Last night, I was re-reading Chapter 14: Friends…with Benefits and came upon the beginning of one of my favorite storylines in the SLH book series, the interesting relationship that develops between Hannah and her new boss Phillip Ferrari. It made me miss the tension of office romances…and I’ve had a few:) It also put me on a quest this morning to find that scene out of 9 1/2 Weeks, that inspired me to write this scene:
“Why aren’t we getting married?” Jack drags himself over to where I’m sitting and slumps over my lap.
I haven’t seen Jack drunk in a really long time, “because we have a PACT; because I haven’t lost all hope; because I don’t feel like my ovaries are shriveling up yet; because I really do love Christian.”
Jack starts rubbing my calf, “we would be good together. I would make a good husband.”
I rub his head a little, “you will make a good husband one day.”
Joan, a woman that looks more like a man, walks in, clears her throat and hands me and Jack two freshly made drinks, Jack grabs it, and takes a swig. He then tries to stand, and luckily Joan is there to stabilize him. “So, girl-that’s-marrying-someone-other-than-me, do you want to see the viewing room?” He holds out his hand to me and tells Joan she’s done for the day.
I take Jack’s hand, “I’m not going to walk in on anything bizarre am I?”
We start walking out of the library, “says the girl who banged her fiancée in a peep show booth,” Jack gives me a smack on the ass.
From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 18: KNIGHT IN DARK ARMOR)
I’m leaning over the bar, finishing up a cigarette and flirting with the bartender who has been pouring me generous drinks all evening.
“You look fucking fantastic,” I hear from behind me.
I turn around. It’s Phillip Ferrari, looking pretty fucking fantastic himself. He’s wearing dark jeans and a t-shirt, probably handmade by some up-and-coming designer out of SoHo, and a driving jacket. He looks casual yet sharp, as always. He takes the half-smoked cigarette from between my fingers and drops it in an empty glass. “But you’re going to have to quit that.”
Fairly tipsy, I throw caution to the wind and wrap my arms around him. “I started thinking you weren’t going to make it.”
He’s clearly taken aback, but gives me a squeeze. “And miss seeing how the rich kids on the West Coast live? Not a chance.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out a pack of mints, and pops one in my mouth. I suck on it happily.
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