A/N: A note about chapter 19... did no one notice that in the heat of the moment and having absolutely not written any rated scenes for months, Chicken had completely d I s a p p e a r e d in that chapter? Oh good god, I am a terrible, awful writer; I apologize to all the dogs and cats and birds and animals in my multiple universes for they suffer the most.
Thus, I present you... the resolution that Leroy had entrusted Chicken with the greatest task of all and it sitting in the driver's seat of the RV and ensuring that no one gets in the way of his long-awaited touchy-touchy action. Chicken is the most understanding and loving dog ;-; he even agrees to this.
Chicken needs a reward. But I spent the whole of my Sunday writing this again so yes, Chicken can take my life away.
Enjoy!
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[Vanilla]
One does not simply expect to be called in to the office on a Sunday morning for an emergency that had to do with one of our clients demanding an audience. Unfortunately, I had little to no means of knowing this because, well, my phone and I were spending reasonable time apart due to the um, the circumstances of... of a certain idiot.
I now apparently consider him a circumstance, no doubt. Having basically kidnapped me from my workplace and whisked me away to some deserted beach where we proceeded to forage for razor clams, cook them for dinner and and and fire-things and other, quite, illegal activities, Leroy Cox was a grand masterpiece of an idiot fast asleep beside me in bed—unclothed and unbothered.
Needless to say, this was an experience I would consider fairly novel (or aged, at the very least); waking up to the presence of a person, him, in bed, or the general idea of shared covers and pillows that were barely an inch apart. The idea of bashful interaction crossed my mind and almost immediately called for a quick recollection of my fifteen-year-old self waking up to Leroy in my bed.
Granted, it wasn't as though we'd done anything entirely illegal in terms of the Universal Law of V. J. White. In fact, it was upon witnessing the true extent a-and and size of what I was dealing with, I'd somehow managed a professional retracting of prior statements and claims of insistence. Leroy, pleased to see myself enlightened by his physical um, blessing (I don't know, is it, really?), proceeded to end the debate with a criminal kiss that was the last thing I could remember.
Which could not have been the case since I did not recall turning the lights off and drawing the curtains that kept the front and back of the RV separated.
I sat up and reached for my glasses.
The concept of time returned only after my brief recounting of the night before and it was then that I finally entertained the thought of checking my phone for messages or urgent mail. Unsurprisingly however, I had no impression whatsoever of where, exactly, I'd last seen it.
It was after minutes of tip-toeing around the RV and doing my best not to wake the idiot in bed that I finally spotted it on the passenger seat with a grand total of ten percent battery life to spare and an alarming number of messages and unread emails. Chicken remained fast asleep in the driver's seat, all curled up and warm.
The time was five in the morning; the start of the day barely visible in the horizon of the sea and here I was, reading about a client's chief executive intending to drop by the office tomorrow (today) for an 'important discussion' I knew nothing about. Florence had sent several emails and receipts of the conversation and even arranged for brunch to be catered. Apparently, the executive had hinted at several other guests.
I scrolled through the thread of emails to see an extended invitation to other employees and a subsequent attempt by my head receptionist to delay the visit but to no avail. The bottom line was that the executive and his guests were expected at the office by ten in the morning.
"Good heavens," was all I could say, crouched on the seat with my chin on my knees in nothing but my underwear and Leroy's horrendous t-shirt.
"What," I heard from behind, further into the RV, "still having second thoughts about my size?"
I turned, just as he came into view and leaned against the kitchen countertop, filling the electric kettle. He also made the fortunate decision to put on some pants. Otherwise, I wouldn't quite have known how else I should be dealing with the view of. You know.
"Y-you're awake. I um. Sorry, I really didn't... it's still rather early and if you'd like to stay in bed for another hour or so, then. And no, clearly I wasn't thinking about your—I mean, you. I wasn't thinking about you."
He laughed, re-directing his attention to the pair of mugs he'd pulled out and dropped a tea bag in each. "Can't have that, can we?"
"Well I suppose you could try harder next time." I said before thinking and god forbid the look in his eyes that caught me completely by surprise and subsequently allowed my words to settle in. As nature would have it, I felt my face burn. "A—I um, I meant that um, I was thinking about... so clearly I haven't exactly been paying my phone any attention since yesterday afternoon when you picked me up from school but, so... oh thank you, just what I needed," I paused to receive the mug of freshly brewed (tea-bag, nevertheless, but this wasn't the time to be a critic) tea while Leroy slid into the driver's seat, lifting Chicken and resting the latter's head on his lap for some cozy behind-the-ear rubs.
"So um, a summary of the chaos that's happening back in the office would be that... an important client of ours intends to drop by with several rather... distinguished guests. Today. Before ten in the morning." I said whilst scrolling through the thread of emails from my secretary and sipping tea. Unfortunately, this led to my glasses fogging up and half the world disappearing into a grey-white cloud of nothing.
"Ten?" I heard Leroy say under his breath, fiddling with something on the dashboard and then starting up the RV. "We could make it to your place by nine if we leave now, so. You good with that?"
I removed my glasses, wiping them on the hem of Leroy's shirt with a sigh. "Yes, please. I'm just rather upset about it, if you can't tell that I am." He laughed.
"I mean if it's breakfast in bed and the sunrise you were looking forward to, we could still do it," he nods at the faded light in the distance, and then at the time. Half-past-five.
"Yes Leroy, I was expecting a banquet by dawn, out on the beach, with freshly shucked oysters and caviar on toast for breakfast," I humored him with a roll of my eyes. He returned the look. "I had plans to... well, wake up slightly in advance and give frying some bacon another attempt in private. So that you'd leave me in peace once and for all."
"And let Rexi have my head for blowing up her RV?" He teased, finishing his tea that was piping hot without so much as a flinch. "You know this is our only ride home. That, and the only fire station nearby would take at least fifteen to twenty minutes to get here."
"I shall prove you terribly wrong someday," was all I could say in my defense. "Surely, we'd still have some time for breakfast, no?"
"You could whip up something while I wash up and get the RV ready to hit the road," Leroy suggested despite having clearly taken several jabs at my culinary skills. "There's some butter leftover in the freezer and I think half the loaf of bread we had yesterday."
"Ah, simple. Toast. I can make that." I watched him leave his mug at the sink before opening one of the cabinets below it and producing a can of Pedigree dog food. Chicken sat up with his tail wagging.
"I wouldn't make any promises if I were you." "Yes, yes, I'd absolutely ruin the cook on that toast and perhaps even decide to feed it to a certain idiot!" "The idiot would probably eat it." "Then I'd say he deserves the title of idiot." "And at the rate you're sipping that tea, it's gonna be sundown before I get my toast." "Y-b-but it's piping hot." "That's not what you said yesterday when you offered to give me head." "I—that is a completely different matter a-and you know it! This and that are unrelated! You cannot possibly be that much of an idiot to... ah I see now. That was a joke. Yes, alright, you win, and goodness, please stop laughing."
Several slices of perfectly browned toast later, we began making our way back to the city with a slight change of plan. Rexi had arranged to pick the RV up from Leroy's, and him dropping me off at my apartment would mean an additional run for him, which, although he claimed was perfectly fine, I refused to allow. I therefore arranged for Jason to pick me up in front of Leroy's apartment building instead, and then after washing up and having some time for further thinking, realized that I had to turn up at the office in the exact outfit I wore the day before.
And so I was offered the grand option of Leroy's one and only dress shirt. The plan was to spend less than five minutes changing into that and then making straight for the office. Which would approximate my arrival at half-past-nine. Hopefully, the guests were going to be late.
Perhaps the very thing that surprised us most on a day so ripe with chaos and disorder was an unexpected encounter with Leroy's neighbor. The one who made those cheddar bagels.
"Erlynn?"
She was standing outside her front door, leaning against the wall further down the corridor but I vaguely recalled Leroy mentioning something about her apartment being the one downstairs. Either way, she'd looked up from her phone the moment he called across the hallway and started towards us with a strange expression on her face that was difficult to make out from a distance.
"You realize your phone's dead," was the first thing she said whilst making her way over, stopping before Leroy's front door while both of us did the same. Leroy entered his keycode into the number pad and the door clicked open. "And you'll turn it on to see the infinite number of missed calls you have."
"It's dead?" He reached for his phone in his back pocket. "Right, I didn't... I was busy last night and forgot to charge it. Did something happen?" He turned to me and we exchanged a look. I told him I was going to be fine alone. It was just a dress shirt. That, and it seemed as though Erlynn was bent on speaking to him urgently.
"I mean if you're not answering texts or phone calls, yeah I'd think something bad had happened to you." I last heard her say before quietly excusing myself and leaving them to speak privately. Needless to say, the slightest sense of guilt made its way into my mind; that Leroy had been distracted the day before, just like myself, and left his phone unattended. After all, Annie could have called. She, too, would have felt rightfully worried.
By the time I'd scoured the floors for the idiot's one and only dress shirt, nearly ten minutes had passed and Leroy had returned from speaking with Erlynn. Jason had also sent a text message that he would be waiting downstairs.
"You sure you don't need the pants?"
"Well. Not as if I'm going to fit in them and neither of us can be sure if a belt was going to be a saving grace, let alone the presence of a suitable, formal belt in the household of Leroy Cox." I said through the door of his bathroom, putting the shirt on and noticing the stiffness of the top-most button-hole that felt almost as though it had never been touched.
I emerged prim and proper, asking if everything was alright between him and his neighbor. He sort of sighed.
"She's mad about the missed calls and unanswered texts. I said I'd take her out to lunch to make up for it, else she'd go on and on for the rest of the month or something." He gave me a look, which was rather peculiar. Something that resembled a student asking his teacher for permission to extend the deadline of an assignment.
I tried to hide a smile. "Very clever. I don't blame her for feeling a little upset. I imagine any rational being would feel the same when it comes to people they care about. Most importantly, I do not wish for her to have a worse impression of me than she already has. Simply because you spend time with me does not therefore mean she is any less important. If, however, she starts thinking that I'm, in some way or another, stealing you from her side then, well. She'd consider me a thief."
"You'd be a pretty bad thief," he laughed, sending me to the front door. I rolled my eyes.
"Oh yes I would. Though the idea of helming a grand heist without hurting anyone through the sheer grit of a superior mind does seem rather inviting, from time to time." I gathered my things and paused at the entranceway just before the door, turning around to face him.
He had his hands in his pockets, glancing over his shoulder. "Forgot something?"
"Yes," I said, straight-faced; raising my gaze and waiting for a bit. He snorted, lips curling into a smirk.
"Keep that up and I'll think you're asking for a kiss."
I did not deny this. Merely continued waiting for it to sink in and for him to react. He took a moment to do so, something brief sparking in his eyes and then something of surprise. I averted my gaze and regretted at once. My ears would have given it away.
"I'll take that as a no. Jason's waiting, I shall get going—"
He pulled me into his arms before I could continue, laughing all the same. "Dinner at yours? I'll pick you up."
"Oh I thought you were going to give me a kiss."
I adjusted my glasses that had gone askew in the chaos of a hug. Just glasses things. "Yes. Dinner. I can't be sure if the fire in the office is put out by then but I'll keep you updated. Are there rules to kissing? For kissing, I mean. I apologize if I happen to be awful at it. It would explain your present reluctance."
"No, dumbass," he clicked his tongue. "You think I'd stop at a kiss?"
"The condoms are in a bedside drawer in my apartment, you have no choice but to stop at a kiss. Perfectly logical deductions, Leroy. Either way, I was going to profess a need for further study before... before we. Well. For now, this would have to do." I raised my heel just a tiny bit, summoning every ounce of courage I had to plant a fleeting kiss on his cheek before showing myself out of the idiot's apartment.
I did not look back, but the short moment was enough to hear him, laughing low, and already the image of an indecent finger surfaced. "Fuck y—"
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I think it offensive to use the word 'circus' as some form of descriptive term; the professional effort in which tight-rope walkers, trapeze artists and other performers put in for a fantastic show is in no way comparable to the circumstance in which the word is often used to describe an event of poor taste or childish nature.
Yet, as I arrived at the office floor and stepped out of the elevator at a minute over half-past-nine, I was greeted immediately by an onslaught of guests spread out in GLACE's reception area, enjoying a brunch buffet arranged by my secretary, Florence. Chaos. A circus, if one were to define it in the way the word was being used as of late. Among the guests mingled employees of my own. Raul, along with my head receptionist Claire, several editors, and marketing staff. A-and among the guests—Siegfried himself. Impossible.
The client chief executive I knew as Mr. Caelum approached me first, thanking me for the warm reception to which I politely declined, stating that it was impossible to do so at such a short notice. Passive aggression! Sometimes, I cannot help myself. The man was the very reason this entire thing had to be arranged and needless to say, to ruin a perfect Sunday morning was a crime in the books of many. At least they weren't paying for the decadent brunch.
"I suppose you'd like to get straight to the point then, Mr. Caelum?" I put forth at once, not exactly paying much heed to the privacy of our conversation. "What is it you would like to discuss?"
"I heard you turned down the invitation to judge for our epic cooking show, Mr. White. But competitive reality TV loves people like you." He flashed a smile. I returned one.
"I see you hold me in too high a regard, Mr. Caelum. I'm afraid I will disappoint you."
I did not expect him to snort, genuinely humored by my response. He shook his head afterwards, seemingly upset, and offered to continue the discussion in my office for privacy. I glanced over his shoulder. Florence was looking our way. And so was Siegfried. And beside him... goodness. It was his sous chef. His fiance. Again, impossible.
I sighed, wondering if I should have Florence arrange me an appointment with an optometrist. "You have fifteen minutes, Mr. Caelum. Sundays at work are only bearable with brunch."
This did not start off very well. A repeat of the proposal was made in five minutes and needless to say, it was not very different from the one I'd heard couple of days ago. Reality TV shows had something in common; and that was to entertain the masses.
This would therefore include a prime selection of the most engaging participants of personality, rather than a closer look at raw skill, talent, hard work and potential. I wouldn't even be surprised if they dropped a pre-determined winner along the way, for good measure.
"Well Mr. Caelum, it does not take a genius to figure out the one and only reason for your seeming insistence to have me on the show as a judge—that I am currently in the middle of the hottest culinary news in all of London, a perfect, dramatical theatre of a showdown between Chef Andre and myself and now, a mystery chef. Yes, having me on the show would at once incite interest and provide you with a convenient antagonist-protagonist story for your audience. Unfortunately, critics have a track record of being portrayed as the villains in conventional media and would therefore bode ill for my already poor reputation."
Mr. Caelum had the insensitivity to agree. "And your cold, icy personality further solidifies this character an international audience would be dying to see more of! They love criticism and drama."
"Especially if they are edited in a way that further encourages the conjuring of factually wrong and terrible opinions of my 'interesting' personality," I said, tight-lipped.
The executive laughed, dodging the rest of the topic entirely and choosing not to say a word further related to the issue. "Well Mr. White... pray tell me what I should do to make this proposal much more appealing to a person of your nature."
"Nothing. I am not interested."
"Even the mystery chef?" he paused, testing the waters.
I merely frowned. "Are you suggesting you or... one of your producers have by some miracle or other, identified him or her?"
"It is said that providing the correct secret ingredient to the special soup served at Andre's would grant us some... special favor."
A pause. It sounded unlikely as much as I did not wish for it to be. "And you have?"
"Not me, no. A contestant. She is in the list of chefs and bakers invited to the show with a... personal investment in it. An acute sense of taste—but yes. We will be in contact with the mystery chef very soon. Would that interest you?"
"I'd watch the program in the comfort of my apartment, yes." I finished. Final; extending a hand for a shake and to show him out of my office.
But Mr. Caelum himself seemed to have yet another card up his sleeve.
"I understand you have several contacts in the industry. Sylvia Xu. Violet Birchwood. To name a few." He shook my hand with an iron grip. "Wouldn't you think they'd like an opportunity like this?"
I held onto it, refusing to back down. "They'd win the entire thing with one hand, Mr. Caelum. I suggest you find more suitable candidates for your show."
Fortunately, the persevering cold had him giving up. At least for now. "I'll leave my direct contact with your secretary, Mr. White. Should you change your mind."
*
Feeling quite absurd and drained from the relentless advances made by the production company, I'd emerged from my office hoping for a quick end to brunch and as little social interaction feasibly possible. A foolish thought.
"Hey, hi." It was Chef Du Bellay. Or Antoinette, as she'd introduced herself at Siegfried's restaurant a week or so before. She approached myself at the beverage counter, where I opted for the least awful choice of drink. Fruit punch. "Antoinette, remember?"
"Chef Du Bellay," I greeted with a nod, but then quickly recalled the conservative form she seemed rather fond of. The hand-kiss. There was an awkward pause in which she did not offer her hand and I was rendered motionless. The tension eased as soon as we both laughed. "My apologies. I was... the greeting. Thing."
"Oh no it's just a thing we did back home and I got used to it, you see. I sort of gauge someone's reaction on the first meeting and then go from there. I figured it wasn't something you're familiar with," she smiled and it reminded me of dandelion, swaying in the gentle breeze.
"I'm sorry. And the poor reception... that, too. I would have arranged for something of much higher standard had I known about this even a day earlier."
"Don't be silly," she laughed, lowering her voice. "As though anyone else could've possibly arranged for anything to be catered at such a short notice, let alone brunch. It was awful of Mr. Caelum to demand an audience. Siegfried said he'd made a huge fuss about you refusing to participate. Did he try to persuade you himself?"
Surprised by her radiant honesty, I was encouraged to be candid myself. "Well... he merely repeated the proposal and said some other useless things that weren't beyond my expectations but... to no avail, I'm afraid."
She nodded, sipping at her mocktail. "I understand." We fell silent, gaze resting on the guests mingling around. Siegfried could be seen speaking to Mr. Caelum in the distance.
And then, out of mere curiosity, I turned to Antoinette with a question. "Excuse me, but, so, does this mean you will be participating in the show? As a contestant?"
At this, she'd hesitated with a smile. "I... was invited, yes."
"Well, you couldn't possibly have agreed, no?" I blinked, mildly offended on her behalf. "With your track record and skill, lowly entertainment like this, surely—"
"I... I mean I did consider it, but with Siegfried on board, they said they were going to raise the production value and... and, well, provide more learning opportunities for the contestants themselves, so... so I agreed, in the end. Thank you for, I don't know, thinking so highly of me. Really. I mean, I, too, sort of realized the reason behind my um... invitation. Not my culinary skills, that's for sure."
"I-is that so? But what..." I paused, not quite understanding what she meant but at the same time somewhat nearly there. It took me a second. I slowed to a stop, quietly upset. "That is awful."
Antoinette laughed, squaring her shoulders.
"It's part of the line-up I suppose. Representation would add plus points to the show."
I was reduced to head-shaking. "I cannot advise you on this. It is your decision to make... that, I am sure. I simply do not wish for you to regret this."
She appeared slightly upset, perhaps influenced by my words. "Well you are very kind, Vanilla. Thank you." She smiled, raising her glass and clinking it gently against mine. "So um. How is Leroy? You mentioned previously, something about intending to see him every week. When did you last meet?"
I nearly choked on fruit punch. This very morning, that idiot. "Um. Recently. We meet... often enough." I could only hope I was not blushing.
"And um... have you told him about...?" I knew what she was referring to in a fraction of a second and held up my hand.
"I'm afraid I have not, Antoinette. And do not intend to. I apologize but about this matter... I believe I do not have the rights to be involved in. At all."
She averted her gaze. "You're right. I understand... thanks, anyway. You're very different from what they say about you in the papers or, well, social media."
"I have an amazing reputation, yes," I lightened the mood and she responded with a laugh. "Practically the main reason they seem to want me so badly for the role."
"I think you'd do amazing as a judge. Your honesty. Your palate. Your familiarity and expertise—I think, well. Quite frankly it's a miracle for a critic your age."
I was about to thank her for the compliment when, over her shoulder, I spotted Siegfried making his way over. She seemed to observe at once, the way my expression must have changed. We turned away from each other and Antoinette quietly slipped away, leaving me at the beverage counter with my pitiful fruit punch and her fiance.
"Vanilla. You look well."
"Yes, I was having a perfect Saturday."
"Ah. Working on Sundays must be very draining."
"... I suppose I can't complain when you practically work every single day of the week, so." I finished begrudgingly, raising my gaze to see him hiding a laugh.
"I am used to it, I daresay." He raised his glass, taking a sip. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that I, along with everyone else on the team, am truly looking forward to working with you. That, I had to express."
"I'm afraid that is not happening, Mr. Cox. I'm sorry but I've turned down the invitation by Mr. Caelum. Twice. Once a few days back and once just mere minutes ago in my office. I hope you understand... in fact, well. I must say, I am rather surprised you even agreed to come on board such program in the first place. Chef Andre and people like him, yes, but you? I always thought you had higher standards."
It almost came across as mean but, I suppose, the truth isn't served on a bed of flowers, no.
Siegfried took this all within his stride. "You're not wrong, Vanilla. But then again, just by being involved in the program, I'd, in some way or another, be forcing them to raise the standards, no? Haha. Don't you worry. I'm making changes as we speak. It is not the sort of program you think it is. At least I'm sure it won't be."
There was conviction in his eyes that rivalled the flame of a candle and perhaps for a brief moment, I saw in him the fire that was his own. Then, his gaze lowered, resting on my dress shirt.
"That..." The chef paused, leaning in an taking a closer look. With the hand that was holding his glass of champagne, he pointed his index at my chest. "Is that yours?"
I was, naturally, startled. I hadn't expected anyone, let alone Siegfried to notice the dress shirt that was clearly not within my usual realm of wardrobe-things or that it did not, exactly, fit my frame.
"Why do you ask?"
Again, he laughed, raising the glass of champagne to his lips and somewhat hiding a smile behind it.
"Leroy owns one dress shirt. I picked it out for him a few years back, for formal events. It was pretty expensive and he refused to wear it for a couple of months but gave in, eventually. That was when he'd attend the industry networking events... he might've told you. Back when he was seventeen or eighteen. Might be a tight fit for him now though."
Needless to say, I hadn't expected Siegfried to remember the exact brand, let alone the type and color of the dress shirt that he got for Leroy years back. And he was right. The brand was well-known for its high-quality dress shirts and most certainly would have cost triple digits for a single piece. I'd noticed back in Leroy's apartment, whilst putting the shirt on.
In that instant, I did not exactly think of lying my way out.
"Well... "
Not exactly a lie, no? But vague enough for Siegfried to make his own inferences as he deemed fit. And he did.
He'd altogether paused, appearing slightly surprised. His gaze pried but I was embarrassed and averted my gaze, not knowing where to look. And then, rather unexpectedly, he'd laughed quietly, nodding once.
"I see." And that was all he said, turning as someone called him over for a picture.