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I lean in towards his screen. I know I shouldn’t but I open my mouth anyway. I just can’t resist.

“What the problem anyway? I think she looks really great.”

I get the death glare again. He’s really good at that.

“You know Evans, a good friend of mine was at the Emmys and he didn’t like the way you were looking at Brooke.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“He said you looked like you wanted her,” he states, an ugly edge to his voice.

I don’t like any of this. I can’t let him intimidate me. “Really, like I want her? All that in a look that he observed a big packed event?”

“I just want you to know that I’m watching you. Every move you make. I know you’ve been Brooke’s cute little project, and she loves your computer help, and how you bring her coffee every afternoon. But bottom line—you’re distracting her. I don’t like it, and if I decide to, I will stop all of it.”

My stomach drops. “Stop it?”

“I don’t want Brooke distracted. I need her focused. So just be aware that you’ve been warned. Time to make other plans for your Starbucks playtime.”

“But…” I start.

“That’s it.” He says abruptly, cutting me off. “Get back to work.”

I rise with hesitancy. I want the last word, but I know I can’t have it. He has control right now over the two greatest passions in my life, Brooke and my work. He can easily crush me. So as I stagger out of his lush office and back down to my crappy cubicle I vow that somehow, someway I will change things so Arnold no longer holds in his grubby hands all that I consider most precious. I have to figure out how to protect the two parts of my life I know without a doubt that I can’t live without.

Thirty minutes later I’m still flip-flopping my cell phone back and forth across my desk as I draw. I still have five drawings to do before I leave and my focus is completely shot. Maybe I need to call Brooke and tell her what Arnold said. Maybe I shouldn’t. I would rather do it in person, but she’s seeing Arnold tonight…there is no time. Maybe, maybe…I agonize until I can’t take another moment, and I pick up the phone and tap on her name.

“Ha, you caught me! I’m watching more animation!” She laughs.

I smile, despite my inner agony. God, I love that girl.

“What are you watching?” I ask.

Despicable Me. Have you seen it? It’s really good.”

“No, but I’ve been meaning to. You’ll have to loan it to me. What’s it about?”

“It’s about a really bad guy, who becomes good and does the right thing.”

I think of Arnold. If only life were more like cartoons: we could drop anvils on people’s heads, wear roller skates with rockets, and really bad guys, like Arnold, could magically become good.

“If only…” I moan.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

My fingers grip around the phone. “Arnold called me into his office.”

“Why? What did he want?”

My mind races…how do I explain how testosterone fires up a Neanderthal when another caveman wants his woman?

I decide to underplay it so she doesn’t worry, but at least knows he talked to me. I don’t want her surprised in case he brings it up at their fucking dinner.

“I think he just wanted to know how things went at the Emmys.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding suspicious.

“I don’t think he cares for me much. He didn’t seem to like my haircut either.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” she scoffs. “He doesn’t tend to like guys that are better looking than him.”

How does she do this to me? I’m unsettled, and she still makes my spirits soar. She thinks I’m better looking than Arnold, who I know is considered very handsome.

She falls quiet again.

“What Brooke?”

“It’s just weird, why didn’t he wait to ask me? We’re having dinner tonight. I’m curious if he’ll mention talking to you.”

“Are you going to tell him about last night?” Please say no, please say no. I know if she does it’s all over.

“Well, we normally tell each other everything…no details, just the general idea. But I need to see what he’s up to first. I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

This time I get quiet.

“Nathan?”

I don’t answer, the fear choking me, taking my breath and words away.

“Nathan,” she says softly. “I know this looks bad to you, but I’m not going to let Arnauld tell me what to do. If he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem.”

“But you warned me. You told me it’s complicated.”

“Yes, I did. But if it were so easy, how worthwhile would that be? I thought about you a lot today. Do you believe in me?”

“So much, Brooke…so much.”

“Good… then I want a Buzz Lightyear drawing on my cup tomorrow. Okay?”

I smile while my heart thunders, and I imagine she can hear that too. “Okay.”

But when we say our goodbyes and I hang up, I curl over my desk as my fear flares, a burning torch on a dark desolate street. Only hours ago I finally held all my dreams in my arms…I just can’t lose her now.

Animate Me / Chapter Sixteen / Santa, the Easter Bunny and Brooke

Aw, the poor puddy tat! He fall down and go… BOOM!” ~Tweety Birdxv

The thing is…she said she would call me tonight. Not tomorrow, not the night after, not sometime…but tonight. So when she doesn’t, I start to freak. I just have a bad feeling because of how my meeting went with Arnold. I knew after the amazing and intimate night Brooke and I had, that she wouldn’t just disregard me like this.

I pace through my house for over two hours, before finally forcing myself into bed at midnight with my phone on my nightstand. The ringer is turned on high so it’ll wake me up if she calls while I’m asleep. But as it turns out, the high volume isn’t necessary; I can’t sleep, and she doesn’t call.

I try to play it cool at work. Too paranoid to call upstairs looking for her, I just force myself to draw until it’s time to defiantly leave for Starbucks. To hell with Arnold, telling me I can’t bring Brooke coffee.

I know Brooke didn’t forget to call me, something happened: like every one of her phones died and she was pulled into an endless all-day meeting as soon as she arrived. I’m so worked up that my Buzz Lightyear sketch on her Starbucks’ cup is half-hearted. She deserves better, and I know it.

As I head up the elevator I wonder what I will say if Arnold sees that I have completely disregarded his “orders” to quit my coffee time with Brooke. But as it turns out, I didn’t need to consider the potential fallout. For when I approach her office my worst fears are confirmed. Her office is dark and Brooke-less. I turn to Morgan and she nods silently. She seems to know something is up in that creepy secretary way.

I hand Morgan the coffee. “Where is she?”

“Arnauld took her on a surprise trip to Bacara, that resort just outside Santa Barbara.”

“On a Tuesday?” I ask, bewildered.

“Monday night actually. Freaky huh? I knew they were having dinner, but I knew nothing about this trip. Alana didn’t either,” she confides.

“So how did you find out?” I ask, gripping the edge of her desk so I don’t fall over.

“I got a weird email from her blackberry at nine p.m. last night. She said he was taking her to celebrate the Emmy win. She then gave me a list of meetings to cancel. They won’t be back in the office until Thursday.”

I look at her stunned.

“The other weird thing is that Arnauld gave Alana instructions to throw a big party this Saturday for the whole company to celebrate the win. You know, our first Emmy in two years.”

“Poor Alana, she’s going nuts…I mean a party for four hundred people by Saturday. I’m trying to help her. I’ve got all of these lists going.” She fans her hands over several printouts that are striped in different colors of highlighter.