chick lit · fiction · Humor · The Traveler · Women’s literature · Writing

The Traveler – Prequel III

Amy

“You’re squinting. Shouldn’t you have worn sunglasses on a sunny day like today?” I raised my arm to shield my eyes to view this joker more clearly.

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious. I left them at home, mistakenly believing the sun doesn’t shine here.” He was tall, that much I gathered, though I still couldn’t make out his features, and he was decked out in jeans and a t-shirt with thousands of tiny spots of paint on them. I hoped this meant he was a worker in the museum, not that this shirt was actually his idea of fashion.

“That’s a rather stereotypical belief, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” I shrugged.

“Anyway, it doesn’t much matter unless I can’t purchase any sunglasses here,” I snipped. I took a deep breath and let it out loudly and slowly. It had to be 9:50 already. No time for banter with a doofus.

He moved smoothly down three steps, ending up at ground level and looking me square in my eyes, even though I stood on the first step and was 5’10” with those heels on. Well. Nosy he may be, bordering on rude even, but I almost forgot about all of it when I looked at him.

Mr. Rude Painter Guy was tall, I was right about that. Mid-twenties, I would guess, and he had the uncanny ability to cause the next snide remark I had lined up to halt on my tongue, just by being. His wavy, dark brown hair nearly glowed red in the bright morning sun and his eyes were like rich chocolate with a touch of cayenne. He had a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his straight, olive-colored nose, the sight of which erased the slight frown that had formed on my face. His cheekbones were disgustingly high and angular (yeah, I was jealous) and his lips were wide and voluptuous (again, jealous). I stood there perfectly still, staring blankly at him. My name had eluded me at present.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat and did this thing with his eyes that made my left knee buckle slightly.

“Can I help you?” I asked stiffly, as if I had developed amnesia and had made myself a proprietor of the establishment.

“Pardon me?” He seemed confused and that vaguely bugged me.

“What?” I scrunched my nose at him.

“What?” Now he was confused and sounded so.

“What? What?” I couldn’t help ribbing him solely for amusement.

He was standing close enough that I heard him growl. “You were the one committing trespassing moments ago. My question to you was, ‘May I help you?’ as you proceeded up these steps here.” He pointed down as if I had no clue I was perched on steps.

“So?” I turned to continue up the stairs and shrugged him off. “I’m going up here now. Buh-bye.”

“I can’t allow you to do that.” He grabbed my arm to stop me.

“Excuse me!” I yanked my arm away and glared at him. “And why can’t you allow me to do that?”

“I don’t know who you are, for one, and for another, I doubt the Langdons would have any business with you.”

Mr. Rude Painter Guy has not only a biting tongue, but a superiority complex. Impressive. “I have an appointment that started, like—“ I glanced to my watch. “It started five minutes ago!

I’d love to chat with you, but I have to run.” He grabbed me again before I could out-maneuver him.

“Who are you?” his eyes narrowed at me and became nasty, ugly, most definitely bitter chocolate.

“What’s it to you?”

He growled. I found the sound perversely erotic, and wrinkled my nose at this self-awareness.

“Fine. I see I am not going to make my meeting anytime soon if I don’t tell you. My name is Maisie Reynolds, and if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Mr. Langdon that I am already late for—thanks to you.” I yanked my arm away for the last time and marched up the stairs, relieved to feel the breeze cool me.

“Maisie Reynolds? You’re Maisie Reynolds?”

“Yessss, for thirty years now. And you are…?” I stopped at the door and leaned my head against it for balance when his probable identity first flashed in my mind. I spoke into the door and pleaded with it to hold me up, just as he opened his mouth.

“I’m Nick Langdon, Maisie Reynolds. Now allow me to escort you to your meeting with Mr. Langdon. Oh…that’s right, I will be taking my father’s place this morning, as he had an emergency to attend to. I was venturing out to meet you when I came upon you breaking and entering.” He had the nerve to smirk and cough to cover his laugh.

“Just entering, not breaking. The stupid thing is already broken, Nick Langdon. And I heard you cover your laugh just now, and I know you knew who I was the whole time, so just stuff any further comments up your lovely arse, please.”

He was polite enough to allow me to enter the building first, and in utter silence, save my loudly clicking heels, led me down the hollow hall. I had the strangest sensation he was leering at my butt.

©️2024, itsamyisaid.com, all rights reserved

Read The Traveler – Prequel I here

Read The Traveler – Prequel II here

Read The Traveler – where it all started

image credit: Kevin at thebeginningatlast9.wordpress.com

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Published by Amy

I love words. And animals. Photography and fedoras. Welcome. And stay awhile.

44 thoughts on “The Traveler – Prequel III”

      2. She’s a bit nervous, what with this new promotion and everything. And you know how those stupid gates are. 🙄

        I’m gonna side with Maisie on this one. Langdon is definitely capable of leering. His face is perpetually like this: 😏

        Liked by 1 person

      6. Men 🙄

        😁

        The character, or the character that appears in the art? I’m curious, because in the writing process obviously we have a picture in our head. So I’m wondering if seeing the art removes the image we have in our head? Does that make sense?

        Liked by 1 person

      7. I know what you mean. This is similar to my thing about music videos the other day.
        But, I think most folks will still form their own image at least to some degree.
        I have seen every James Bond movie, but when I read the novels, I see a slightly different version based on Fleming’s description. Sometimes I might see the actor, but overall, I have a picture in my head and it’s not them.

        And I am sure I would still visualize her as hot based on the character. I’m not totally uncouth! 😆

        Liked by 1 person

      8. Yes! This happened to me when I read the Outlander series years ago. Starting from the first book, I had the image in my head of Jamie and Claire. When years later, they *finally* created a TV series, the characters didn’t look like the images in my head. So now, when I watch the TV series, I expect the actors who play the characters, but when I read the books, I still go back to the characters I created in my mind.

        Uncouth is a great word – I’m not calling you uncouth, I’m saying the word itself is great. 😆😊

        Liked by 1 person

      9. Well, I have been called worse, so there’s that lol

        Yeah, I think most have an image in their heads that they’ve formed with written words and once it;s there, it’s just there.
        I mean, sometimes even if there’s a pic of the main character(s) on the cover, you might have that as a baseline, but then your mind takes it further.

        Liked by 1 person

      10. It’s just one of those fancy words. Like one should be sitting on a grand porch in Savannah, sipping mint juleps, talking about uncouth scoundrels at the local saloon. 😆

        And sometimes I see the cover, but when I get into reading it, my brain changes their physical characteristics.

        Liked by 1 person

      11. I like throwing that word out once in awhile. It really messes people up, because no one says it lol

        Same. I form my own image based on the description. If it’s books based on a film or tv show, different story. If I am reading a Star Wars novel about Han Solo, I am seeing Harrison Ford. But that’s a bit different, since the expanded universe came way later.

        Liked by 1 person

      13. Possibly. Yet, I don’t see Connery when I read the James Bond novels, and to me, he is Bond and I saw the movies first. Maybe because Star Wars wasn’t a book first? Or because so many actors have played Bond? Or just a glitch in my wiring. I dunno lol

        Liked by 1 person

      14. Hmmm… interesting. My ex was big into James Bond. One year I bought him a movie poster and framed it. Of course it was Connery. But I am not sure if he read the books. He saw Connery as the character. This is an interesting concept.

        Liked by 1 person

      15. That’s what I mean. Some scenes, especially if they were in the movies, I might see a glimmer of the actor in my head, but other than that, I see an image based on Fleming’s description. Connery and probably Timothy Dalton were closest to Fleming’s description on the screen. His description is a mix of the two to me.

        Liked by 1 person

      17. Funny thing is when they were casting Dr. No, Fleming did not like Sir Sean in the part at all. He said he did not fit his vision of the character at all. The studio convinced him, and once he started seeing Connery on set, playing the part and talking to him, he enjoyed him in the role and saw him as a good fit for the character he envisioned.

        Liked by 1 person

      19. Fleming’s description:

        “slim build; a 3 in (76 mm) long, thin vertical scar on his right cheek; blue-grey eyes; a “cruel” mouth; short, black hair, a comma of which rests on his forehead”

        Liked by 1 person

      29. He actually was in Naval Intelligence or some such, and that’s where he got the idea for Bond.
        The Bond books are good too. With the caveat that they are a product of their time, and some of the ideas are a bit, outdated, shall we say. But I find that with a lot of older books.

        Liked by 1 person

      30. That’s true of a lot of books. But I rather enjoy reading a book that’s not from this time. I am sick of censorship based on a book being written in a way that is acceptable or appropriate today. We have to accept something from its era, and not compare it to now.

        Liked by 1 person

      31. I feel the same. I don’t feel the need to apologize for something that was written 50, or more, years ago. Hell, in 20 years, half of what we write will probably be deemed off color. Times change, that’s just life.

        Liked by 1 person

      32. This hits on my answer to the prompt today. Censorship infuriates me. Movies that I grew up watching, people consider inappropriate now. If we try to erase everything that bothers us using our contemporary ideals, we will have no creative and nor art history at all. We can’t judge the past from the present without considering the time period that we’re judging.

        Liked by 1 person

      33. Oh, I know. We (people in general) tend to judge things through today’s lens and dub it all superior. Sports, entertainment, art. Perspective needs to be taken into account at least a bit.

        Liked by 1 person

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