"Special Delivery," I nearly jumped out of my skin, as I turned to the intruder. Mr. Cheesecake Folsom stood in the doorway with a satisfied grin.
"Henry!" I snarled, "Hasn't anyone taught you not to sneak up on a girl when she is working?"
"You know, I kinda hate that you know my name now. I really do miss the shocked 'Mr. Cheesecake' every time we meet."
"Well, I will try to remember that next time I am scolding you," I snarked.
"So there will be a 'next time,'" he slyly concluded.
I rolled my eyes, "Are you here for a reason?"
He sat in the chair across from me. "Didn't you hear me? I have special deliveries." He reached over the desk to give me two envelopes. One was addressed to "Miss Grace McAllister" and the other was addressed to "Miss Press." My heart swelled at the sweet nickname but put it aside until I was alone.
I flashed him the other one, "What is this?"
He smiled, "Grayson told us that he invited the Classic Staff to our monthly gaming night, so we decided to make a party out of it."
"With formal invitations?"
"Let's just say, we are making a shindig out of this party."
"Good use of the word shindig, but formal –"
"Oh, would you just open it?" Henry smiled. I looked between him and the envelope. I opened the envelope and discovered a piece of paper that simply read, "Please come to our First annual Woodworth/Classic Gaming party." The stationary had "Mark Emerson, Editor and Chief" printed in the bottom left corner.
I looked at him skeptically, "I'm the only one that got one of these aren't I?"
"What? No."
"Really? Because I just pulled up the email that Grant sent out to us." I turned my computer for him to see. His smirk was accompanied by a slight blush. "Also this says it is a memo from—"
"Fine," he relented, "I threw that together so I would have a reason to see you, and then was stopped in the hallway by Mark with his letter. I was already too far into this not to see it through."
I put my chin in my hand and smiled, "That is so sweet."
We sat there smiling at each other for a hot minute before he motioned to the letters again. "Are you going to open the other one?"
"I believe my mail is a private matter between me and the author isn't it?" I sassed.
"Of course," he sighed and practically pouted.
I giggled and stated, "Why is it that the messenger always gets left out?"
"Right?" He leaned forward to emphasize his point.
"You are still not going to see this note." I spun in my seat away from him. I began to open the envelope, once I made the first tear the chair spun around and the envelope was snatched from my hand.
"Hey!"
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to turn your back on the enemy?" Henry stepped away as I lunged for the envelope. I got to my feet and made a second attempt at the envelope. His long arm kept it just out of my reach. I lost my balance and fell toward him. His arm wrapped around my waist to steady me. We stumbled until we were accidentally pinned against the wall. His back against the wall and holding me tightly to him we stared at each other.
"Just a reminder, this is a place of business," someone spoke up. We both looked at the observer and then noticed our position. We quickly corrected the situation, Henry even cleared his throat as if that cleared up everything.
"That's better," Mark smirked.
"He stole my note," I tried to explain.
"She attacked me," Henry countered.
"Excuse me?" I growled.
"Enough," Mark exclaimed. "Henry, don't you have an office to get back to?"
"Well yes but—"
"No buts about it. Get out of here, so I can take my niece out for lunch." So that's what was in the invitation.
Henry smiled before saluting and excusing himself. He lingers in the driveway for a brief second as he sent me a wink. My heart stuttered, but I managed to look slightly annoyed. Mark grabbed my coat from the rack by the door.
"Come on, Press, we've got reservations."
---- ---- ---- ----
I thought we'd be going to Benson's Grill as usual, but not today. Uncle Mark took me to his favorite English-style pub. The bartender recognized him and pointed to a back booth. We were waited on pretty quickly, but ordering was the only talking we had done since we left my office. Once our waiter had our orders of an English Breakfast and Buttermilk Fried Chicken sandwich, we were left alone with our silence. The pub's dark but cozy atmosphere fit the cool newspaperman or hard-boiled P.I. aesthetic. My uncle seemed very comfortable lounging on the red leather cushions. I drew circles on the mahogany table.
"Do you think we are doing the right thing with this upcoming issue, Press?" Mark finally spoke. It had been a while since he used that nickname. He gave it to me as soon as I was old enough to ask questions. He told me that I was worst than a member of the press with my nosiness and would make a wonderful journalist someday. As I grew up and fell in love with writing, I knew that I would do something with it someday.
"You haven't called me that in a year," I noted.
"You haven't been yourself in a year," He retorted. "You've done nothing but work and binge Superman shows. I missed my little Press." He reaches across the table and briefly patted my hand. "Now don't think you've changed the subject. What do you think of our partnership with Woodworth Gaming?"
"Honestly," I sighed. "I was not sure how to make this work. But I've been researching, and Dinah and I have been spit-balling with Grant Grayson, it is a great concept and I really want to see it through."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a handsome lawyer that I found pinned against your wall, would it?"
I felt the blush flood my cheeks and thanked my lucky stars for the dark booth. "I'm not going to lie, he is a bonus. But I think our readers should know even fashion has a nerdy side." I thought for a second before asking, "Are you having second thoughts?"
"No, but I made this decision without consulting you, and I was starting to feel guilty about it."
"So now you are making sure I am on board?"
"Exactly," he chuckled.
"We could've had this conversation in my office, if that was it," I stated. "So why—"
"Sorry I'm late, Mark, did you start without me?"
My father slid into that booth next to Uncle Mark, and suddenly I knew exactly what I had been invited out for… a groom-fest interview.
"No, we were talking business," Mark explained.
"Hello, Dad," I smirked.
He reached over to squeeze my hand. "Hello, Darling."
I sat back in my seat with my arms crossed and waited for their interrogation to start. They stalled, talking between themselves, trying to get me to crack. I sat strong, didn't even speak to our waiter when he came by with refills and our orders. He seemed a little confused by the change in the atmosphere but served with a smile. His eyes met mine and I could see the concern on his face. I just winked and motioned ever so slightly to the aging gossips across from me. He immediately understood and smirked. Once he was gone I resumed my determination to not speak first.
My father broke first, "You were left with a check?" His tone was cold. My eyes were probably as big as saucers.
"Who told you?" He pointed to Mark, so I repeated the question for him.
"Henry told me," Mark announced. What?!? My mind remembered flashes of that very first meeting and Mark had asked Henry to follow him to the office. Of course, they would've talked about our awkward cold-induced introduction.
"Wait," My dad interrupted my thoughts. "Who is Henry?"
"The gentleman that paid for my date's half of the bill that night," I explained.
"So how does Mark know him?"
"He happens to be the lawyer for Woodworth Gaming," Mark started, "and the son of 'Bird Dog' Folsom." And now I know Admiral Folsom's nickname: 'Mad Dog' Emerson, 'Bird Dog' Folsom… just need Dad's.
"He is Cam's son?" My father seemed legitimately floored by the small world implication. "No wonder he tried to rescue a pretty girl. It is in his blood. But why did he only pay the one half?"
"I'm fully capable and always prepared to pay for myself," I defended.
"It seems that waitress was also of this mindset," Mark confirmed.
My father sighed and took a bite of our food. "I guess you should start at the beginning."
They asked their questions and I answered with some slight exaggerations hoping they might gang up and get this nonsense to stop. I realized real quickly that they weren't looking for reasons to stop the groom-fest, they were feeling left out.
I had just finished explaining my hiking date with Mr. Joseph, and they talked among themselves as I got a text. I look at the sender. Speak of a devil and he shall appear.
His text read, "Looking forward to tonight. Will your roommates be joining us?"
I replied, "It's all set, we are looking forward to it as well."
I almost put my phone away when a second text came in.
I read, "Next time you have me pinned against a wall probably make sure the door is locked." Why that…
"What makes you think there will be a next time?" I replied.
Henry's text came quickly, "Just our luck."
I shook my head and quickly put away my phone. The two men focused back on me.
"So when is the next date," Mark directly asked.
"I have no idea." I shrugged. "I am assuming Saturday. I am hoping that it is six weeks of torture and then I am home free."
"Well that will be slightly interrupted," my dad said. "The Summer Silent Film Festival is in two weeks and I got tickets for all of us."
"Why do you drag me to that every year?" Mark complained.
"Because it won't hurt you to support the arts," I teased. "Besides Classic Fashion is a major sponsor for the event it would be smart to have the Editor and Chief and Chairman of the Board there as representatives.
"So why do you go?"
I pretended to be offended, "I am a lover of the arts."
"You just like funny, good-looking men that can't speak," my father pointed out.
"You are not wrong," I laughed. "Well gentlemen this was fun, but I have plans tonight. So I have to get back to work."
They didn't protest, just waved me away. I was almost to the door when I heard in unison, "What plans?" I just smiled and walked out the door.