Wait, what? Me and Eminem?! (An Eminem Fan-Fiction) *Completed*

Chapter Twenty

Eminem fans, welcome to motherfuckin' Chapter Twenty! <3 Okay, so this chapter took some blood, some sweat, and some nights where I got to bed hella late, and it's going to be long as fuhhhck and end dramatically, so get reading!(; I'm not going to stall any longer, but I will have an author's note at the end, so be SURE to read that. c: Mkay, GO! ;D

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Monday came, and the weather was bleak and gloomy, so I shrugged on a thicker cardigan, completed my morning routine, and hopped in the car. When I got to work, the building was bustling, although the sun hadn't even risen fully. I seated myself behind my desk and started clicking away on the computer intently, calculating and estimating. Mr. Rizzo sauntered out of his office after I'd be present for about an hour, and newspaper in hand, grinned at me, bemused.

"Why, Ms. Griffin, you're in the paper," he remarked, waddling to my desk and sliding the newspaper across it so I could view the image and the article enclosed. It was a black and white portrayal of me and Marshall, hand in hand, mid-stride, an unconscious hint of a smile curled on his lips. The headline read "Detroit Hailing Rapper Eminem Steps Out Locally With His Stunning Sweetheart".

I blushed and could feel my finger tips heating with excitement.

"Yes," I observed coolly. "Yes I am." I kept my composure, which was unbearably hard, but I managed.

He chortled. "Now, it's none of my business, Adrienne, but how is a young lady like you involved with a rapper?"

I knew he was referring to my seemingly mild personality and love for classical music, but that in itself was an excellent question. How it had happened, neither of us knew. But it felt absolutely right, like two pieces sliding together intimately.

"We're still trying to figure that out too," I admitted, chuckling.

He removed his glasses, laughed softly under his breath, cleaned them, and slid them back on, taking the paper and scanning it keenly.

"Very nice couple," he voiced.

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course, Ms. Griffin. Now enough of the chatter, back to work. We're running a company here, not a gossip column."

I smiled, bowing my head modestly and allowing my fingers to return to the keyboard as he strode away, without another word.

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After about two hours, I was sipping coffee and leafing through a pamphlet, searching for critical information when Mr. Rizzo approached my desk once more, this time, a large one dozen bouquet of crimson roses in his hands. The packaging of the flowers was so fanciful and grand, I could barely make out Mr. Rizzo behind it.

"From someone," he explained, and handed them to me.

"Oh my goodness," I breathed, grasping the bouquet and examining the small card that came alongside it. Flipping it open, I began reading.

It said:

Dri,

Even though this week is going to be a hell of a busy week, I thought I'd send you a little reminder that I always have time for you. :)

It was simply signed Marshall with an elegant flourish. I beamed, laying the note down. Mr. Rizzo's lips were graced with a knowing smile, and without pressing any nosy questions, he turned away and spoke as he walked off.

"I'll have someone find a vase; can't let those lovely roses wilt, now can we," he chuckled, and lifting the roses to my nose, I inhaled their hypnotic scent and recalled all the occasions he'd brought roses for me. The gesture was beyond thoughtful and passionate, and I added "call Marshall" to my to-do list, drawing a childish smiley next to it.