Read His Inspiration for Free Online Page B

"I'll go see if I can wake him up."
    "Thank you," Don said. I hit the hold button and
tottered back to the bedroom. That wine was really hitting me hard.
    Malcolm lay on the bed in the same position I'd left him in. I
hated to wake him up. But this was probably really important. I hoped he hadn't
skipped out on some kind of life or death deal to bone me in Croatia. I mean,
that's flattering and all, but I understand priorities, too. Reaching out, I
put my hand on Malcolm's shoulder.
    "Malcolm?" I whispered.
    He slept on.
    I gave him a little shake.
    He continued to sleep. He was out.
    "Malcolm," I said a little louder, but he might as
well have been a lump of clay for all the response I got from him. I shook him
harder, then moved over to my side of the bed and began to jump up and down on
it. "Wake up!" I commanded him.
    He snorted, stirred, then turned over and slipped back down into
dreamland.
    Jesus. He was completely exhausted. I turned the phone back on.
    "I'm sorry," I said. "He is completely passed
out."
    "Shake him!"
    "I did. I even jumped on the bed and kind of yelled at him.
He won't wake up."
    In New York, I could hear Don pondering this as he felt the icy
hand of termination creeping up on him. "Did you check to see if he's
breathing?"
    All right, forget the rudeness. No one treats me like an idiot.
"Oh gosh, no," I said, "I'm just a dumb girl and I can't tell
the difference between a living body and corpse. Asshole."
    "Fine," he snapped. "You tell him I called the
second he wakes up. This is an emergency, and he needs to be in New York as
soon as possible. Wait, where is he, anyway?"
    "You're his secretary," I said. "Didn't he tell
you?"
    I knew that would rankle him. "Tell me where he is!"
    "Sheepfuckistan," I said, and hung up.
    It was the wine. I swear.
    Not knowing what else to do, I walked out of the bedroom and
back to the living room, putting Malcolm's phone on top of his coat before
pouring myself another glass of wine and glancing around. A TV sat against the
wall. Bingo , I thought. I located the remote and settled down with my
bottle of wine.
     
    *
     
    I was good and drunk by the time Malcolm stumbled out into the
living room, wearing only a pair of silk pajama bottoms. His sex-messed hair
and evening wood had me thinking dirty, drunken thoughts, and when he kissed me
good evening I leaned into his lips and it felt like falling.
    “I see you've located the wine,” he said. He took the bottle
from my hand—now only a third full—and wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a
glass for himself. “I thought we'd go out to dinner. Do you like seafood?”
    “I love seafood,” I said. “ Ljubav. Love. Love, love,
love.”
    He took a sip of wine and raised his eyebrows at me. “You speak
Croatian?” he asked.
    “Hell no,” I said, “I've just been watching Croatian music
videos. You can figure out some words from pop songs, because pop songs are the
same in every language. All about love and crying and hearts and stuff.” I
gestured drunkenly at the television as it flashed a gorgeous, fresh-faced
Slavic girl at me, her perfect voice caressing the words as they flowed out of
her mouth. I loved it. I love everything when I drink wine. I even loved
Malcolm Ward, although I wasn't in love with him. I loved him deeply,
though, because he was a fellow traveler on this road of life and all that
shit. I'm a soppy drunk.
    “You're drunk,” Malcolm said.
    “Yup,” I replied. “There wasn't any food in the apartment.”
    “True.” He seemed amused. “I'm going to make a few calls and see
who wants to give us a private dinner.”
    Calls, I thought. There was something about calls that I
was supposed to remember, wasn't there? Calls, calls, calls...
    Oh, shit, I realized. Malcolm's horrible asshole
secretary! He needed to call him back. And I'd answered the phone...
    Oh dear. I shouldn't have done that, should I? Well, I was about
to be found out, because he was going to turn on his phone and then he'd