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I hop out of the way, hoping not to be trampled, but to my horror, he veers right and stays in my path. He looks right at me, locks eyes and then charges forward like a raging bull. My heart races. Holy shit, I’m about to be run over! Help!
I stand there frozen, like a deer in the headlights unable to move. But then to my relief, he slows and comes to a full stop right in front of me. This man is a good foot taller than I am, and hesitantly, I look up at him. Again, he makes direct eye contact, and this time I can see those blue eyes are full of hate and anger. I’m dumbfounded. Who is this person? Do I even know him?
But even during this inauspicious moment, my feminine instincts appreciate the sheer male beauty of this man. Sure, he’s angry right now, but it’s the kind of anger that comes from a glowering god. His eyes are the penetrating blue of pure cobalt. He has the sculpted face of an old-time film star, with a firm jaw and high cheekbones. His hair, charcoal black, sparkles with threads of silver. And best of all, beneath that perfectly tailored charcoal suit, I can sense the outlines of hard, thick male muscle. Oh god. What does he want with me? A frisson of sensation runs down my spine, and I feel my lady parts moistening. I’m in danger, and yet also aroused. How can this be happening?
But the man knows. He’s still staring right into me, and steps closer. He smells spicy, like ginger and smoke before letting out a low growl. I’m starting to feel legitimately frightened.
“Are you Casey Henderson?”
Slowly, I nod. There’s no point in lying; my photo is next to my name in the newspaper every week. “Yes, why?”
“I’m Pierce Lane.”
“Okay?”
Who the hell is Pierce Lane? I’ve never heard that name before in my life.
“Perhaps you know me better as ‘P,’ the so-called ‘heartless bastard’ you wrote about in your column last week.”
Despite myself, I gasp. What the? A guy like this reads my column? I know that most readers of Agony Aunt columns are middle-aged women who live in the Midwest, so this is a surprise. How did he find me?
“Hello, Mr. Lane,” I say evenly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He growls some answer, eyeing me up and down. He fixes his gaze on my eyes, vibrant blue irises alight with fury.
An exhilarating surge of fear lights up my body. My heart is slamming in my chest as I stare right back into his gaze. But then I force myself to speak.
“It’s not libel if it doesn’t say your name or any identifying details,” comes my brave protest. “I clearly had no idea who you were, so why would the readers? I stand by what I wrote to the LW.”
Whew. I’ve got this and just need to keep my cool for a few more minutes. Pierce seems to relax for a moment.
“Did you get any feedback?” he asks, almost casual now.
I can feel my hands shaking. Damn it. I shove them into the pockets of my skirt where they tremble against my hips.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did, Mr. Lane,” I say smoothly. “Plenty of women felt the same way I did. And guess what? They were moved enough by the story that they wrote me very heartfelt replies. More replies than I’ve ever received to a single letter, in fact.”
He sneers. “Oh, I’m sure.”
This man drips with arrogance while looking at me patronizingly. I shake my head and glance over my shoulder towards the subway, towards home. I don’t know. Away from this mess.
“Are we finished?” I manage in an even tone.
He doesn’t answer. Slowly, I turn on my heel towards the subway. Good, I survived. I’ll walk another day.
But then come the sound of footsteps. I walk faster, beginning to panic, but it’s too late.
“So what did the letters say?” he asks almost conversationally while catching up to me. I’m no match for those long strides.
I whirl back around, my patience rubbing off. I’ve been ready to end this conversation and never think about this jerk ever again from the moment it began.
Glaring at him, I speak in clipped, terse tones.
“The replies said plenty of things, all condemning your actions. Agreeing with me, saying even worse things about you. You can read some of them, if you want.”
The truth is that some of the response letters were a bit more lighthearted than that. One woman wrote, “Hey, if she doesn’t want the bracelet, send it my way!” (I did have a giggle at that one.)
Still, for the most part, people showed enormous empathy for the letter writer. And I can’t believe Pierce Lane wants to read these replies. He looks much too important, like someone who commands millions if not billions at his fingertips. Besides, from today’s interaction, he seems a bit sensitive for that. I guess powerful alpha males do get hurt sometimes.
