The Last Word by A. L. Michael Page A

long as he didn’t touch her, she could keep a clear head.
    ‘And what progress would that be?’ Her voice was like a whisper and she hated herself for being drawn in.
    ‘Getting to know each other better.’
    Damn affectionate smile. Harry Shulman had a gift, no doubt about it. She’d seem him use it on waitresses who fought to bring his coffee, on the girls in the office who made sure to bend from the waist while looking through the filing cabinets or doing the photocopying. And now her. He’d zeroed in on her like the weak baby zebra she was, and he was going to get what he wanted. She was back to being that twenty-three-year-old sucker, sacrificing her career and self-respect for a guy with pretty eyes and a great smile. Because when Harry focused on you, it was like you were the most important thing in the world. Your own spotlight on stage where you were the funniest, wittiest, most beautiful person and everyone adored you.
    And then you wake up and he’s smiling at someone else and you’ve got a massive headache and your reputation is in tatters.
    So actually, fuck that shit.
    Tabby felt herself still, felt the resolve harden. She was suddenly furious with all those men who wanted to use her to get somewhere: the one who’d succeeded, the one who was still trying. She would not make the same mistake again. Rhi was right. She was playing with fire. And she could either get burned or get out right now. Make it clear she was not some writing floozy, there for the sport of whatever editor was bored with his life at that moment. Her career was what she was there to focus on. She just wanted to write, and why wouldn’t people just leave her the hell alone so she could do that? Why did everyone want to play games all the time? Harry knew he could make people do whatever he wanted. But it was not going to work with her. No way.
    ‘We certainly got to know each other.’ Her voice was ice. ‘I think I’ve learnt all I need to know about you. Thanks for the wine. You can leave now.’ She crossed her arms and nodded towards the door.
    Harry’s eyes widened. ‘What?’
    ‘You can leave now.’
    ‘Why? What just happened?’
    ‘Because it’s my house and I get to say who stays and for how long, and I want you to go.’ Tabby almost felt her voice wobble, but she stayed cool. She hoped.
    Harry looked around, incredulous, but shrugged and headed towards the door. He paused. ‘You’re a bloody crazy person, you know that, right?’
    And you’re a manipulative bastard, Tabby thought viciously. ‘Bye now!’ She waved cheerfully, and didn’t let her smile drop until he’d slammed the front door.
    Well, she felt a lot better. No pesky gorgeous editor making her feel out of control with his pretty words and perfect cheekbones.
    She went to the table, poured the remainder of Harry’s glass of wine into her own, then curled up on the sofa and turned on the television. She hadn’t missed too much Buffy. Perfect.
    She actually felt quite cheerful. Making Harry mad had that effect on her. The way his muscles tensed, his jaw clenched and one sly vein in his neck seemed to pulse alarmingly. Delicious. Now he would go find an anger-shag in the local pub and she would focus on her writing and getting back on top. Everything would be perfect.
    Her phone beeped and she moaned, getting up to grab it from the table. It was from Harry. Her stomach clenched a little at what he’d say. She steeled herself, focused on how manipulative he was and prepared herself to combat the awkwardness with anger:
Don’t forget we’ve got the research for the Brighton piece tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 8
a
.
m. I hope you’re OK. H
.
    Oh great. Two hours with Harry in a car and then a whole day following her around her old haunts in Brighton and interviewing students. Just what she needed. And why was he being nice? Perhaps because she’d acted like someone in need of a straight jacket.
    She collapsed back on the sofa and called Rhi.