(I didn't know about this until he knocked on the back door and asked if I could spare a work day for him. He waited until I agreed to point out it would be on the East coast.)
He ordered coffee and fried potatoes for me for breakfast this morning, knocking on the door of my room, plate in his hand at six-fifteen. I took the plate, thanked him sleepily and closed the door in his face again. I didn't put the chair under the handle again like I had it over night but I think he got the message, after he failed to understand why I upgraded our room using charm and his credit card to a two-bedroom suite, quickly found out which room had the nice view and threw all my stuff in there and went in and locked the door. I yelled through the door that he could just text me the meeting times and I would show up and he finally yelled back through the door that he had a car arranged and not to be ridiculous.
Oh, okay.
Who's ridiculous? His imaginary emergency meetings all over the world or my twelve-year-old maturity level?
Well, okay, both. But I'm making an effort to be a better Human and he's just wrecking all of the efforts I make.
Not to say I didn't have a wavering at around three this morning when he pressed his head to the door and called for me. I wasn't sleeping. I don't sleep when I'm alone and everyone knows it and so I really wanted nothing more than to tuck myself in his arms and pass right out but that never works and isn't fair to anyone so nope. I can wait and sleep when I get home.
I've had fourteen cups of coffee so far today. I can make it seventeen minutes without having to pee and I've given myself a reverse manicure over the course of the morning, chipping off all of my nail polish, biting my fingers down to blood and then finally resorting to sitting on my hands not to gnaw on glistening white bone.
I keep checking the time and the weather as if we'll have time to try Coney again this evening but I asked my evil magic eight ball and he said that all signs pointed to no. He isn't in the mood for favors at this point as he hasn't gotten any in a while and apparently that is my fault.
Nevermind he could buy whomever or whatever he wants at this point. The only thing he wants isn't for sale, never sleeps and lives on sugar and childhood dreams and has no business zipping around the island of Manhattan in a too-tight (Jesus, nachos and Joseph) too-warm boucle dress and stripper heels because I can't pack worth shit under duress and had no idea what to bring so I defaulted to his executive assistant dress code which was just another bad idea here.
Five more hours. Gotta go. One more dinner meeting.
