Mr. Write [COMPLETED]

Chapter 4 - "Break a dictionary."

Elliot jogged down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. Tristan sat slumped at the table, staring, unseeing, into his mug. Cece turned around as Elliot entered, a spoon in her mouth.

"I have absolutely no idea if I should be feeling excited about my first day of working with Beck," Elliot said. "Or feel a sense of foreboding?"

Cece removed the spoon.

"That's easy to figure out," Cece said. "Do you hear deep bass drums playing in your mind? Or see dark looming clouds on the horizon?"

"No, but I haven't put my headphones in or looked outside."

"Then I think you're good," Cece said. She waved her spoon about. "So what if the last encounters you have had with Beck haven't been great? Like the rest of America, and the world of fashion, we will ignore the past and move forward blindly."

"Rousing speech. I feel I could take on the world."

"Don't be dramatic, it's just a new book and the world's first and foremost single syllable speaking male."

Elliot nodded. "You're right. The world would be easier to take on."

Cece gave her a wide smile. "That's the correct attitude."

Elliot shook her head and reached for a bowl. As she filled it with cereal, she eyed Tristan.

"Does he realize he's in the kitchen? Or do you think he's not awake yet?" Elliot asked, pouring in milk.

Cece cocked her head.

"It's still undecided," she said. "Though don't get too close, he might bite."

Elliot nodded and leaned against the counter, eating her cereal.

"Are we still on for tonight?" Elliot asked. "With the whole ballet and such?"

Cece shrugged.

"Pretty sure. He didn't mumble anything to the contrary when he came down."

"Alright," Elliot said, finishing off her cereal. "Then I'll see you later. Good luck on your chapter."

Cece raised her mug in salute.

"Thanks, I plan on repainting the third floor today," Cece said.

Elliot started to walk away.

"Okay, anything, but orange and pink. If nothing comes to you, you might try a mural."

"I don't paint."

"So it will be impressionism."

Cece nodded.

"Wobbly blobs and smashed faces, got it. Brilliant idea, I can sell tickets for people to come see it, when my publisher dumps me after finding out I haven't written my chapter."

"Always good to have a backup plan. Later."

"Break a leg," Cece said.

Elliot stopped and looked back.

"I'm writing a book, not putting on a play," Elliot said.

"Right. Break a dictionary."

"Thanks," Elliot said, waving.

As she approached the office, Elliot pulled out her headphones and dug in her bag for her key. She slid it into the lock, only to find the door was already unlocked. Cautiously, she opened the door. She paused as she found Beck already inside. He stood in front of the windows, a mug in one hand, the other hidden in the pocket of his jeans. Elliot stepped in and closed the door. Beck looked over.