appearance. "Hey," he greets me.
"Hey yourself," I smile.
He asks me if I'm all done outside and I tell him that I am. He has a look of work about him. He's dressed in jeans, but is wearing a button down shirt, albeit with the cuffs rolls back on his arms. I'm filthy, so I don't bother getting anywhere near him, and just head back to get myself cleaned up while I leave him to his work. He's still at it once I've finished, even after shaving and drying my hair. I catch myself annoyed, like I'm waiting around to be able to talk to him. I decide that this is silly, both to do and to be annoyed about, so I head out to run errands. I visit the library and the Walmart. I had to do a bit of grocery shopping since my guest had a healthy appetite. I picked up some seeds and some plastic planters for the garden. If he were still busy tonight, I'd at least have a project. I also brought home a pizza and some garlic knots. I wasn't sure about his toppings, and was still feeling awkward about interrupting him, so I chose my preference.
He lit up when I walked in with the pizza. He glanced at the clock on the microwave and looked momentarily surprised at what he saw there. It was after seven.
Setting the pizza box on the counter I asked, "Would you mind clearing off the table for a while?"
"Oh, sure," he says, jumping up and pulling his papers together back into a neat pile for the folder. "Sorry, this is how I work at home, the table always has the most room."
I nod. The thought of him trying to work hunched over my great grandmother's writing table in the front room was amusing, and that would have been his only other option really. I head out to bring in the other bags from the car and find when I return that he's gotten a couple of plates down and is carefully folding the second of two paper napkins in half. I put the things away while he 'sets the table', getting a couple of glasses down as well. I'm struck by the strange domesticity of the scene. It more feels like it should be awkward, than actually is. He rumbles in appreciation once I pour the tea and sit down, giving him leave to open the pizza box. He's got no qualms with mushroom and pepperoni. Good.
Eric somehow manages to outpace me two to one on the slices, even while he's doing most of the talking. He spent most of the day reading up about the Northman Group holdings and the management company and about the industry in general. He's had Pam schedule a meeting with the management company for Monday morning.
"It's a bit short notice, but I guess I'm the boss so whatever is convenient to me is convenient to them."
"True," I agree.
"I need a clearer picture on what they are going to need from me immediately and in the long-term," he continues.
"Sounds like you've made a decision then?" I ask.
"At this point you could say that I'm resigned to it. Ideally, I can take six months and transition out of Area Five and into the other. That's the best I can hope for, is enough time to finish what I started and depart with accomplishment under my belt, rather than leaving abruptly." Resigned was the right word. He sounds almost hopeless.
"You sound a bit like a man putting off a prison sentence," I tease.
"Am I not?" he asks sharply.
I frown at that but don't make any response. Call me a coward, but I'm not particularly interested in drawing his fire. I have seen Eric behave like a real unpleasant ass when he's not having his way, and I don't want that guy to make any appearance at my dinner table. I wish I could pull him out of his funk, but I'm just not sure what to say.
"I'm thinking I'll head back tomorrow in the late afternoon so I get in by the evening."
"Alright. When should I follow?"
"You're coming?" he asks, surprised. Um. Had we not discussed this? Wait, had we?
"Uh..." I start, instantly apprehensive. "I guess I assumed I would? I know I didn't know him very well, but I was there when he...and I thought maybe you could use the support. I'm really sorry Eric, that is completely rude of me. I don't know what I was thinking, inviting myself."
"It's not rude," he says lightly. I can't really read anything from his tone or expression, which only adds to my worry that I've made a serious error in judgment.
"Obviously it's a time for family. It's just that since you're not terribly close to them I thought you might be able to use a friend. Oh God, so presumptuous," I ramble. I fold my hands into my lap, grasping at the napkin laid there. I still myself before I can shred it in my mortification. I'm straining not to show it, but I figure it's already too late. Do you take your bed-friend to your grandfather's funeral? Of course you freaking don't, Sookie! I pour myself some more iced tea and take an idle sip.
"Anyway, it's not like plans were set in stone or anything, so no big deal. I really didn't intend to be tactless, I hope you'll pardon it." I'm trying to sound blithe. Is it working?
"Sookie," he begins.
"Did you want another slice, or should I wrap them?" I ask, starting to stand up. He grabs my wrist, not angrily, just as a gesture for me to stop and look at him.
"I can't say it would be nice if you came," he says, staring hard at me when I turn to him. "But I would appreciate your being there. I didn't assume you were coming because I wouldn't go if I didn't need to. Even apart from the occasion, it will be an unpleasant day."
"Eric, I really don't want to intrude, or uh, cling," I say weakly, wincing internally at idea that he could be thinking either of me.
"Sookie, if you're not busy this weekend, do you want to hang out with me for what will hopefully be the shittiest day I'll be having all year? You'll want to wear something a bit dressy, preferably not red."
I sigh, but nod.
"Do you want to just ride down with me? We could come back up Saturday night and then I could leave Sunday afternoon?"
"That's a lot of driving for you."
"I like driving."
"Let me think about it? I will probably feel better having my own car with me. We do not know if something will come up," I say. He nods.
"So yes, I want another slice," he says, finally releasing my wrist as I settle back into my chair.
"I'm glad you don't mind the mushrooms," I say. Yeah, that is what I go with to try to banish the lingering weirdness from the room. It works well enough because we go back and forth about the aberrant predilections we've encountered, pizza-wise, and soon we're back to what I've come to think of as comfortable for us. After dinner we settled down on my bed to watch a movie on his laptop. His, because the screen is larger. I tease him a little about men and giant viewing screens, citing the giant televisions that Jason and Bill have.
"Even Lafayette has the largest television that his room will accommodate," I say.
"Are you implying that we - that I - am compensating for something?" he asks playfully.
"Uhm...no," I say, and I can't help a little grin. Yeah, definitely not.
"Are you sure?" he presses. Also literally. He shifts the laptop out of the way and presses his groin against my hip as he gives me a saucy little smirk.
"I... yes. Yes, quite sure. No inadequacies for you," I say, patting his hip with a proud little smile.
Grinning he continues, "Actually I get the bigger laptop for the wider keyboard, because you see my hands are quite large." He runs one up my hip and stretches it across my waist for emphasis. His fingertips just brush the underside of my breast. He wraps them across my ribs. He leans down and nuzzles into my hair. When he speaks it's in a low voice tinged with lust. "It is too difficult for me to type on the smaller ones." He kisses my ear. "All of my dexterity is wasted there." Did he just call me fat? I so, so do not care right now.
"Mmm," is about all I can manage before he is kissing me. We did not finish our movie.
We woke Friday morning to the sound of Eric's phone ringing incessantly. He answered with a groan and a grumble. It was Pam, letting him know that there was a family dinner planned for this evening, and giving him an itinerary for tomorrow, and for Sunday. Apparently it was to be a whole weekend ordeal of mourning. Eric was an only child, and so was his father, but Sten had had siblings and cousins, and a variety of very extended family, as did Inge. Eric said he barely knew most of them, which was easy enough to believe since the Northman clan didn't seem like one to go in for the annual summer picnics.
I got a call a short while later from Amelia, asking me if I'd be coming down this weekend. She was going to be away up in Nashville with her father. He was looking at buying a property there, and felt it would make a better impression with the prospective seller if they came across like a family business. This was part of the dynamic between she and her father, and simply how they showed their caring. Something tells me that if she, or I suppose when she, is bequeathed her father's business, she won't have nearly the same objections as Eric. She wants to build for herself on her own, but she takes enough interest in what Copley Carmichael is involved with that I don't think she'd have any true reservations about ultimately taking over. I found myself wondering if her father respected her, or if he was simply indulging her. I know that she respected herself more for all the hard work she put in. I suppose in a way she is learning her father's trade on her own, though possibly with a safety net.
"Amelia?" Eric asks. I guess he's heard the end of the conversation.
"Yeah, she was letting me know she'd be out of town this weekend," I agreed. "You should meet her sometime. I think you'd get along."
"Is she much like her father? I do know Copley, or have met him, at any rate."
"Hm. I think she must be, though I don't know him very well either. But I was thinking just in terms of her work... I don't know, maybe she would have some advice or, well, it just seems like you two have a fair amount of common ground."
"Maybe," he says noncommittally. "I wouldn't mind meeting her some time."
"Some weekend then," I suggest, and he nods.
Eric and I, well, I, decided that we should drive separately so that I could return on Sunday by myself. He had the busier Monday, and that was that. Maybe he would still skip some of his family stuff, but it wouldn't be on account of me. I resolved not to say anything about it either way. He teased me that we should race. I suggested that I should have a thirty-minute head start. He said that would probably not be enough. I packed my little rolling suitcase along with a garment bag with my black suit as well as a nicer dress for evenings. It was only two nights, but I'd packed for four. I felt a little Pam-ish. I made us up some lunches to eat in our respective cars and we were off by mid-morning.
We chatted for a while on our phones as we drove, which was a little odd in itself. It only lasted about half an hour until I got a call, and then a short while after I called him back, he got one. We just gave up after that and I didn't hear from him again until he'd arrived at the hotel. I, of course, was still about forty minutes out. Tsch. Well, we can't all be speed demons.
"This is the I-10, not the Autobahn, Eric!" I finally huff out.
"You know, I've never actually been there," he says. "But I will tell you a secret."
"That sounds promising."
"Well, not that promising. The deciding factor for me on the Corvette, was when Prince Albert von Thurn und Taxis got his ZR-1."
Laughing I say, "I have no idea who that is."
"He's uh...well he's a prince of Germany, obviously. He's more famous for being a young billionaire, and being big into auto racing. As a driver, of course. He is the same height as me."
"Are you... a fan?" I grin. Who would someone like Eric ever look up to? Some playboy prince race car driver, naturally.
"Maybe a little," he admits. Cute.
"So one day you will go to Germany in your 'vette and live out your dream of breaking its speedometer." I can almost hear him smile when I say this.
"That would be fun. I've taken my old one to the track before where you can really drive it fast, but it's just not the same as driving on a regular road."
I chuckle at this enthusiasm. At least the man knows what makes him happy. I said goodbye a couple of minutes later as I was getting into heavier traffic near the city and needed to concentrate. I sent him a text when I finally did arrive and he came down to meet me just as I was coming in the lobby. He took my bags from the bellhop and shooed him away. The poor kid looked quite intimidated when Eric addressed him. I guess the staff had been informed that Eric was no longer the guest of his grandfather, but the owner and ultimately their boss. No one had ever seemed nervous around him before.
"He was just doing his job," I scolded once we got on the elevator. He rolled his eyes. He'd noticed the bellhop's anxiety too.
"Then he can do it like he's always done it, which involves him staying at his post ready to cater to guests. They've been trying to prove their helpfulness for the last hour. Did you stop for lunch or something?" I tickled up his ribs to show my disapproval at his teasing.
We arrive at his room and I see that he's already resumed his desk at the dining table. I follow him into the bedroom where he hangs my garment bag for me next to his things. When he turns around he looks a lot more serious.
"So," he says, then hesitates.
"Hm?" I prompt.
"The dinner is in three hours," he says.
"Are we meeting them at the restaurant, or your grandmother's house?"
"My father and his wife are here. Down the hall, actually. I was going to call them and see what time they wished to meet downstairs and we can go over to get Fahma and whomever."
"Ah, have you seen them yet?" I ask, referring to his father.
He starts to shake his head and as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. He lets out an aggravated little sigh at the interruption before heading back to the entry. I follow a few feet behind him, hovering near the bedroom doorway. He answers without checking the peephole and pulls the door open wider once he sees who is there. A man who can only be Eric's father enters followed by a narrow blonde woman. The man looks to be over sixty, with thinning hair a sandy mix of grey and the same wheat blonde that Eric and I share. Their noses are similar, and their eyes, but this man has a wider jaw and is on the verge of being jowly in a way I could never envision for Eric. He's also half a head shorter than his son, and his disdainful scowl is an expression I've rarely seen on his Eric's face. Eric tends to hide his disdain better. It's not that he doesn't feel it. The woman reminds me of an aging model. Her face is a bit too smooth. Some of the natural lines that come with age are absent in a way that up close looks strange, though while far away probably passes acceptably for youth or preservation. Her smile is polite.
"So this is where you've been buried all week," his father begins, treating me a cursory glance. Excuse me?
Eric did not think too much of that either. "Sookie, please meet my father Viktor Northman and his wife..." he starts to say.
"Ana," she interrupts, turning toward me.
"Ana," Eric agrees. Did he really not know that, or did she just assume he didn't? What have I put myself in the middle of here? "This is Sookie Stackhouse," he offers his father and the apparent Ana. Nothing else.
"The schoolteacher, yes," Viktor confirms. "My mother has mentioned what a help you were to us last week Miss Stackhouse," he says, as an identifier, not as a 'thank you'.
"How do you do?" I ask, straining to uphold my courtesies. Was that my tense voice? Yes, I believe it was.
"Eric, we were told you'd gotten in an hour ago. We expected your call. There are a number of things that you and I need to discuss, and while I would have preferred to do so on Tuesday, now will need to suffice," Viktor tells him.
Eric does not turn to look at me as he stares at his father. "Yes," he agrees, in his cold and formal tone. "Sookie, will you please send down for coffee service? This will not take long."
I'm surprised to see that when Eric heads for the door with Viktor behind him that Ana remains.
"Please sit down," I offer, gesturing toward the couch and chairs in the living area. "I'll just be a moment."
I retreat to the bedroom and call down for room service to bring up coffee, and something light to eat with it. "Something like an afternoon tea, but with coffee," is what I literally asked for, and it got me a chuckle from the woman in the kitchen I spoke with and assurance they would be right up. Since I'd already excused myself for a time, I went ahead and ducked in the bathroom to freshen up a little bit. I'd already spoiled the first impression by being rumpled after my long drive. I would just have to do better at dinner. Returning to the suite I found Ana seated in one of the chairs staring fixedly at absolutely nothing that I could discern. What on earth was I going to talk to this woman about? I joined her in one of the wingback chairs.
"I understand that you have been working with Pam attending to all of the plans this week," I hazard.
"Pamela Ravenscroft, yes," she recites. "Very helpful girl."
"Yes, she is," I agree. Dead end there, I guess. Let's try, "How is Inge doing?"
"As expected, I am sure. We have done what we can to ensure she has had a restful week."
"I am sure she appreciates your handling the particulars. I cannot imagine what she must be going through."
"No, I do not imagine you could." O-kay...
"Will you be staying in town for long?"
"We fly home on Sunday night."
"And where is home?" I inquire. It's never been mentioned.
"We are in Las Vegas this time of year," she says.
"Oh? Where do you summer?" I ask. This seems like the type of question that this type of woman might be used to hearing.
"We have a home on Lake Tahoe," she answers.
It continues this way for another twenty agonizing minutes until room service arrives, bearing a large carafe of coffee, four cups, some pastries, and finger sandwiches. I'm so grateful for there being something not awkward to do that I'm sure I've spoiled my dinner. I learned that they also use their Tahoe house in December. I learned that she did not care for the spa here at the hotel, nor for Louisiana in general. She felt it was too damp. The Garden District seemed quaint and cramped. At least these were things on which she expressed an opinion. She had no children. They kept no pets. She was from California. She did not ask one single thing about me.
When I heard the mechanical door lock clicking to herald Eric's return I practically leapt to my feet. Ana stood as well. We both faced the door, and while I had no idea the look on her face, mine had to be expectant. Eric entered alone and held the door when Ana began to walk toward him. She said nothing as she walked past him to exit, and he let the door slam closed behind her. He shook his head at my many unasked questions and grabbed up the phone on the table nearest the door.
"This is Eric Northman. Give me Stuart," he barked. Then, after a few moments, "Yes. Good afternoon, Stuart," he begins, sounding stiff, but then after a moment, his anger shows. "Stuart, for your reference: while I was forced to accept your reporting of my comings and goings to my late grandfather, I do not accept it now, nor will I again in the future. The liberty you took today in informing a guest of this establishment of my personal whereabouts demonstrates a degree of impropriety I find appalling." He pauses, obviously letting the man answer before cutting in again. "I did not invite your excuses. I don't give a fuck whom it was. The only response I want to hear from you right now is 'Mister Northman, it will never happen again.'" Another pause. "Thank you," he finishes, and slams down the phone receiver.
I take it his conversation with his father did not go well. I want to pity Stuart for catching the brunt of Eric's ire, but I suppose he was in the wrong if he'd called up Eric's father the moment he arrived. He should have simply given a message to Eric that his father was waiting. I pace slowly toward him as he stands there seething silently. When I'm close enough, I reach out and lift my arm to rub up and then down his back. He stills when I touch him and takes a deep breath, forcing himself calm.
"I need a bit," he says, turning to me. I nod. "You might want to use the other bathroom to get ready," he simply says, and leaves me where I stand. I hear his bathroom door close. I hear the fan go on, so he must be getting his shower. I lift my garment bag from his closet and wheel my suitcase across to one of the other two bedrooms. It's a bit smaller than Eric's, with what looks like a queen sized bed, rather than the California-king, but the décor is no less nice. The Jack and Jill setup has the bathroom between this room and the other, identical, bedroom. I suppose there's no need for three, since like the rooms I'd stayed in downstairs, this suite has a powder room near the entry. It made me wonder again what the top floor suites were like. Whole apartments with kitchens maybe.
I stepped into the decadent shower and pondered what I could do for Eric while I soaped my hair. The only thing I could think of really that didn't seem too mollycoddling was sex. Soothing words and a hug were probably not going to cut it, and there was clearly no trying to excuse his father. I stood there letting the shampoo wash down the drain for a solid two minutes while I weighed the pros and cons of just going and joining Eric. I decided just to go for it, steeling myself for a worst case scenario where he sent me away. I shut off the water and walked quickly, dripping wet, back across the suit. The bathroom door wasn't locked, so I let myself in.
He had his back to me with one hand resting against the wall as he leaned forward so his head was under the stream of water. He was stroking himself with his other hand. Great minds think alike, I suppose. I edged in behind him and watched his body go rigid when I was within inches of him and he finally sensed my presence. I continued moving toward him and ran my hand across his hip as I pressed myself flush against his back. I kissed softly between his shoulder blades as my hand found his length. I ran the flat of my palm across it's soft tip and over Eric's own hand, my fingertips brushing at the base of him. I let my other hand run from the back of his thigh across his cheek and up his side, wrapping my arm around his chest.
He spun around then and his lips crashed onto mine. One hand fisted in my hair and the other grabbed my ass as he pushed me backward into the shower wall. He bent and caught my nipple between his lips, tongue darting across with delicious urgency. His forearm came around under me and he lifted me easily off the floor. My legs went around his hips as my back slid up the wall. I wasn't fully ready when he sheathed himself inside me in one sharp thrust and my cry was met with his groan and he kissed my lips, my jaw, my neck. I held my arm around his neck, cradling his head to me as he began to move with celerity. I felt the fingers holding me up dig into the soft flesh of my bottom and I let my other hand drop between us as he lowered his gaze to watch me and our joining. The fast intensity was nothing sweet or playful. I felt all his strength as he drove into me, his hips pounding against my thighs. I squealed as I came shuddering and brought him with me eliciting a long, low moan. He slipped out of me and I let me legs drop to the floor. He let himself fall against me, pinning me to the wall, his head bent to the crook of my neck. He panted and kissed me, telling me I am beautiful. It felt like gratitude.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a husky voice as his breathing evened out. He pulled away from me to see the answer on my face and I nodded at him and lifted a hand to his cheek. I can see the concern in his face as he lets his hand drop to my side and stroke down my ribcage. His care makes me smile.
"Safe to say you can stop treating me like I'm made of glass," I whisper, and his expression relaxes.
"You may regret that by the end of the weekend," he warns. Waggish as he tries to sound, I get that he's only partly kidding.
"We'll see, Mister Northman," I say with a smirk. "Better this, than abusing poor Stuart or the phone. This at least is enjoyable for both of us."
He darkens again. "He was out of fucking line," he growls.
"He was," I agree, indulging him. "It won't happen again."
"If it does, it will be the last time," he threatens. I nod at him. That's fair. Yelling and cursing at him maybe wasn't, but I assume Eric knows that, and I don't have to say it. He pulls away from me then, drawing me forward back into the blissful multidirectional spray of the shower. I use up half the little bottle of conditioner on my own hair and leave the rest for him. I wash him very thoroughly, taking time to kneed my fingers into his muscles in what I'm hoping is a soothing massage. He lets out little noises of appreciation so I figure I'm doing an okay job.
When we could find no further reasons to stay in the shower he turned off all the faucets and I moved to step out. Just before I could, he caught my wrist and pulled me back to him in a tight embrace.
"Thank you," he says.
"Any time, stud," I fleer, patting his backside.
"Not what I meant," he says seriously.
"I know," I whisper.
We weren't long getting ready after what had been rather a long shower. I found Eric in a navy blue suit and a dove grey shirt with his hair neatly braided back. My dress was soft lilac (It may be evening, but it's still springtime!) and I wore it with an ivory lace shrug that my Gran had made for me, and ivory pumps with lilac accents. I think it looked nice, and Eric agreed. Eric and I went downstairs and he called up from the desk to let his father know we were waiting. I wondered vaguely how he would cope with the car ride since apparently sharing an elevator was a no-go. The answer turned out to be that we positioned ourselves at opposite sides in the back of the limousine that picked us up and took us to the restaurant. Inge, and her and Sten's relatives, were meeting us there.
It turned out to be a very large party. Seventeen of us in all were seated at two tables in the private dining room of an upscale restaurant. Before we took our seats I heard Eric making sure that the hostess knew the bill was to come to him at the end of the meal. I am fairly certain he also tipped her then and there to ensure his request. Ah. Finally, the promised dinner time posturing! Eric was seated at the head of one table, with me on his right and Inge on his left. He was clearly being the alpha male. It made sense, I suppose, since it was Pam who had orchestrated the dinner and chosen the restaurant, on Eric's behalf. She'd flown back to Seattle for the weekend, and would return again on Tuesday to be at Eric's disposal here.
Viktor was seated at the foot of the opposite table, adjacent to Ana of course. They were as far apart from one another in the room as they could be. Eric requested wine for the tables, and though we had two waitresses that seemed to be dedicated to our room throughout the evening, the process of ordering seemed to take forever. When finally all were situated with drinks served or poured, Viktor decided it was time to make a speech. He stood up and cleared his throat and I watched Eric's face harden. I let my hand drift to his thigh under the table and grinned at him. He grasped it perfunctorily returning my smile briefly before his attention snapped back to his father. I breathed a soft sigh.
"We are glad for all the family who have joined us for this weekend," Viktor began. "Though I regret the circumstance, I know my father would have appreciated seeing his family together. It is in times like these when we are reminded of what truly matters - the life of a man, the loved ones he has left behind, and his legacy. Though tragedy has taken Sten from us all too soon, my son Eric," and here he lifts his glass in Eric's direction, even while not actually looking at him, "assures me that his work will continue. He can only hope to build the rich and full life that my father did. The boy who always wished to stand on his own feet now stands on the shoulders of a giant, and we must hope he will rise to the occasion."
Okay, even I am struggling to keep my composure at this point. Eric is so not a boy. And the shoulders of giants? That is robbed from one of my favourite quotations in academia. It is uttered of figures like Einsteinn in relation to Copernicus or Galileo, who themselves stood on Ptolemy. With due respect to Sten Northman, just no. And 'we can only hope'? What are you playing at buster? This time it was Eric who nudged me. I must have let my frown show through my internal tirade. I smoothed my face and gave him a small nod, letting him know that we were on the same page. Viktor must have said a bit more, but I had missed it.
"And so, I lift my glass in memory of my father, Sten Northman, a man who exemplified excellence in everything he undertook. We shall rarely know his like."
Eric and I lifted our glasses and sipped dutifully. I glanced across at Inge, who had gone misty-eyed and nodded Eric to her.
"Fahma, how have you been holding up this week?" he asked her, and they began to chat about how helpful Pam and Ana had been to her.
"And you are Eric's belle?" one of his great aunts asked me. It may have been a second cousin. The introductions had not been very thorough, as there were simply so many of them, and they all knew each other obviously. I nodded in response. As far as they were concerned, that was a fine word for it. Honestly? As far as I was concerned that was a fine word for it. I answered a few questions about myself and made polite inquiries in return until our food arrived. After that the old women began a very ghoulish discussion of other funerals they had recently attended, which almost seemed as though they were looking forward to tomorrow with some degree of anticipation. It was very strange. A very long time later, after coffee and dessert had been cleared, our server returned with the check and brought it to Eric. Viktor had attempted to signal for it, which was noticed by both Eric and I, and perhaps some other family members, but Eric was plainly in charge. He paid and stood and thanked his family all for coming before offering his arm to his grandmother.
I followed them outside while we waited for her car. He sent his father and his father's wife back without us and had the valet call a cab for us. I didn't have any objection. We'd caught one or two snippets of his father's conversation throughout dinner, wherein he had related that Eric had refused his offer to assume management of the properties and that he had "valid concerns" about the future of the Northman Group. I wanted to find out exactly what his father had wanted to discuss before, but I was patient, even while I was feeling very nosy.
"One down, two to go?" I offer, once we're seated in the back of the taxi cab.
"If I thought he had even a molecule of affection for me I'd say it was reverse psychology, issuing me a challenge, but at this point, I think he honestly wants me to fail."
"Eric, what's going on? What did he pull you out for earlier leaving me to entertain the plastic ice queen?" Okay, maybe I'm not that patient. Also apparently a little cranky.
"He pushed the issue of me pressuring Fahma to let him buy us out. His offer was the cost of the taxes, and effectively enough for her to live another twenty years in the life she is accustomed to, and enough for me to 'buy my own house in this godforsaken swamp so I don't have to bring my wholesome little chippy back to a hotel to carry on my trysts'. I freaked right the fuck out on him on all accounts."
"At least I'm wholesome."
"After that stunt in the shower, he was probably closer to the mark with chippy." My jaw dropped. Was he serious?
"Sookie," he said. I had turned away. I didn't answer. He took my chin in his hand and turned my face to look at him. "It's not fun to tease you if you don't acknowledge it's a joke."
"It's not always fun to be teased. Your aunt asked me if I was your belle. I just nodded so I wouldn't have to explain."
"Explain what?"
"Whatever this," I gestured between he and I, "is."
He frowned. "Sookie, what do you think is going on here?" I didn't say anything for so long that he sighed and let his hand drop. I caught it and held it in my lap.
"You surprised me," I say. "I thought you were an asshole, and then I thought you were helping me because of a combination of pity and wanting to have sex with me. And then I found I like you, beyond being grateful to you. I like being with you. And I am concerned for you. And of course I very much enjoy having sex with you." I try to finish with a little joke, hoping to deflect some of the very real and true things I've just said.
"I have always liked you," he said. "I am surprised as well, though. I don't do..." he looks around as if something will occur to him in the sparse contents of the back seat. For lack of anything else, he lifts his hand, held in mine, as if to show me. "...this. But I am enjoying this. And yes, of course the sex as well," he said. "I haven't seen anyone else. Have you?" I shook my head. "Then we will continue doing this, yes?" I nodded. "My belle is a mute," he says, pondering the word.
"My beau seems to talk enough for us both," I say.
"Beau sounds better than boyfriend, but it seems like it's more common to say girlfriend. How about 'my steady lover?'" he asks.
"Nope."
"Just my lover then. Like in one of your books."
"You're going to get smacked, boyfriend," I say, channelling Lafayette directly. He laughs, and pulls me to him, kissing my temple. We rode in silence for a little longer before I finally asked him, "So, you're going to do it all as well as you can, just to spite your father?"
"I suppose so," he says resignedly.
"There are worse things you could do," I say.
"We'll reserve these things as options once I'm officially trapped in the life I never wanted."
"You're going to have to stop that at some point," I say gently.
"Yes, but not tonight. Let me mourn the decision through the weekend."
"It's the right time for it."
He hugs me close to him again, relieved I guess, that I can understand.