.
.
Type A Personalities
.
.
Peering through the window of her favorite café, Sarah spied that man, Gerard Scott, sitting bold as you please in her seat...
again! Two mornings in a row and her place of comfort—hijacked by that... that conceited, Jareth-wannabe! She paced at the front door. She couldn't very well go inside now, face him after yesterday, absolutely not! Damn him! Anxiety built up inside her chest. Her heart raced as her adrenaline surged. She'd successfully controlled her panic attacks for years by managing her environment, keeping a strict routine, but this...oh boy...major loop-age to her peace of mind.
A cold sweat broke out over her skin; she heard herself panting. Time to go, every second she lingered she risked being found by him. What if he chased her again? Oh, no...No, no, can't allow that. Chasing equals bad. His voice from yesterday echoed in her ears—'miss, miss, wait!'—he sounded so frantic, eager for her to stop. Sarah groaned, frustrated. How she missed his voice; didn't quite realize how much until it caressed her ears again.
'
But it's not his voice,' she reminded herself, '
you don't know this man Gerard.' She forced her hand from the window, embarrassed to catch herself inadvertently pressing it flat against the glass. '
Just step away, he won't notice if you hurry.' Pulling bodily from the entrance, Sarah stomped towards her office without her coffee or her muffin or her relaxing morning routine to sooth her brain.
"Great, another day of misery," she groused, her head hung low as she barreled her way through the early morning crowds. Without her coveted habit her day started off on a misstep and spiraled out of control. She understood how her deeply engrained control-freakiness tended to ruin her life, but as much as she needed to control her surroundings she could never quite control her need to control. Ha! Actually, it was rather ironic and that significance was not lost on her. At least she wasn't self-delusional.
"This totally sucks." She kicked an innocent, empty soda can lying on the sidewalk. The wind-chiming, tinkle was music to her tone-deaf ears. The misplaced violence barely appeased her when she'd rather be tossing her computer bag back onto Gerard's amply gifted lap displayed to effect yesterday by his tailored pants. Grrr...Don't think about his amply gifted anything! He deserves to suffer, alone.
"Serve him right for deliberately taking my spot," she announced, intentionally redirecting her thoughts.
Sarah meandered to her office, picking up a random coffee en route—which didn't satisfy her like her usual coffee from her usual cafe—before arriving at her employer, a moderately large, successful local magazine, approximately forty-five minutes earlier than normal. Two days in a row of early arrivals caused the receptionist's chin to drop, her current phone conversation skipping like a scratched LP. Once she noticed Sarah's glower, she didn't bother to greet her and instead ignored the obviously put-out editor and continued her phone call. Sarah stalked passed the front desk, down the hall, and kicked open her office door so that it slammed against the opposing wall. Knowing she'd hear about the ruckus later from some other employee, she tried to care.
'
Get a hold of yourself,' she mentally chastised her out of control body. This wasn't her, not really. Even during her worst panic attacks temper tantrums weren't scheduled. What was wrong with her? Sitting at her desk, Sarah placed her palms flat to the wood surface, closed her eyes, and took several deep, cleansing breaths. Her meditation lessons from yoga filtering back through her mind.
"Don't allow him to upset you, he's not Jareth, you're in control," she repeatedly chanted aloud to herself. But the glaring truth taunted her. Gerard Scott did upset her. His face haunted her sleep last night, keeping her tossing and turning. His voice, his eyes, his very presence, so like Jareth's, dredged up confounding emotions which her adolescent memories attempted to reconcile with her thirty-year-old body and mind. And the sum being an idea which Sarah felt distinctly uncomfortable admitting existed.
She wanted to run away. She wanted to hide. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to confront him. She wanted him. Oh, shit...
Sarah's eyes snapped open and she swallowed, hard. Well, this complicated matters...badly, because suddenly Gerard's face hovered in her mind's eye making her entire body tingle in ways she'd only read about. Double shit...
What the hell did this say about her? Her repressed teenaged desires for the Goblin King finally located their perfect outlet and whoa-Nelly, hormones full speed ahead? She couldn't, just couldn't face that man again. He made her lose control in the worse possible ways! Triple shit...
"Sarah?" A knock at her open door brought her attention back to the real world, and Sarah focused on Sally, her assistant copywriter, standing a few feet away with a concerned look on her face.
"Sally, hey, yes?"
"Um...morning," Sally cautiously said, apparently having heard the slamming door earlier. "Do you have the drafts for next week's cover articles ready?" her voice gradually lightened and trailed off. Sarah blinked several times, her mind clicking through her mental card file for the requested information.
"Yes,
yes, the drafts are ready," Sarah forced a smile, "let me just boot up my laptop and I'll email them to you, okay?"
"Sure thing, Sarah, no hurry," Sally replied before quickly ducking from Sarah's doorway. Good going, co-workers now scared...brilliant.
'
Get a grip, Sarah, before you implode or explode or some other sort of -ploding,' she told herself. Gerard Scott would not be the reason Sarah Williams lost it, besides she barely met the infuriating man let alone did she actually know him. And she planned on keeping the status quo...no knowing of Mr. Gerard Scott for one Ms. Sarah Williams. She grinned, feeling empowered for the first time since their disastrous first meeting.
.
.
jsjsjsjsjsjsj
.
.
The early morning caffeine rush come and gone minus Sarah Williams. Gerard sighed in aggravated disappointment setting his more luke than warm coffee upon the side table. He purposely rose early and absconded her seat to be sure and meet her again...where the bloody hell was she? How dare she stand him up! The employee most specifically stated that she arrived every weekday to claim this location. What the devil changed it now? Damn and blast and...Gerard gritted his teeth, willing his temper in check as he externally exuded apparent serenity.
'
It's only one morning,' he told himself, '
perhaps an emergency presented itself to her.' He rationalized, immediately swearing to be here—in her seat—every morning until he must fly back to Great Britain, whether two weeks or two years. '
I will meet her again; I will not be defied in this,' Gerard promised himself. He knew he must see Sarah Williams again regardless of any gamble, risk, or chance of her rejection. '
I will see her again, I must!'
He preferred not to dwell upon nor investigate too deeply the fervency of his need. He held no answer to that question. He knew only, in the fleeing moments he beheld her, something about Sarah Williams called to him unlike any women throughout his life, and his very sanity depended upon understanding the why of it, of her.
"I will defeat you, you stubborn girl," he whispered, suspicion coalescing as to her absence this morning, and he smirked. He loved a challenge! Resettling in her chair, he enjoyed his remaining coffee and finished reading the New York Times before departing the café an hour later. He ignored the glares from several tip-deprived employees as he sauntered to the exit.
.
.
jsjsjsjsjsjsj
.
.
And so they continued their dance of non-musical chair for the next several mornings: Gerard arriving quite early to patiently encamp while Sarah fumed outside the entrance. Eventually Sarah's mild insanity exacerbated by the lack of her routine pushed passed her limits of mortification, and her thinly managed veneer of civilized seething snapped. Take over her space would he...well, she'd show him! Sarah stormed her way through the front door; the cheerful warning chimes an ironic counter-point to her angry steps.
As if sensing her approach from several feet away, Gerard casually raised his head from his newspaper, his unearthly, mismatched blue and brown eyes meeting hers. The barest movement of his lips hinted at a smile. Sarah wanted to wipe the enjoyment from his face with the flat of her palm or her lips...maybe...
"Who the hell do you think you are?" She opened strongly, stopping to stand a few feet from him glaring down her perfect, pert nose. Gerard's faint smile became an obvious smirk, and he quickly folded his paper tossing it aside.
"I believe I've already introduced myself," he said politely, raising fluidly to his feet and extended his right hand all in one graceful, efficient motion, "Gerard Scott and you are then?"
'
What the frigging hell?' Sarah's mind momentarily derailed staring at the freakishly gorgeous, well-dressed man standing before her acting all nice and proper after his infuriating behavior this week. Must be a bizarre British diversionary tactic, '
He's trying to drive me insane, that's it.' Not to be out-witted by him, Sarah's brain kicked into gear.
"Not interested, a man who dresses better than most women must be gay," she snapped, ignoring his outstretched hand, and daring him to contradict her with her rigid body stance and intense gaze.
"Be assured, luv, I'm not gay," Gerard drawled in a lower, husky voice without dropping his smirk. Chills chased each other down Sarah's spine and started a party in her pants; Gerard's grin widened as he observed her body's reaction to his flirting and he stepped closer.
"But I'm flattered that you fancy my appearance," he added in the same tone, his eyes blatantly scanning her from head to tippy-toe. "You're quite fetching yourself."
"Well...I...I," Sarah stammered and blushed, completely taken off guard by his overly friendly behavior. Having expected a fight, wanting it, craving it, Sarah's energy fizzled. "I mean...t-thanks...but that's-uh-not the-uh..."
"Your name?" Gerard demanded in such a gentlemanly manner Sarah felt her defenses crumble. Geez, he smelled good.
"Um...Sarah...Sarah Williams," she managed to say without sounding like either a moron or a teenager. Gerard bowed his head minutely and softened his smirk to something more sincere.
"Ms. Sarah Williams, a pleasure to meet you properly. I would very much like you to join me for dinner tonight."
"Dinner?"
"Say...7 o'clock?"
"Umm..." Sarah fidgeted in place looking upwards into Gerard's earnest face. A date? He wanted to go out with her? Triple shit and a half...
"Say yes, Sarah, and forget about the past." Gerard watched multiple emotions crawl through her eyes and across her face; a fascinating woman, such depth and complexity. Her lips twitched several times while he waited patiently for her answer.
His unbelievable arrogance gave her no choice. Her thoughts froze trying to process this new reality, and yet the rest of her body shrieked in giddy happiness. Somehow Gerard read her body's answer. He leaned in close, his lips just a whisper from her ear and before Sarah could flinch away he said:
"I'll meet you here at seven tonight, Sarah Williams," then he breezed past her still motionless-with-shock form where she remained as the door chimes announced his exit. And the worst part—the only thing looping in her mind was how amazing it felt when the faint brush of his lips teased her earlobe leaving a zip of static electricity.
.
.
Moira: Ah, now that would be telling!
