"Nice of you to meet me," Julian says, and pulls out Josh's chair for him. Josh stops, looks down at the chair, then back up at Julian. He shrugs, then sits down.
"It got me out of the office. And I firmly believe that there is such a thing as a free lunch."
Julian grins again -- every waitress in a thirty-foot radius suddenly swoons -- and sits down across from Josh. "Really? I thought everything had its price."
Josh twists his mouth to the side and picks up his fork, levers it back and forth with his thumb over his index finger. "And your clumsy attempts at metaphor end … now."
"Right." The waitress appears as if summoned via magnets and flirts with Julian outrageously, but it takes Josh a moment to notice the fact that she's almost sitting in his lap, because he's so used to Sam and his uncanny ability to attract anything with two legs. They order sandwiches and the waitress sashays away with only one longing glance thrown over her shoulder. Julian arranges his napkin in his lap, then props his elbows on the table and leans forward. "So what would you say if I told you I lied on the phone?"
"This is a privileged conversation," Josh says immediately, and Julian nods. Josh's mind flips through the rolodex of reasons why Julian might have lied on the phone -- when on the phone, half an hour ago when he invited Josh out to lunch to further discuss HR-362? or earlier, yesterday, the day before, the half-dozen times they've spoke on the telephone in the past week. "What did you lie about?"
"This isn't a political lunch," Julian says.
Josh relaxes. "Jesus, you get my hackles up so fast."
Julian grins at him, and Josh suddenly understands how those waitresses felt. "That all I get up?" he says softly. Josh's jaw spasms.
"Julian --"
He holds up a hand. "I know. I'm sorry. But …" He wraps his fingers around the water glass and Josh watches the condensation slide under his knuckles. "Really, Josh," he says quietly. "There are more of them than us, hmm?"
Josh closes his eyes. "This is bush league," he says to the insides of his eyelids. "This is dirty, back room, double-A farm-team-for-the-Kansas-City-Royals down-and-out bush league." He's gotten played, and now he's getting stabbed in the back for it. He can't believe he let himself stumble right into it. "What do you want?" He opens his eyes at looks at Julian, who actually looks … surprised.
"What?"
Josh gestures. "Let's get it over with. I slipped, then I'm assuming you went and dug up some dirt, probably something from college, maybe law school if you worked really hard, and now you're going to hand over some evidence you're carrying in your briefcase and lay down your terms. I want to hear them before I laugh at them."
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this is all your fault, pt 4/7
Date: 2006-05-14 10:31 pm (UTC)"Nice of you to meet me," Julian says, and pulls out Josh's chair for him. Josh stops, looks down at the chair, then back up at Julian. He shrugs, then sits down.
"It got me out of the office. And I firmly believe that there is such a thing as a free lunch."
Julian grins again -- every waitress in a thirty-foot radius suddenly swoons -- and sits down across from Josh. "Really? I thought everything had its price."
Josh twists his mouth to the side and picks up his fork, levers it back and forth with his thumb over his index finger. "And your clumsy attempts at metaphor end … now."
"Right." The waitress appears as if summoned via magnets and flirts with Julian outrageously, but it takes Josh a moment to notice the fact that she's almost sitting in his lap, because he's so used to Sam and his uncanny ability to attract anything with two legs. They order sandwiches and the waitress sashays away with only one longing glance thrown over her shoulder. Julian arranges his napkin in his lap, then props his elbows on the table and leans forward. "So what would you say if I told you I lied on the phone?"
"This is a privileged conversation," Josh says immediately, and Julian nods. Josh's mind flips through the rolodex of reasons why Julian might have lied on the phone -- when on the phone, half an hour ago when he invited Josh out to lunch to further discuss HR-362? or earlier, yesterday, the day before, the half-dozen times they've spoke on the telephone in the past week. "What did you lie about?"
"This isn't a political lunch," Julian says.
Josh relaxes. "Jesus, you get my hackles up so fast."
Julian grins at him, and Josh suddenly understands how those waitresses felt. "That all I get up?" he says softly. Josh's jaw spasms.
"Julian --"
He holds up a hand. "I know. I'm sorry. But …" He wraps his fingers around the water glass and Josh watches the condensation slide under his knuckles. "Really, Josh," he says quietly. "There are more of them than us, hmm?"
Josh closes his eyes. "This is bush league," he says to the insides of his eyelids. "This is dirty, back room, double-A farm-team-for-the-Kansas-City-Royals down-and-out bush league." He's gotten played, and now he's getting stabbed in the back for it. He can't believe he let himself stumble right into it. "What do you want?" He opens his eyes at looks at Julian, who actually looks … surprised.
"What?"
Josh gestures. "Let's get it over with. I slipped, then I'm assuming you went and dug up some dirt, probably something from college, maybe law school if you worked really hard, and now you're going to hand over some evidence you're carrying in your briefcase and lay down your terms. I want to hear them before I laugh at them."