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010 - Something Unusual

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• Everett •

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Today, I did something unusual. I skipped my daily routine, and it was a little too early to be back from work. It's just forty five minutes past 3pm and I'm not in my study, but in the sitting room with Diane. Her head is buried in a document I did bring from work to thoroughly scrutinize at home.

She took a fork from her plate and pierced a golden cube of pineapple, sliding it into her mouth before turning to me.

“You really don’t need to start now. You just logged off a few minutes ago.” I said matter of factly.

She ignored me.

“So we are going to do it this way — I scratch your back and you scratch mine. I need some suggestions on the evening dress you know, I have a couple of designs, I'm just not convinced yet.”

“Isn't this something you should be discussing with Simone or maybe Clara. They are women. They would give you better opinions.” I suggested.

Diane winked, pointing a finger at me. “You see, that's where you are wrong. Simone would pair socks with sandals on a cocktail dress, and Clara? She’d rather be binge-watching reality TV. Who told you being a woman automatically means you know style?”

She stood up in a poised stride, heading for the spot where her laptop lay and in a minute, it's sitting in front of us alongside the document.

“Which do we do first? The report or the sketches?” she asked, tying her hair to a bun.

It’s not like we are training for a wrestling match.

I took the document from the table. “What if I say I no longer need your thoughts on this? I’d rather be reviewing this property than engage myself in fashion chatter.”

“Engaging yourself in fashion chatters once made my sketch a hit,” she replied, snatching the document from my hand. “I took your ideas on my collection last year and that’s why the exhibition took place.”

“I don't even want to talk about how many times dad praised me for that." She added, tapping the document on one of her palms, her cheeks rising.

I always wonder why Diane lived like her father’s praise was a compass to her life. I cast a glance at her, and she immediately stopped tapping the document. That document was an inspection report of a Brownstone I was about to purchase in SoHo. I needed extra eyes, especially as Donald is not close to double-check the details not because of the cost, but because I wanted it ready in real time.

“Good thing my ideas made your exhibition hold. We've been talking aimlessly without getting the work done, and I have to arrive at a decision as quick as possible."

“Hand it over,” I said, gesturing toward her. “It might be clean for all I care.”

“You call a slope in the living room, clean? Fresh paint in just the stairwell, clean? Why only one spot? They are definitely hiding something! Wait..." She said, flipping through the pages quickly.

My brows shot up, intrigued. I'm always in awe of how she manages to see the hidden things.

“The basement ceiling has cracks too, and from pages thirteen to twenty one, there's a constant repetition of ‘recommend monitoring'. You’re about to overpay for a sinking building, Ev.”

I sighed, brushing the corner of my lower lips. “Nine point one million dollars might just be so much for a sinking building.”

“Definitely!”

I gave a thumbs up in appreciation, and the next thing she is snuggled close to me, her laptop sitting a few inches away from us.

“It’s about time you did your own end of the deal,” she smirked, grinning like a mischievous devil.

I throw my head backward, pressing my lips together. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

Diane faced the system, holding it with both hands, the designs fully on display. “He asked if we could do you tomorrow. What do you say?”

“Huh?” she demanded, leaning closer to the screen.

“She insists it’s done today,” she declared with a smile.

I bit my lips, shaking my head, fighting to hide just how much her sarcasm got under my skin. Diane had a way of bringing out the part of me I didn’t want anyone to see.

“You don't have to be so dramatic about it." I said. “I'll do my part.”

She chuckled loudly, resting her head on my shoulder. I studied her for a moment like she had lost her mind before looking away. With each click, various gorgeous designs she had crafted appeared on the screen.

“You design beautifully,” I noted. “But you’re thinking small.”

“This?" I continued, pointing to a sketch with panels. “is a statement. You make it a limited edition, layer the panels like balcony terraces and call it The Monaco Evening Gown.”

She loosened her hold.

“Woah!” she exclaimed, eye glittering. “This would look absolutely breathtaking! Can't wait to see the result.”

“Mm-hmm”

I was ready to leave, but Diane eyes were still fixed on me, her cheeky smiles totally off her face. She placed a hand on my thigh, rubbing on it softly.

That didn't sit right with me.

“Thank you, Ev. We’ve always complimented each other so well,” she mumbled. “And... I think I feel... lighter, happier, when I’m with you.”

What was Diane trying to say?

A sound stirred us, and we both looked to the right. It was my cellphone and it was Bradley calling.

I picked it up, disentangling from her hold.

“Mr. Langston,”

“Yes?” I answered, walking to the patio.

“I’m here with Ms. Thompson. She’ll be handling your account personally moving forward.”

I felt a thrill rise inside of me. Mr. Bradley never disappoints when it comes to client satisfaction.

“Have her details been forwarded?” I asked.

“Of course. You both should have everything you need to get started.”

“Excellent.” I ended the call, my fingers already moving over the keyboard to write a quick note to the contact on my screen.

“Your first session starts at 48 Evercrest Avenue. Thirty minutes. Don't be late.”

I walked back to the sitting room, and Diane sat fixed in the chair, concentrating on the pressure she put on her touchpad rather than whatever she was working on.

I picked up my document, and she looked up at me, taking her lips in, hesitant, as though she wanted to say something. Yet, she didn't comment.

“Ev.” she eventually called when I was two steps away from heading up the stairs.

“Let's call it a day, Diane." I said without looking back.

In a short while, I was shutting the door to my room, shifting the weighty black blanket as the cool breeze of the A.C soothed my skin. I picked the remote that lay beside the pillow, turning on the TV and flipping through the different channels.

Lightly, I drummed my fingers on the bed. My eyes were fixed to the television, but my mind never left the message I had sent.

I was waiting for her response and it's been over three minutes.

‘Ping!'. A message finally came through.

I glanced at it, creasing my forehead as a loud scoff escaped my throat. No one has ever made me feel so bluntly reprimanded.

I read it for the second time.

Good day, Mr. Langston. Kindly note that work stays within office hours. And 48 Evercrest Avenue? Is your home really the place for strategy sessions? I'd suggest we stick to professionalism and reschedule.