Haley Thistle
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Rafael the Centaur: Part One (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2022-02-16 21:00:04 +0000 UTCRecent bad press had led me to make a series of decisions I never thought I would make. But that’s been life until this point, a bunch of unexpected things I could never plan for. I should know by now not to count on being comfortable or settling, because so far that’s only caused me anxiety.
I never expected my small baking channel to garner any sort of popularity online. I never expected to be offered a chance to do a television show. I always hoped, but never dreamed, I would have my own series of cookbooks. But there I was, in the thick of it.
“Ms. O'Mooney? He’s coming down from his meeting, you can wait for him in his office now.” The voice of the young secretary pulled me from my anxiety riddled thoughts and back into reality. I stood, picking up my bag which now held all my hopes and dreams. What had once been a beautiful crock-pot of simmering expectations was now a free tote from the local bookstore.
“Thank you!” I said quietly to the smiling secretary before stepping in through the doors. I had been warned this agent was a real tough sell, so my usual anxiety would have been a dream vacation compared to now.
I was surprised by the large office, it could have held several cubicles from the looks of it. My footsteps echoed as I walked through the cavernous office, setting my things upon a large chair. There wasn’t a desk, but something more like a counter at a bar. The shining glass top reflected the bright light coming in through the windows.
I stepped towards the window to take in the scenery, watching in awe as tall buildings rose before me and blocked the horizon. I stepped back, nearly walking into one of the many great collections of plants and greenery that covered the office like a jungle. I grabbed the plant, keeping it upright as the ceramic pot wobbled.
The door opened just then as it looked like I was strangeling the poor plant. “I’ll make note of that, Will, for now I’m going to-” The scary publisher saw me man-handling his plant and he shut the door behind him.
“What on earth are you doing?”
I let go and held my hands up as if he was holding me at gunpoint. “Accident-” My voice cracked unceremoniously.
He sighed, shaking his head and removing his glasses. Tons of them lived in the country area where I grew up, but I had never seen a centaur in the city before. His long dark hair was braided and hung over his shoulder, which he tossed back as he walked in.
“Mr. Graves, right?” My pits were creating soggy embarrassments under my arms. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He walked behind the high countertop, setting down a tablet and coffee cup. “Lilian O’Mooney, I’ve seen a lot of you.”
My whole mouth and throat went dry. “Okay.”
His dark brown eyes flicked over to me, and I have never been so intimidated in my life. I have had countless meetings like this, the only difference was that I was the wanted party, now I was on the other side, having to beg for the representation of this intimidating centaur with the incredibly thick legs.
“Such a shame what happened.” His eyes slowly fell back upon the countertop. He had my cookbooks stacked upon his desk and he placed his hand over them. “It surprised me when I saw you contact me in the beginning.”
“I know I’m not the household name I once was, Mr. Graves-” If my voice could stop cracking and my tongue stop sticking to the roof of my mouth, that would have been nice.
He looked back at me. “What makes you say that?”
Mr. Graves was a big, intimidating man, but it was the gaze of his eyes that sent shivers through me. “The scandal. Surely you know.”
“But the scandal wasn’t caused by you. You left when the news broke about the lawsuit.”
I nodded and ducked my head. “I could have paid better attention.”
Mr. Graves sighed heavily. “Why did you reach out to me then?”
“I don’t care about television or anything like that anymore. I can always go back to my channel and do something. I just want to continue publishing.”
He patted the stack of books on the counter. “You already have three cookbooks out, Ms. O’Mooney.”
“That’s barely half of what I have planned.” I reached into my tote and brought out the first binder. “I have so many more ideas! And I’ve only been adding on.”
Mr. Graves took the binder, opening it to find my handwritten notes as well as typed out recipes. “Why not a blog?”
“My old one was run by my previous agency, so I took it down and I am working on reformatting and uploading a new one. If that’s what I have to do, I’ll do it.”
Mr. Graves nodded as he flipped through the binder, eventually closing it and pushing it forward. “Did you really want to walk away from all of it? Or did you cave to the mounting pressure of what people were saying?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t want to work for abusers. I didn’t care what I lost. I never cared about fame. I just like to bake.”
Mr. Graves smirked and he chuckled. It sounded so insulting. “And that’s all you want to do?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I mean-”
“Mighty brave.” He laid his huge hand over my binder, nearly covering it. “I don’t see why we couldn’t take you into our agency.”
My heart leapt up in my chest where it thrummed until it almost stopped. “Really?” I looked up at him, seeing a handsome man rather than an intimidating stallion. “I thought for sure by your line of questioning, you were trying to scare me!”
Mr. Graves chuckled. “I kind of was, Ms. O’Mooney. It’s my way of vetting prospective clients.” His smile remained, appearing much gentler than before. “I like brave people, and what you did showed you’re not afraid to stand up for yourself and others. You know what you believe in, and you know what matters. I’ll help you continue to bake, Ms. O’Mooney.” Mr. Graves’ words almost had me in tears, but he saw me strangle a plant, I didn’t want him to see me cry either.
“Thank you,” my voice warbled. “This means so much to me, you have no idea! Thank you!”
Mr. Graves slipped back on his glasses. “We’ll get you set back up with proper management and someone to run your webpage. If you decide to restart your online channel we’ll begin working on the production of that as well.” He then lifted up the binder. “But for now, I suggest you hone this new cookbook of yours into something special. If you want to keep publishing, you’re going to have to make something that will outsell your previous ones.”
“You think that’s possible?” I murmured as I took the binder back from him. I held it tight in my arms, hugging what was left of my dreams as I felt them pulse back to life.
Those dark eyes focused upon me and I shivered all over again. “I’ll make it possible, Ms. O’Mooney. I can promise you that. As long as we work together, I’m sure we can find a way to do what's best and do it in a way people will trust again.”
I nodded, uncertain but brimming with hope again. “I have one request...suggestion,” I cleared my throat. “I would like some of the proceeds to go towards victims of sexual assault.”
“Smart idea,” he replied. “It’ll help sales and get people talking. Once this stone gets rolling, we’ll see what we can do.”
“Good, I’m glad.” It was a relief to walk out of there with a small victory in my grasp, but it was going to be hard work from there on out.
I was used to grinding and burning the candle at both ends. This wasn’t new to me, getting the ball rolling on all these new deals and projects felt much easier now. It was strange, I thought switching to a new agency would bring about new rules and drama before I got established again, but Mr. Graves had made the transition very smooth.
Mr Graves was intimidating, but only because he knew what he had to do and how he wanted things. I enjoyed working with him much more than my old agency, even when things were good there, by a longshot.
“We can get you a set made up in town,” he grumbled as we were doing a test run on my channel reboot.
“But I like my kitchen, and I had it set up for this sort of thing anyways.” I was setting aside the ingredients I would need while he held this look of disdain on his face.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
He huffed and his tail swished. “Don’t you get bored out here with nothing to do?”
“I usually just bake,” I said.
Mr. Graves scoffed and shook his head. “The nearest place to get food is twenty minutes away.”
I still wasn’t catching his drift. “My kitchen?”
Mr. Graves’ tail swished harder and he stomped one of his huge hooves. “No, I mean, to go out! Away from home. You don’t even have a bar around here.”
“It’s a dry county,” I was finally starting to catch his meaning. “I’m a country girl, Mr. Graves. I like it out here, the city freaks me out. That’s why I moved back home as soon as I left the show. I hated it there.”
“Well, I’m a city boy. And coming down here to film is like nails on a chalkboard to me.” he crossed his arms tight against his barrel chest. “But your show is important.”
“I still can’t help but feel like that’s an insult, Mr. Graves.” I checked my ingredients again. “I guess you won’t be wanting any of the apple pie I’ll be making today.”
His ears flicked and his body jerked. “How did you get that out of what I said?”
“You don’t like the country, so you must not like country apples,” I smiled teasingly at him. “Right?”
Mr. Graves’ frowned at me. “Do I look like I’d turn down any sort of pie, Ms. O’Mooney?”
I smirked as he went back to check the cameras and the lighting. I was starting to feel friendly with Mr. Graves.
I loved my channel more than I ever did the cooking show. Mr. Graves’ suggestions of it really helped me plan and get excited every time we filmed. In a year's time, I was doing what I loved again and enjoying it more than I ever had.
“Are you sure there’s not more you want to be doing?” Mr. Graves asked me one day.
I was washing dishes at the sink, which could have been done by any of the assistants, but I enjoyed the moment of calm it gave me. “I’m happy right now, what more could I ask for?”
He sighed and stepped in closer to the sink. He took one of the dishes, and began drying it for me. His presence was warm, not the intimidating shadow I had first gotten to know. I thought of him more as a guardian these days, and I appreciated all his efforts. I owed him so much, but I wasn’t sure how to breach the topic.
As I handed him another dish to wash, his large fingers brushed against mine and my smile became awkward and unsure. “You really don’t have to help with this, Mr. Graves. I’ve got it.”
“It’s fine,” he muttered. He dried the pan and set it aside. “You don’t have to keep calling me that. We’ve known each other long enough, you can call me Rafael.”
I bit my bottom lip at the surprise. “I thought you said-”
“I know I said to keep it professional, but I’d like to hear you call me by my name.” His hand stalled as he took the next pan. “If that’s alright. Lilian.”
Rafael’s eyes were more warm than dark, like fresh baked brownies from the oven. I smiled at him, reassuring him since he looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Sure, Rafael. I don’t mind.”
“Good,” he sounded breathless, “good.” he continued drying.
It was silent for a long spell after that, and the two of us continued washing dishes together.
“I may have to take a break,” he murmured.
“Are your hands getting pruney?” I asked.
Rafael swallowed. “No. I mean from the agency.”
I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him. “Okay-” I dragged out the word in my uncertainty. “Is everything alright?”
His expression was blank, but there was something in those brown eyes. “I had a doctor’s appointment the other day-”
My gut dropped. In that brief moment, my eyes began to well up with tears and I imagined what he could possibly say to me. I reached out for him, trying to take his hand but he stepped back from me.
“Is it...is it bad?” My voice choked up.
“I suppose,” he grumbled. “My doctor said I would possibly need knee surgery.” He motioned down to his front legs, patting closer to the right. “I have to get some other tests done and see a specialist who is in a whole other state to be sure. But she told me it was a pretty definite thing.”
That huge weight lifted off me and I swatted his arm for scaring me so badly. “You lead with that! I was so scared! I had every sort of worst case scenario running through my head in that split second.” I swatted him again and this time he caught my hand. I yanked it back and rubbed at my eyes which had welled up.
Rafael turned away. “Sorry to make it sound so grim, I just can’t stand the thought of it.” he tossed his head and huffed. “I’ve never been a fan of doctors, but the idea of having to get surgery is really bothersome.”
“The idea you’re sick and dying was really bothersome!” I snapped at him. “Knee surgery happens every dang day! If you need it, it's going to help you. Not nearly giving your friend a panic attack!” I sniffled and looked back up at him. “What else did your doctor say to you?”
The way the speckled brown of his face went from pale to nearly red was like watching a sunrise. Rafael grumbled under his breath, patting his side and squeezing. “She said I should start losing a few pounds. But that’s her advice for everything.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” I murmured. “Maybe I could try and make a few recipes for that,” I started thinking to myself, then Rafael snapped his fingers to bring me back.
Rafael instantly shook his head in disapproval. “You’re not a healthy eating expert, you're a comfort expert, stick to your wheelhouse,” Rafael crossed his arms again and his tail shook. “Doing your gluten free and vegan versions is healthy enough.”
“Well, maybe you and I can start walking between filming?” I suggested. “Oh no, it’s your knee, that might not be good.”
Rafael rolled his eyes. “My doctor told me if I do have to have surgery, I’ll be laid up for weeks maybe.” he shivered from his ears down to his tail. “It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. I figured I could work from home, but that apartment is barely liveable as is.”
I thought for a moment then gasped as the idea dawned on me. “Why not come stay with me?”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
I broke into a huge smile. “This house here. I have the room and space for it! It’d be a lot better to heal here than in your cramped apartment.”
A blush began to grow over his brown, speckled face. “I know your house, Lilian. I’m standing in it. Why offer that?”
I approached him with a smile. “I know you’re not a fan of the countryside, but if you stay with me, I’ll be around to help take care of you, and we can work on the next cookbook together if you get bored. I know how you hate not working.”
He grimaced as he thought. “It would be easier to move around your place than my apartment. But it’s still in the country.”
“I know, I know,” I huffed. “Think about it. Once you know what’s going to happen, just consider it.”
“Fine,” Rafael sighed. “I’ll consider it.” He turned back to the dishes to start putting them away, but he stalled again. “Actually, do you mind coming with me to my appointment?”
“Really?” I blurted it out then cleared my throat. “You want me to?”
He sighed and kept his eyes down. “It’s on a filming day though. So I don’t expect you to come. I just wanted to ask.”
I closed the gap between us and stood beside him. “I can have Keisha edit together a bloopers video, and I can film the sponsorship spot on my own. If you want me to go with you, I’ll go. I’m surprised you would ask me of all people.”
Rafael looked down upon me with a soft, sweet expression on his face I had never seen before. “It’s rare I make a friend in this business. I mean-” he hesitated. “Or consider someone a friend.”
I broke into a big smile. “I am your friend, I’d be happy to take you to your doctor’s appointment.”
Rafael smiled unsurely. “That means a lot to me, Lilian.”
I returned his smile and my heart pitter pattered away inside my chest. “You sort of saved me, I owe you.”
“No,” Rafael scoffed. “You did all that on your own.”
Comments
Scarlet Afire
I loved this just as much as I suspected
