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Authors: Mary Kay McComas
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“Dammit, Meghan! Call me!”
Michael’s last call came on Sunday afternoon, and Meghan’s heart fluttered with anxiety when he informed her calmly, “I’ll be calling you at the office in the morning, Meghan. If you don’t take my call, I’ll be over in person. If you call in sick tomorrow, I may have to have a talk with my friend Henry and tell him you’re avoiding my calls. … Talk to you soon, darlin’.”
Monday morning she was in the office for Michael’s call.
“Yes, Mr. Ramsey,” she greeted him cheerfully.
Before she could say anything else, he broke in angrily, “Why the hell didn’t you answer my messages?”
“I am sorry, Mr. Ramsey. I did get all of your … kind messages, but the last one led me to believe that rather than return your call last night, you preferred to call me here this morning.” Hesitant, she then added coyly, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Ramsey?”
Silence.
“Mr. Ramsey?”
“Meghan,” he said semisweetly. “I’ve kissed the little freckle you carry low on your left hip … and then some. So don’t you think you ought to call me Michael? Henry does, and I haven’t been nearly as familiar with him.”
“Very well, Michael, if that’s what you want. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” she asked innocently.
She could hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the line, but he didn’t speak.
“Michael? Was that all you wanted?” she repeated.
“No! That’s not all I wanted. I want you to go out to dinner with me,” he said testily.
“What a kind invitation, Michael,” she cooed. “Is this business or pleasure?”
“Would ‘pleasure’ get you there?” he asked cautiously.
“I don’t go out with clients, Michael,” she said purposefully.
“Then it’s business,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Well in that case, I do have a couple of free hours this afternoon if you would like to come in—”
“Meghan,” he interrupted. “I do not want to come into your office. And I think I ought to let you know I’m near the end of my rope.”
She laughed softly and confided, “You know, Michael, I never would have dreamed that someone from Texas could ever run out of rope. However, if tomorrow would be more convenient for—”
“Dammit, Meghan!” he bellowed, and then there was silence on both ends. Finally, as if speaking to the village idiot, he said, “Meghan, darlin’, I’d rather not have to threaten you to get you to have dinner with me, but I promise you, if you don’t come out with me, I’m going to spend the entire night thinking up something really terrible to do to you.”
Meghan sighed loudly, fatigued from the battle of wills. Seeing herself as the loser in this skirmish, she gave one more valiant try.
“Michael,” she said, her voice pleading for mercy. “We’ll be working together fairly often over the next month or so. I promise you’ll have plenty of time to browbeat me. Couldn’t we just leave it at that?”
There was silence for what seemed like an eternity before Michael said slowly, “What if I don’t? What if we call a truce?”
“A truce?” she asked, stunned by his sudden turnaround.
“Yes, counselor. It’s like a contract … a pact. A deal not to fight anymore.”
“A truce,” she clarified.
“Yeah. How about it?”
“I’d like that,” she said, truly grateful.
“Then can we have dinner together tonight?” he asked with assurance.
“Well, I … well … could … could we make it Thursday instead?” she asked, playing for time. The longer she could avoid him, the better. If they could make it Thursday, she’d have only three weeks to go before she left town.
“Thursday?” he exclaimed, his voice rising again.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I … I …”
“Thursday,” he broke in. “Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
“Oh. I could just meet you. You don’t—”
“I’ll pick you up,” he reiterated.
“Fine.”
The week whizzed by. At seven
Michael’s last call came on Sunday afternoon, and Meghan’s heart fluttered with anxiety when he informed her calmly, “I’ll be calling you at the office in the morning, Meghan. If you don’t take my call, I’ll be over in person. If you call in sick tomorrow, I may have to have a talk with my friend Henry and tell him you’re avoiding my calls. … Talk to you soon, darlin’.”
Monday morning she was in the office for Michael’s call.
“Yes, Mr. Ramsey,” she greeted him cheerfully.
Before she could say anything else, he broke in angrily, “Why the hell didn’t you answer my messages?”
“I am sorry, Mr. Ramsey. I did get all of your … kind messages, but the last one led me to believe that rather than return your call last night, you preferred to call me here this morning.” Hesitant, she then added coyly, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Ramsey?”
Silence.
“Mr. Ramsey?”
“Meghan,” he said semisweetly. “I’ve kissed the little freckle you carry low on your left hip … and then some. So don’t you think you ought to call me Michael? Henry does, and I haven’t been nearly as familiar with him.”
“Very well, Michael, if that’s what you want. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” she asked innocently.
She could hear him breathing heavily on the other end of the line, but he didn’t speak.
“Michael? Was that all you wanted?” she repeated.
“No! That’s not all I wanted. I want you to go out to dinner with me,” he said testily.
“What a kind invitation, Michael,” she cooed. “Is this business or pleasure?”
“Would ‘pleasure’ get you there?” he asked cautiously.
“I don’t go out with clients, Michael,” she said purposefully.
“Then it’s business,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh. Well in that case, I do have a couple of free hours this afternoon if you would like to come in—”
“Meghan,” he interrupted. “I do not want to come into your office. And I think I ought to let you know I’m near the end of my rope.”
She laughed softly and confided, “You know, Michael, I never would have dreamed that someone from Texas could ever run out of rope. However, if tomorrow would be more convenient for—”
“Dammit, Meghan!” he bellowed, and then there was silence on both ends. Finally, as if speaking to the village idiot, he said, “Meghan, darlin’, I’d rather not have to threaten you to get you to have dinner with me, but I promise you, if you don’t come out with me, I’m going to spend the entire night thinking up something really terrible to do to you.”
Meghan sighed loudly, fatigued from the battle of wills. Seeing herself as the loser in this skirmish, she gave one more valiant try.
“Michael,” she said, her voice pleading for mercy. “We’ll be working together fairly often over the next month or so. I promise you’ll have plenty of time to browbeat me. Couldn’t we just leave it at that?”
There was silence for what seemed like an eternity before Michael said slowly, “What if I don’t? What if we call a truce?”
“A truce?” she asked, stunned by his sudden turnaround.
“Yes, counselor. It’s like a contract … a pact. A deal not to fight anymore.”
“A truce,” she clarified.
“Yeah. How about it?”
“I’d like that,” she said, truly grateful.
“Then can we have dinner together tonight?” he asked with assurance.
“Well, I … well … could … could we make it Thursday instead?” she asked, playing for time. The longer she could avoid him, the better. If they could make it Thursday, she’d have only three weeks to go before she left town.
“Thursday?” he exclaimed, his voice rising again.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I … I …”
“Thursday,” he broke in. “Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
“Oh. I could just meet you. You don’t—”
“I’ll pick you up,” he reiterated.
“Fine.”
The week whizzed by. At seven
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