Standard Corporate Parties

Imogene opened the doors to the H.B. Laird Room, her tears dry and her expression filled with new resolve.

"Sirs?" she announced. "I'm sorry for the delay. He's ready for you."

The old men rose, slowly, and some with varying levels of assistance. In a chair by the back wall, Moss met Imogene's eyes expectantly, and she motioned for him to come over with her head. She hung behind the horde of businessmen while Moss scurried to her side.

"Did you convince him?" he whispered.

Imogene shook her head, and shut both of them inside the H.B. Laird Room. Moss' jaw dropped and he shook his head back and forth in exasperation.

"What's going to happen to Prophecy?" he hissed.

Imogene turned, and saw a photographer she hadn't noticed previously positioning themself on one side of the conference table. Her father looked deep into a nondescript businessman's eyes, gave him an assured look, and then looked to Imogene.

Letting out another breath, she nodded.

Her father stuck out his hand, and the businessman took it. They shook their grip a few times, firmly, as the room burst into thunderous applause.

"Oh," said Moss. "That's sadder than a chicken on Christmas. You know, they say Connect Inc. is the new Vista, at least when it comes to their operating system. I can see why they're venturing into hardware—"

Imogene held up a hand. "Please, Moss. This was my idea."

"Oh. Well, from a business perspective, it's ruddy garbage, but I can assume the full story is a cinematic tale of love and loss that I would love to hear—"

"Champagne?" asked a waiter, holding out a tray.

"...as soon as we get blasted?" Imogene finished.

"Preferably before," Moss said with narrow eyes. "I'd like for you to be comprehensible in your recounting."

Still, they each took a glass. From across the room, Imogene's dad gave her a thumbs up. She blushed and shook a flat hand near her neck, but then he pointed to his champagne glass. Oh, so that's what he meant.

"I guess my dad is pro-drinking now," she laughed sadly. "Cheers."

She toasted Moss, and took a sip. He didn't.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?" he asked.

She frowned, and cocked her head to the side. She found herself close to tears again, and twisted her mouth into pursed lips as she looked down at the floor. Moss tapped her shoulder gently with one hand.

"You know," she said. "I've been thinking a lot about what I want out of my life, and who I want to be and what I want to do, and I think I've finally realized that it's not this."

Moss bit his lip and swayed a little bit. "I mean, it's not that you weren't pretty before, but I rather like the new getup."

"What? No. No, that's not what I mean." She laughed a little. "That's sweet of you—" She blushed. "But no, what I mean is that I don't want to be CEO of Prophecy, and I don't want to be my dad."

"I mean, he is an old man."

"Well, yeah, but I wouldn't just be an old man, I'd be..." She laughed again. "I'd be Douglas. I'd be a product of nepotism. Yeah, I worked for it, but it could never be something that I made for myself."

She looked down at the ground. "Which, I feel like it's funny that I came all the way here just to stop this stupid merger, because I feel like there are a lot of things that I've done for myself lately that I haven't really thought about in that way."

"Like getting a makeover?" Moss suggested.

"Yeah, that, but also, like...writing?" she smiled. "And watching movies. And playing MarioKart. And reading comic books. And eating snickerdoodles. And drinking and...other stuff."

"Those are all excellent pastimes," Moss said with a smile.

"I know," she said. "And to be honest, I'm on my own for the first time maybe...ever? And this whole time I've felt like I've been building something. Building a job, and a home, and a good group of friends. I finally feel like a real adult. Like a real adult I can be proud of."

Someone shot off one of those tubes they crack open on New Year's Eve, and Imogene jumped with a laugh. One of the businessmen's assistants started throwing confetti.

"It feels like Christmas," Moss giggled.

Imogene plucked a piece of confetti out of his wine. "Sorry, I know that's awkward. I just can't have you drinking confetti."

"Thank you."

She looked into his brown eyes, and smiled. Maybe the champagne was already hitting her. Maybe she was that much of a lightweight. She put a hand on his suit and swept some confetti off of his shoulder. He reached up and plucked a piece out of her hair. No, it was because she felt lightweight with him, regardless.

"I'm sorry I was so mad the morning after we..." She gesticulated. "You know. I want you to know that I really appreciated your apology at the airport, and I accept it, in case that wasn't clear." She hesitated. "If I could do it again, I think I should have taken it slow, and not had sex with you when we were drunk, because we were both a little too out of it to make an informed decision on whether or not to go all the way. And I promise that in the future I'll do better to manage my behavior when I'm not sober. I just wish it had all never happened, because it made things between us so awkward, and I really would have liked to...I mean, I really like the way we talk, and the way you make me feel...and I feel like it's just not the same as it was now."

"I accept your apology," Moss said quietly. "And I like all of those things, too."

They stared at each other for a second longer. He reached up and picked another piece of confetti out of her hair, holding it on the tip of his finger.

"Is that like an eyelash, where I can make a wish?" she asked him.

He held out his finger. "Go ahead."

She closed her eyes and let out a gust of air. The piece of confetti blew onto the floor.

"I'm about ready to move on now," he said.

She nodded, and smiled. Her hand was still on his suit. Someone started playing "Auld Lang Syne." It wasn't Christmas. It felt like Christmas. As though it were a movie, she found her left arm navigating to Moss' shoulder, and her right hand clasping itself in his warm one, and Moss slid his left arm around her back. He was so close. He smelled like the seam of a comic book, and coffee, but mostly like a brand-new corduroy suit. He was perfect. So perfect she barely noticed that they were dancing a little, and when she did, it was still perfect.

"I really do like you, Moss," she said finally. "I know I said that already, but I wanted to tell you when I was...sober. Or at least, more sober than last time."

She waited for him to say something. But Moss was frozen solid. Literally, he was suddenly immobile, staring at her with huge eyes. Imogene raised her eyebrows.

"Moss?" she asked. "Moss!"

He didn't blink. "Yep, I heard you, I just...did I pass out just now? Am I dreaming?"

"No, because I'd be dreaming too." She put a hand to his cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. Unless this is what a heart attack feels like, in which case..." He inhaled. "I kind of think I'm going to die."

She smiled. "So...what does that mean for us?"

"It means that in a few minutes, I'll be dead."

"No, I mean..." She giggled. "Do you feel the same about me?"

Moss stared at her, for a long time. Too long. "No."

Imogene blinked, and pulled away. "No?"

"Well, not precisely no," Moss elaborated. "It's just that there's quite a bit of detail missing for me to be able to comfortably and accurately say I feel exactly the same. For example, you didn't mention that you think about me literally all the time, or that my presence is like sunshine, or that you really want to bake me snickerdoodles just the way I like them, or that I'm absolutely incredible in the sack, so no, I guess we don't feel exactly the—"

She was sure she spilled some champagne on his suit, but it was worth it. It was a very cinematic kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as she could. His hands moved to her sides, and she pulled away, a little dizzy—and not from the champagne.

"Moss, I think about you literally all the time, your presence is like sunshine, and when I bake you snickerdoodles, I will make sure they're the crunchiest, cinnamon-iest snickerdoodles you've ever eaten." She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "And you're incredible in the sack."

"Great," said Moss. "Wow. Glad we're on the same page. So anyway, for the names of our future children, I'm thinking—"

"Whoa, slow down there, buddy. My dad's at the other end of the room."

Imogene's heart quicked in her chest as she looked back towards her father. She still couldn't get over the idea that he might be watching, judging. But Weston was looking out one of the big glass windows in the office, a glass of champagne in one hand. His shoulders were more relaxed than usual, almost completely slack. Imogene allowed her body to relax, and it was a fantastic feeling. She had all the freedom in the world.

Imogene looked back to Moss and kissed the tip of his nose. "I think I know somewhere we can have a little more fun."

Moss' expression grew serious. Maybe a little seductive. "Do tell."

Imogene bit her lip and gave an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes. "Take me to the arcade and see if you can beat me at Dig Dug."

Moss' eyes widened. "That is the sexiest thing you could have possibly said."