When Minnie awakens, she doesn't want to move a muscle. She's lying on her right side facing Harry, and the scruff on his face is so sexy. He's on his back, his arms resting on top of the sheet and thin cotton blanket, giving her an unrestricted view of the tattoos on his left arm. Her fingers ache to trace them. With that sentiment, she mentally shakes herself.

What was she doing with him? By now, he should be out of her system. How many times had they had sex? Four? Five? Six? She was confident that every single coupling was seared in her brain, but counting them made her head hurt. Speaking of which, she really wished she could blame her indiscretion last night on being tipsy. But that didn't explain all of the other times she had jumped head first into bed with him. Or into a maid's closet. Or a hotel room. Plus she had given him permission to use her name. Her nickname. That was something that had to be earned. Hell, most of her former clients don't know her by that nickname, and she'd worked with them a damn sight longer than she'd been boinking Harry Edward Styles.

Worst of all was the fact that looking at him lying next to her this morning made her wet. Her interior muscles were clenching at the thought of pairing with him. Dammit. At thirty-five, maybe her biological clock was ticking so loudly and her ovaries aching so completely that her libido was in overdrive. When she'd turned 30, she still harbored hopes of having children. But now? She'd given up that ghost two years ago. Her life was just fine as she knew it. No other complications, including children, were needed.

As Minnie is reminding herself that she is just going to have to try harder to move past this infatuation, Harry stirs, opening his eyes and blinking a few times before turning his head to spot her. The corners of his mouth lift up in a genuine smile.

============

She's the first thing I see when I open my eyes, and damn. She looks amazing. Minnie. I live for you. I long for you. I don't care that the lyrics don't match anymore. Maybe I need to change the lyrics to Wilhelmina instead of Olivia. Yes. That would work. In my head, I play the song. It's more syllables, but I can make it fit.

My instinct is to capture her lips in a kiss and see where that takes us, and I always obey my instincts. Turning onto my side, I move my head towards her, expecting that she will pull away. Or move closer. Instead, she stays still like a statue, and I'm able to press my lips to hers. Within seconds, we're entangled in a passionate kiss, tongues wrapped together as I suck on hers and she retreats to her own mouth so that I chase her. Rolling on top of her, I demonstrate that I'm ready for her.

With her left hand, she reaches for her bedside table, grappling to open it, handing me the condom without hesitation, and soon enough I'm buried inside her as we're face to face. Her legs are spread wide, and I'm deeply embedded. I want to kick myself for not checking her level of readiness, but she shifts her hips, and I find myself slipping deeper inside. Fuck me. She's as wet as if I'd spent an hour working her up. Our movements are like a slow dance: leisurely, coordinated, sedate, steady. Her hand touches the back of my neck. Mine skims her breasts, running over her belly. She slides her fingers down my arm, wrapping them around my bicep as she arches her back in pleasure. Our pace doesn't change; her breath hitches, and I find that I'm on the brink. As I fall into the abyss, taking her with me, I marvel at the multiple ways in which she's brought me to my climax. By now, I should have gotten her out of my system, and I cannot fathom why two or three times wasn't enough, especially since we've more than doubled that now.

When I collapse on top of her, she wraps her arms around my back, caressing me gently, and I kiss her neck, that little spot just behind and under her ear. She shudders, and I feel it in my softening dick. The other day she'd asked me what I'd done to her. But the real question is what had SHE done to ME?

"I hate to say this," she whispers into my neck as I remain sprawled on her, "but we have to be at the airport in a little less than two hours."

Fuck. How had I forgotten? It's our travel day. We're headed to New York City for interviews on the Today Show and the Tonight Show. Practically back to back tomorrow. Then an early morning flight back on Friday to prepare for Saturday's premiere.

The reminder is enough to cause me to completely deflate and slip out of her. I should go home and pack clothes, but I also have a full wardrobe in Tribeca. Rolling over on my back, I fling my arm across my eyes.

"Don't wanna," I whine, and I can hear her smile as she sits up.

"Oh, it will be an adventure," she teases. "Do you want a quick shower before you pack?"

"No," my pouty voice is still present, and I play it up, "Not gonna."

"Um, okay," she pacifies me, "So you're just going to wear the same clothes you wore last night the whole time we're in New York?"

"Uh uh. Going to change at my place in Tribeca."

"Ooooooooo.....I get to see your Tribeca place?" she inquires, and I stiffen.

The unspoken message is that she will not get to see my apartment in New York, and we both realize it simultaneously. I try to release the tension in my body, but it's too late. She throws back the covers, woodenly standing, and I can tell she's pissed.

"I'll shower first," she coldly reveals. "Don't worry. There's plenty of hot water."

I've fucked up, and there's no way to fix it. Well, other than telling her immediately that I would LOVE for her to see my Tribeca place. And there is no way in hell that's going to happen. My homes are my refuge. No one visits except family and really close friends. And I don't care if I sound like a petulant child. She is not getting an invitation to my Tribeca apartment. Not happening. No way. No how. Fuck buddies are not allowed.

===========

Minnie is indeed ticked off. How dare he? It's not like she asked to move in. And she was partly joking anyway. Yes, but only partly, her brain says. Well, why shouldn't she see his place in New York? He'd slept in her bed multiple times. They'd cleaned her kitchen together. Made lov - um, fucked on the living room sofa. HE KNEW HER NICKNAME FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. Was it really too much to ask for him to let her into a tiny sliver of his life?

But if she'd had any qualms about whether they were going to be more than fuck buddies, he'd cleared up that mystery. Thirty minutes earlier, she had been sure that she was never going to tire of him; now she is ready to kick him to the curb.

Showering quickly, Minnie dries off expeditiously, yelling at him "Shower's free!" as she steps into her closet to choose clothes for the next two days. Two trips in airplanes, so she pulls on a pair of black skinny jeans she can wear both ways. Donning a gray pullover (because airplanes are colder than a witch's teat), Minnie packs a striped tee and a long open sweater.

She hears the water running as she chooses an outfit to wear for the interviews tomorrow: brown slacks, a white shirt, and an orange cardigan. Accessorizing with a white and black patterned infinity scarf for today, she tosses in two other scarves for traveling. Carrying her travel bag back into the bedroom, she adds underwear (the ratty ones because there's no way Harry Edward Styles is getting in her pants ever again), socks, and some extra pieces of jewelry. The hotel will have most of the toiletries she needs, so she doesn't bother with more than her makeup.

One quick trip to New York, then the premiere. After that, she will be free of him since the boys don't have any real press together in the future. There are likely a few magazine shoots here and there, and maybe a follow up interview once in a while, but Xavier is doing so well that Minnie is confident she won't need to continue guiding him as closely in the future. Yes. This is best. A clean break.

When the water shuts off, she hides in the kitchen. Okay, not 'hides' exactly. She, um, escapes....No. She isn't doing either of those things. Minnie decides that she's merely being polite by preparing coffee for them along with heating up two mini-quiches from the freezer. Yes. That's it. She's being a proper hostess to her houseguest, especially since he will not visit her condo ever again.

=============

The wall of frost is formed by the time I reappear fully clothed to find her in the kitchen where she wordlessly hands over a plate with a crustless quiche on it and a mug of coffee. Leaving the kitchen, she is quite civil: "I need to make some calls in private."

The message is clear, and I shrug. She'd been an amazing lay, but we both knew it was temporary. If she is going to become demanding and think that she deserves to know everything about my life now that we'd gotten each other off a few times.....well, she is dead wrong.

I eat the egg dish, even though it tastes like sawdust in my mouth, and I wash it down with black coffee that, on a normal day, I would have deemed divine. Today, it tastes like dirty dishwater. Telling myself that my taste buds are just off because I had to use the extra toothbrush she'd laid out (another courtesy), I dial Jeff to tell him I'm heading to the airport. He's not traveling with us this time, although his partner Tommy will meet us in New York.

When the car I've requested arrives downstairs, we ride the lift in silence. The kind of silence that weighs on one's soul. Three times I think to start a conversation, and three times I refrain. The drive to the airport is excruciating, and I'm unsure how we're going to survive the trip unless one of us is the bigger person and breaks the ice.

I decide it should be her. Dammit. She can't expect me to open my whole life to her. She's in the wrong here. Not me.

================

Minnie exits the car at LAX, used to the gauntlet that celebrities run to get to their gate. She and Harry walk separately, a few paces apart, but absolutely no one would think they were in any way connected. She's briskly ten steps ahead of him, studiously avoiding any risk of conversation.

At security, she's pre-checked, and it takes her no time at all to get through the line. Harry, however, gets stopped because he's carrying a bottle of water in his bag. Minnie notices and snorts. Amateur, she thinks.

In the lounge, she connects with Xavier and Meg who spring apart when she approaches them. Minnie could have sworn they were holding hands, but that can't be right. On the other hand, if it is accurate, then that would be a good thing, wouldn't it?

They ask about Harry. Minnie shrugs as though she hasn't seen him in days, and no one questions her. Finally he shows up, the strap on his overnight bag having broken. He curls up in a chair in the corner of the lounge, dragging out his journal, nodding to Meg when she asks a question, but otherwise withdrawing into hermit mode.

Minnie holds a quiet conversation with Meg for a few minutes, then talks to Xavier, pointing to some notes she's made on her tablet. As they are preparing to leave the lounge to board, Meg steps to the counter. Coming back, she informs the group that their flight is delayed. "Some problem with the plane," she reports.

Minnie is frustrated. She's done her best to hold it together while they're in the lounge, but being in the same space with Harry is starting to get to her.

Meg motions to Xavier, and the two head for a table away from the others. "What's going on?" Xavier whispers to her, leaning forward.

"Not sure," Meg shrugs. "All I know is that Harry and Olivia are both in pissy moods. Hopefully the delay isn't too long. The sooner we get to New York, the sooner those two can deal with whatever is bothering them."

"Agreed," Xavier says, reaching for her hand, sliding his thumb across her skin. The fact that she lets him do it is enough to fill his heart with joy, and he no longer cares if Harry and Olivia are in bad moods. He's on top of the world.

"I'm going to see if I can switch our seats so we're next to each other," Xavier stands, kissing her hand. "If that's okay with you."

Meg beams, "It's more than okay with me."

===========

I don't know what to do with myself. She's just sitting there in silence. And she looks so fucking good in her jeans and pullover that I'm already starting to waver. What was I thinking? Am I ready to give up what we have just because no woman has been at my place since Misty? After all, is it that big of a deal? I spent a fortune remodeling after Misty and I split up. But then I think about having to do another remodel when this fuck festival is over. Am I really up for that?

Then I realize that this fuck festival IS over. This was the line she drew in the sand, and even though I didn't know it was there, I wasn't willing to cross it. I'm STILL not willing in fact. Damn. Maybe it's for the best. We couldn't keep this up forever.

I watch as she responds to several text messages, and her face stiffens at something on her phone. She tears up, and her eyes dart around the room, and I can tell she's hoping no one has noticed the dampness on her cheeks. I look down so she doesn't know I've seen her, and I watch surreptitiously as she wipes away the tears, and I wonder what the hell was in those messages. She's usually so together.

My pencil moves across the pages of my journal as I capture words that describe her: competent, torn, emotional, caring, dynamic, humble, and so on. Then I move on to describing HER. Because I want to capture who she is. Like who she is underneath. Because she doesn't always show me who she is. Minnie rarely lets down her guard.

==========

The first few texts are from Amelia, and Minnie fields them just fine. After all, they have been chatting via text for days, and Amelia is sounding more positive. But then, out of the blue, Minnie receives a text from a former client who had been doing well from all indications. Reading the first line from him, she tears up. Damn. He's been hiding his struggles, and apparently he's self-harming again. Minnie feels frustrated. She'd worked so hard to build his self-esteem when she worked for him, and one rejection from a movie he'd wanted is overwhelming him, thrusting him back into the depression she'd helped him fight. The next message causes her to panic, rising quickly from her seat to dial his phone number, walking away from the group so she can talk to him without prying ears. The lounge has private rooms with glass windows for situations similar to this one, and she enters an empty booth, closing the door behind her.

The phone rings multiple times, and Minnie is about to hang up and call Emergency Services to do a welfare check on him when he answers, his voice shaky.

"I'm fine, Olivia," are the first words out of his mouth.

"No. You're not. Did you hurt yourself today?" Her voice makes it clear that she's not going to allow him to ignore the situation.

"Um....a little. I, uh, there's no blood, O. Not this time. So that means I'm better, right?" he pleads with her.

Minnie takes a few deep breaths. The last thing this man needs right now is someone chastising him. "Okay, Charles. Let's take a step back. Do you feel like you need to hurt yourself right now?"

There's a pause, but it's not a long one. "No. Not really. I just.....I don't know, O. I don't know why I wasn't good enough for them. It was a crappy B list movie," he pouts, and she can hear the hurt underneath.

"Charles. We've talked about this before. You are a beloved actor. And if some crappy B level movie didn't want you, then that just means that there's an amazing A movie out there that is looking for someone just like you," Minnie falls back into encouraging him, and she can feel him relax.

"Are you sure, O? Cause it's been so long since I've had anyone offer me a role. I'm starting to lose hope," the desperation is real, and she knows that he needs an emotional boost right now. But is she the person to provide it?

She's going to try. "Charles? I know it's frustrating. And I know that you are amazing. Right now, some casting director is looking for an actor just like you. Day by day, my friend. Remember that's how we get through everything?" She thinks back over their previous conversations before she continues, "Here's what you need to know, Charles. You are amazing. And I believe in you. So you need to believe in yourself. Got it?"

She can hear him sniffling on the other end of the phone, and she rests her head against the glass of the phone room. Harry walks past just then, and Minnie jerks her head away from the door, hoping he hasn't seen her in barely controlled tears.

With a few more minutes of conversation, she convinces Charles that he should see his therapist. The whole situation sparks the thought that if Minnie got kickbacks from these therapists, she would be set for life. After all, practically every client she's ever worked with ends up with one. The celebrities always try to tell Minnie that she's enough for them, but she knows better. They need professional help, and she's not trained. With promises to check on him when she gets back to Los Angeles, Minnie hangs up her phone, sagging against the wall of the booth.

A knock at the door startles her. Looking out, she spies Meg, looking worried.

Opening the door, she pastes a smile on her face, "How long until we board?" Minnie asks.

"Are you okay?" Meg wonders.

"I'm fine," Minnie bustles past her, "If we're going to be here for a while, I should make sure Xavier gets something to eat so he's not grouchy when we land."

Meg puts her hand on Minnie's arm, "That's what I came to tell you. X and I are going out to eat in the terminal. Do you want anything?"

Shaking her head, Minnie thanks Meg, then starts walking back to where her overnight bag is. It's only when she gets close that she remembers that Harry is near her things. Damn.

Just then her name is called at the front desk. She approaches to find that she's been upgraded to first class. Surprised, she takes the new boarding pass, not asking any questions. At least she'll get to eat on the plane and have a few drinks. Those are the perks of an upgrade, and she's not going to complain today. It's about time she had some good news.

It never occurs to her that Xavier has moved from first class to coach at the same time that she's been upgraded from coach to the premier cabin.