Chapter 2 - Getting a Cab

She smiled wickedly, winked lazily, and almost laughed at his frown, even though she couldn't say she blamed him. Tomorrow morning, she would have to reconcile with him, but right now, she just didn't have the energy. When Lars suddenly came to her elbow and asked her to dance, Estela let out a muffled sigh since she knew she wouldn't have time to calm down around him.

Estela, expecting the reprimand she knew was coming, rose up to accept his offer, then felt a little worried at the knowledge that she was on the verge of intoxication. Even though she rarely drank and probably knew her limit, the fact was nonetheless mildly bothersome. She had no idea why she had become so drunk so quickly this evening, but she suspected it had something to do with being bored to tears by the endless praise for Michael.

Estela paid Lars's expected reprimand for her misbehavior scarcely any attention. She felt lightheaded and disoriented, and it was everything she could do to keep up with his simple dancing moves, much less his speech. Lars finally saw her disinterest and scowled at her in a way that would have been terrifying if they weren't good friends.

"What's the matter with you, Estel?" He let forth an irritated snarl. "First, you disrespect our most significant author, and now you aren't listening to a word I say. Do you feel ill?

Estela took Lars's kind words to heart and ran with them. In fact, she thought they were pretty close to the mark just now. She said, "I'm sorry, Lars," and meant it. "I'm not feeling well, as a matter of fact, and I hope you'll forgive me for my inexcusable behavior."

"What's the matter?" Lars's annoyance gradually morphed into rough worry. Do you suspect that you have the flu? It's been making the rounds at work recently.

"Perhaps," Estela said, cringing at the fib but unable or unwilling to reveal the genuine cause of her illness. Lars was already dissatisfied with her, and she didn't want to totally damage his trust in her.

He said hopefully, "Do you want to go home?" "I can slip away long enough to take you if you feel you should be in bed."

Estela bit her lip, knowing that if she accepted his offer, Lars's wife Anne would be furious. Anne was also a friend of Estela's, so jealousy wasn't the issue; instead, Anne tended to grow annoyed if Lars didn't have time with her. Estela thinks Lars spoiled her horribly, but that's between them. Her mood lightened as she realized she could accept Lars's offer and go without being impolite. Take a taxi, she would think.

There was a short debate when Lars objected, but Estela convinced him she didn't need his escort. She reasoned that Lars's apparent concern about leaving Anne in close contact with the rakish Michael made her work easier, given Anne's apparent obsession with the author.

With a grudging, 'All right, Estel,' Lars said as he escorted her back to the table. "Just let me tell the others where we're going, and then I'll take you to the street and have the doorman flag you a cab."

Inwardly, Estela believed the sooner, the better. Her vision was blurry, and her legs were inclined to shake. While Lars explained the situation to the other diners, she had to focus all her effort on getting her evening bag and the light shawl off the back of her chair. She hardly managed to accept their sympathies.

The rich tones of Michael’s wonderfully seductive voice wrapping around her name suddenly caught her attention. She frowned and looked at him in an owlish manner as he stood up from the chair. He said, "I'll take... uh... Estel home, Lars," all smooth talk. "I have to be on set for an interview early in the morning and had planned to leave early anyway to get a good night's sleep." He quickly scanned Henrick's face for confirmation. By asking, "Remember, Henrick?" he prodded his editor.

After giving the impression for a second that he couldn't recall such a thing, Henrick quickly mumbled in response to Michael's flashing glance that he did remember. Estela's fingers were numb, but Michael was courteous enough to walk to her side, grab the shawl from her hands, and lay it over her shoulders as the other diners protested in unison.

She forced herself to stand, frowning vaguely at the idea of sharing a taxi with the man she had been passive-aggressively shaming all night. Still, her hazy mind couldn't find the words to object. It was preoccupied with keeping her upright so she wouldn't embarrass herself by falling flat on her face in front of the room.

She had no idea how Michael had gotten them out of the restaurant and into a taxi. Even if she had said goodnight to everyone, she forgot. Estela had only followed behind Michael's steady form, finding comfort in resting on his supporting arm. Somehow, she found herself in the back of a cab, slumped in a corner, and pulling in great gulps of air from the window Michael had opened.

She managed a breathless "thank you" when she finally found her voice again. "You're very kind."Her eyes were closed, so she didn't see the fairly unpleasant, cynical smirk that met her remarks. But soon after, when Michael responded in a tone that mirrored the grin, she picked up on his attitude.

"I'm always happy to help a drunk lady," he drawled bitterly. "Even an amoral bastard like me picks up a few gentlemanly tendencies along his life journey if only to facilitate the seduction of tender young maidens."

Estela's eyes sprung to life as she slowly turned her head to meet the scornful gaze of the golden eyes. She said, "I don't know what you mean," with forced grace. "I'm ill."

Michael's caustic chuckle was more hurtful because of its subtlety. Oh certainly, I'm sure you are, he replied sarcastically. I'm amazed you made it to the cab after drinking at the rate you did tonight; too much wine can bring on that condition. I'll give it to you, lady: you know how to put it away.

He disregarded Estela's chilly look, and his tone took on a mocking pity. "Oh, but I forgot," he said with a smooth purr. "You have to drown your sorrows, Mrs. Bremmer?"

"I thought you didn't know my name!" Estela's words cut him, and she shook her palm to her brow.

He responded astutely, "Anne is a fountain of information." "She told me all about the tragic young widow of the genius poet." His gaze swept over her as he adjusted his seat to accommodate his exceptionally long legs. "You lost your soul mate, didn't you, poor little Estel?" His grin was grim, and his eyes were gleaming with rage. I'm surprised you haven't turned to alcoholism instead of a convent. That's the conventional way for a lady with your high standards to deal with loss, and it would also serve as a living memory for your late spouse.

Estela flinched at his cutting sarcasm, filled with anger for the sneering, insensitive guy who sat lounging in leisurely ease, eyeing her with all the cynicism she could have expected from a man of his values. She was confident that he did not have a redeeming quality in him, yet he dared to talk ill of Peter, who had been a very gentle, caring man to her.

With conscious effort, she blocked out the jolt of her recollections and resolved not to return Michael's derision. She forced herself to unwind, feeling completely worn out and unconcerned with the thoughts of the man beside her. Even though she understood that he was only getting even with her, she wished she hadn't wasted her time on him in the first place. He wasn't even somewhat worth the trouble.

With her eyes closed once again, Estela turned her back on him and continued to ignore him. Her only concern was trying to stifle the sickness the car's swaying motion caused. It didn't take much effort for her to maintain her air of disinterest. So it surprised her when Michael told the cab driver to make a U-turn two streets away from her home.

"This isn't right," she tried to argue, but Michael disregarded her and yanked her out of the taxi.She remained chilly and unpleasant while he paid the driver, and when Michael turned back to her, her eyes spoke everything about her rage. She said, "Just what do you think you're doing?" with icy control of her wrath. "I am not in the mood for a midnight stroll!"