Author's Note: Thanks for all the kind comments on the first two chapters. I'm glad you're enjoying "NotH" so far. This is a series; it helps to read the earlier chapters. Every character involved in sex or romance is over 18.
Of course
Alice knew what was going on. Alice was the one who had tried to get him out of the city on the Night of Roy. Alice was the one who had asked him for weeks how he felt. Alice was the one who looked worried whenever he ran into her in the hallways. Alice
knew.
She knew something, anyway.
At least, as Mike discovered that Monday, she knew enough to be out of town. Yeah, that wasn't suspicious at all.
Asking around, Mike found out that she was in New York, attending a conference of ILTA's corporate investors. Legal and Financial had both sent senior people. Ordinarily Mike would have just accepted it -- except for the timing, and the fact that Alice had scheduled some PTO afterward, and that her phone went straight to voicemail.
The week passed as though That Night had never happened. If anything, Mike felt even more middle-aged -- dull, tired, passive -- than he had before he met Zuzu. It was a good state of mind in which to get rid of boring chores he'd allowed to accumulate, like reviewing slush submissions, reorganizing the agency's library of coverage, and documenting the changes for Kheops and for Sirène, his assistant story editor.
By the weekend, the blahs had worn off, and by Monday, Mike was beginning to feel the energy he'd first felt after his night with Zuzu. By the Monday after that, he'd gotten a clean STD panel from his doctor and everything seemed so okay that he had almost written off the previous week as a weird dream - until he ran into Maya Rankin in the basement parking area.
"Hold the elevator!"
He hit the Open button by reflex -- Rankin's voice had that much casual command in it -- and she entered.
She was in a designer power suit, crimson slashed with white, complementing her porcelain skin and blood-red lipstick. "Eight, please," she said, without looking up from her phone.
It was just the two of them. "Sure," he said. He took a deep breath to control the sudden wash of emotion -- fear, memory, desire -- and pressed the button.
He tried not to stare, but he couldn't help it. Rankin had always been attractive to him - tailored, elegant, confident - but no more than that. That wasn't true anymore. Maybe it was the memories he still couldn't believe, maybe it was this new energy, but now she was downright alluring. He couldn't help but imagine every curve under her suit. He felt like if she even said his name, he would get on his knees and lick her-
Rankin glanced up. "Mike Deschelles."
"Maya. Uh, how are you?"
"Fine." She stared at him for a moment. "Do you have any family out here?"
"In Southern California?" His mind raced. "I might."
"You
might?
"
"Granddad was a traveling salesman and by all accounts he, uh, got around. At least that's the story in my branch of the family." Gathering his courage, he said "Why do you ask?"
"Someone I met. You remind me of him a little."
So it
was
real. If he had doubted it, here was the proof. Mike fought to control himself. "Maybe I know him. What's his name?"
And for the first time since he'd known her, Maya Rankin blushed. The elevator door opened. "Is this your floor?" she said.
"Uh, right. Have a good day."
She nodded and went back to her phone as the doors closed on her.
Whew.
When Mike got to his office, he told Kheops to hold his calls and order in breakfast. Then he closed his door and got to work. By lunchtime, he'd decided he had to make use of his newfound energy. He drove up to West Hollywood and hit the ellipticals at the gym he almost never used. He transitioned easily from the cardio machines to the weights, and from there to the showers, without any of his usual locker-room hesitation or post-session soreness.
He walked back through ILTA's lobby thinking that his blazer was fitting better than it had in months -- his beer belly finally shrinking, maybe -- but that he might need to have his pants let out a little in the crotch. He waved to Traci at the front desk, she smiled at him -- a rare honor, Traci's smiles were generally reserved for senior partners and A-list celebs -- and he went back to his office.
He was making his way through the fourth coverage of the afternoon when he suddenly thought:
Why wait?
There was no telling when Alice was coming back, but maybe, just maybe, she had left something behind that could shed some light on this.
He hesitated. Searching Alice's office was definitely crossing the line. If he was caught, that was it. Not only would it violate her trust and destroy their friendship, it might mean the end of his job, with its compensation package and health insurance -- and it wasn't like "story analyst" was a job you could find just anywhere.
But...what if the Night of Roy happened again? What if there were more consequences this time? What if he had been lucky, and next time he turned into Quasimodo, or a werewolf, or Larry David? What if he turned into something and didn't turn back? What if it happened in the middle of a staff meeting, or while he was doing 65 mph in the Sepulveda Pass? He had to know everything he could. His life depended on it.
