“I’ll ask him,” Katie hugged her friend back, just as she heard a deep voice behind her.
“Well. Miss Williams. It’s no wonder you couldn’t make our lunch meeting. Too busy with your afternoon delight?”
Katie felt her friend freeze in her arms. “Fuck, Katie. I forgot about the meeting.” Melissa whispered nearly indecipherable words into her ear.
Melissa missed a meeting? That was craziness. Katie often forgot meetings -- she couldn’t count the number of times she’d been sitting at her desk, reading Laineygossip or Gofugyourself when Erica had tapped her timidly on the shoulder to remind her that she had been due in the conference room five minutes ago. But Melissa was...she lived for meetings. She played hard, sure, but she worked even harder, and for her to miss a meeting meant things really were spiraling out of control for Katie’s best friend.
“Rebecca! Angus! Good afternoon,” Melissa had detached herself from Katie and was pushing her, none-too-gently, to the side. “Yes, missing the meeting was unfortunate. I must apologize. I was delayed.”
Rebecca, (a mid-forties woman with wide hips, great legs, and a terrifically expensive red suit), glanced over at Angus, (a tall, muscular man with a square jaw and a nose that veered so far to the right Katie could only imagine he’d been in an awful football accident), who smiled knowingly. “Delayed by this pretty young thing, I see.” He spoke smoothly, with a British accent. (So not football. Katie looked thoughtfully at his mangled nose. A soccer accident. No….rugby, perhaps? Or maybe he was smashed in the face with a cricket bat? Or a polo stick? What other generalizations could she make about the British?)
Suddenly his words hit her and Katie snapped back to attention. Oh, dear. These Business People thought Melissa had played hooky on their meeting so she could sneak off with her girlfriend. The thought would have made her giggle but this was serious--this guy might have been smiling cheekily at them but having sex when you were supposed to be at a business meeting wasn’t cool. Katie should know -- she had a whole draft folder of emails she was going to send to Paul and Mike telling them pretty much exactly that as soon as she worked up the courage to send one.
“Oh, we’re not, it’s not--” Melissa, usually so cool and collected, was stammering, and so Katie, usually so stammery herself, came forward, stuck out a hand, and said, “Sorry, Rebecca, Angus, is it? Sorry, this is entirely my fault. I insisted Melissa meet with
“And you are?” Rebecca raised a carefully groomed eyebrow. What a skill! Both plucking so well and raising one eyebrow were abilities Katie had yet to master.
“Violet. Violet Marsh.” Katie had no idea where the name came from. Nor did she know what was happening to her voice. She was sliding into a Southern drawl, not unlike the one Anna Paquin had adopted for her role as Sookie Stackhouse. “I’m an old, old client of Melissa’s and we were having a wee crisis. I implored Melissa to meet with me before your meeting and, well, we just kept talking.” Implored? Wee crisis? Violet Marsh was taking on a pretty solid shape, here. Katie heard her long vowels, her up-tilted sentences. Dammit. She knew what this was – she’d been mainlining True Blood episodes since she’d learned how to download television illegally and this was the result. “I had so many questions, you see, and Melissa is such a dear, dedicated worker. She did tell me about her meeting with you and I’m afraid I just monopolized her.”
"So you're a client as well?" Angus looked appraisingly at Katie, who couldn't believe the luck that she was dressed like an actual business person herself for once.
Front Streetbarefoot was something that Violet Marsh would do.
Her mother! She wants Katie's help cleaning out Anne's room.