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PETE
Mel is on cloud nine. She’s graduated. She’s starting her dream business. She’s beginning work with Andy on Monday. And when she spoke with Bee last night to tell her we were engaged, Bee apparently sounded more like her old self.
All of those are contributing factors to her cloud of happiness, but the main reason is apparent as she walks through my condo, her eyes wide, her mouth open, assessing everything as the movers place the boxes where I point.
Finally, all her boxes are here, the movers tipped and gone, and Mel is still wide-eyed, her face shining with excitement.
“I get to make the whole thing over?”
“Everything. You can even change the light fittings if you want.”
“Oh, those are third on my list, don’t you worry about that.”
I grin at the proprietary way she speaks about my condo. Our condo.
The buzzer goes, and I cross to it, hitting the button to let the delivery driver up. I stopped in at my favorite Thai takeout place last week. They’ve assured me they can do cashew-free meals, uncontaminated, and suggested a new favorite dish for me. I’m going to try it today.
Tipping the driver, I take the containers to the kitchen, starting to dish them out. Mel wanders over, getting two glasses of water and wrinkling her nose at my dinnerware.
“That’s going too.”
I can’t tell if she’s just trying to bait me into telling her there is a price limit, but it’s not going to work. I said a blank checkbook, and I meant it.
“I look forward to seeing what you pick out.”
Laughing, Mel helps me set up the meal at the small table overlooking Elliott Bay.
“I could get used to this view,” she sighs, her eyes lingering on the water.
“You’ll have to. This is your home now.”
“Yeah,” Mel grins widely. “It is.”
We start to eat, and I form my argument in my head. I’ve been trying to work out how to bring up the next phase of my plan. She’s agreed to marry me and live with me forever. Now for her business.
“Have you thought of business names?” I ask, toying with my chopsticks. Mel glances up from her meal, frowning.
“Not yet. I need to have one ready for if Andy is happy with my work, but I haven’t settled on one yet.”
Taking a deep breath, I press ahead with the plan. “I think you should use the Rampwood name for your business.”
Mel’s chopsticks clatter to the table, and she glares fiercely at me. Yeah, this is pretty much how I saw this conversation going. Hence my arguments I have already prepared.
“No. I want to stand on my own two feet!”
“You will. You’ll get clients and keep them because you’re an amazing designer.”
“Then why would I use the Rampwood name?”
“Because it’s going to be your name.”
“It would feel like I was using it to get a leg up.”
“You should absolutely use it to get a leg up. Standing on your own two feet is admirable, Tinker Bell. But turning your nose up at natural advantages like having the Rampwood name to open doors that might otherwise stay resolutely closed to you is stupidity.”
Her mouth falls open. “I can’t believe you just called me stupid.”
Gritting my teeth, I glare across the table at her. “I only called you stupid if you don’t take advantage of the name. It’s there. It’s yours. As I said, it will open doors. Good doors. But they will only stay open as long as you have the talent, which you do. It’s an introduction, not a handout.”
Mel’s lips thin, and she snatches up her chopsticks, mutinously finishing her meal. The air is tense as we clean up. Closing my hand around her wrist, I sit down on one of the couches she wrinkled her nose at – something about the color not matching the natural light – and tug her down.
She lets out an “oomph” as she lands on her stomach across my knees. Mel used to live in jeans, but she’s started wearing skirts as the weather warms up, and right now, I’m loving the advantage they provide.
Flipping up her skirt, I tug her panties down, my hand caressing her shapely ass. Mel’s breath catches, and she freezes under my hand.
“What about a compromise, you don’t have to use Rampwood in the name, but you advertise yourself as a Rampwood prominently?”
Mel presses her lips together, her eyes filled with mischief as she squirms her ass under my hand. I tap it lightly, and she moans.
“I’ll spank you if you agree,” I coax. Mel’s breath catches again.
“I’ll agree if you spank me,” she counters, her breathy voice barely above a whisper. Well. I’m not about to turn down that delicious offer.
“How does ten sound?”
“Really good.”
“All right, Tinker Bell.”
Smirking, I bring my hand down on her left ass cheek, the slapping sound cracking out as she jolts under my hands, gasping and tightening her grip on my knee.
“One.”
