by JA Huss
Yup. I’m classy like that.
Then I went back down to the office, found Cheryl, who was ranting to her co-worker about people throwing clothes off the balcony and they were gonna need to send out a memo on that, to ask for my key to be remade.
And then I went home, changed, went back to work where I promptly bumped into Myrtle—who somehow knew I’d just had sex—and…
Yeah.
“I haven’t seen him again.”
“Holy shit,” Zoey says.
I’m at her place. She lives in a one-bedroom apartment in the proper part of the Tech Center, just a bit north of me. Before she got pregnant she worked here in the TDH in the tech support department for Computer Solutions.
But daycare is so expensive for a newborn. There was no way she could afford to work after Stevie was born. And her baby daddy… well, she never told him she was pregnant because it was just a one-time thing. That’s why we started the Sexpert and she decided to make a go of her own web design business.
She had originally planned to go back to work once Stevie turned one—which is coming up quick—and last month that was still the plan since her business is still struggling and the whole Sexpert thing wasn’t panning out the way we’d hoped.
But now… well, everything has changed. We are actually making money off our crazy sexy plan.
She called me the day after all that nooner stuff went down with Andrew to discuss our future, so here I am.
Except she’s way more interested in my nooner than she is our future.
“That’s like… something out of a half-baked rom-com movie!” Zoey continues. Her eyes are bright with dreamy happiness. Then her smile drops. “Wait, didn’t you say Andrew was—”
“Yes,” I finish for her. “He invented Voice Lift and he’s Pierce’s BFF, so now he’s trying to figure out who I am. And he’s gonna, Zoey. He will.”
“So you’re for sure not going to see him again?”
“Nope,” I say. With as much conviction as I can muster up. Because God, he’s all I can think about since we hooked up. That afternoon was like something out of a movie. So ridiculous and hot, and fun, and… not real, I add silently. To force myself to believe it was just one of those meaningless sexy encounters.
“Did he call you?”
“Yes. And I don’t even know how he got my number.” I secretly think it was Myrtle, but I have no proof. “But I hung up and blocked him immediately. As soon as I heard his voice,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry, there’s no chance of him getting through now.”
“But he works in your building,” she says.
“I know,” I say. Sighing. Suddenly all pouty. Lips all pucker-y. “But I’ve avoided him successfully so far.”
Or is he avoiding me? I mean, how weird that I bumped into him again and again those first two days and then sexy times ensue and now nothing. Ghost.
“So you like him?” Zoey asks.
I grab a fuzzy pink throw pillow off her couch and hug it to my chest, still puckering my lips in one of those sad faces I make.
“Oh, shit, Eden. You can’t fall for this guy. He’s too dangerous. What if he does find out who you are? What if Le Man really does sue us? We’ve worked so hard to build something of our own, something that might get us out of the corporate rat race, and this could—”
“I know!” I say, a little too loudly, because Stevie, who is sitting in the middle of a blanket chewing on a plastic block, startles. “Sorry, baby,” I say. “I know that though,” I say, putting on a serious face for Zoey so she’ll believe me. “I’m not going to see him again. And besides, he’s forgotten all about me anyway. Hasn’t even tried to come down to my desk and…” I shrug. “You know. I dunno. Whatever.”
She stares at me for a little bit longer and I do my best to avoid her gaze.
Because I really do like him. He’s like Prince fucking Charming, right? Rich, funny, hot, and he really seemed to like me. He thought all my weird quirks were adorable.
Not too many people get me like that. Most people just write me off as a dumb, ridiculous blonde girl who kicks ass at social media and that’s about it.
I really felt like Andrew and I made a love connection.
“Well,” Zoey says. “Let’s just talk about the business.”
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s do that.”
She hands me a printout with all our numbers on it. She’s a data freak. Which is perfect because I’m not. I take the paper automatically and notice she’s giving me one of her quirky Zoey smiles and I say, “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”
“You haven’t even looked at our numbers, have you?”
“No, why?” I say, glancing down at the printout. I squint. She’s circled something at the bottom in lime-green sharpie. I blink, because for a second I think I’m hallucinating. “What? Does this say—”
“ONE MILLION SUBSCRIBERS!” Zoey screams it and this makes Stevie burst out crying. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Zoey is saying as she rushes over to pick him up. She holds him close to her chest and rocks back and forth on her heels as she starts spilling out facts. “We hit one million last night!” she says. “And we’ve gotten insane click-through rates for our affiliate ads since we went to paid last week,” she continues, her voice high with sweet excitement. “And I’ve estimated that we’re going to make about fifteen thousand dollars this month!”
“What? Oh, my God!”
“Yeah, and look,” she says, swinging her laptop around so I can see our channel. “We’re way past a million subscribers now! If we put out another video tomorrow, we’re going to hit one point five in another couple days! And that means next month—who knows! Maybe we hit thirty thousand dollars!”
“Holy shit! We did it!”
“We did it!” she yells, her whole body doing her adorable little happy dance that involves a lot of ridiculous wiggling. Stevie is laughing with us now, happy about our success.
“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “I hate to be the Debbie Downer and all, but we don’t have another video.”
“We will,” she says, holding up a finger to make me pause. “But come with me first. I have a surprise for you!” She sings that last part, which makes Stevie laugh.
I get up and follow her down the hall to the bedroom. Half of it is decorated like a nursery and half is her bedroom. She could never afford a two-bedroom apartment in this neighborhood, so she and Stevie share a room.
“What the hell?” I ask, looking at the mess of clothes and boxes all over the place. “What’s going on in here?”
“I had to empty my closet,” she says. “Forget about the mess. Look what I made!”
And then she pulls on the barn door that covers her master closet and reveals…
“A studio! For you! And look! All the freaking desserts are on the wall!”
The whole closet has been painted cotton-candy pink. And there’s like scalloped trim on the walls painted white. And a fake painted window with white mosquito-netting curtains. The eight-by-eight former closet looks like she’s been watching way too many shabby chic shows on Home TV.
“We need to up our game,” Zoey says, words rushing out of her mouth. “We needed a proper sexy backdrop and props. Look!” Then she covers little Stevie’s eyes and adds, “Not you, baby. Don’t look at Mommy’s naughty closet.”
And there, all neatly lined up on her built-in shelves that used to hold shoes, are the sex toys I demonstrate for the videos.
“We have to keep up with the videos, Eden. We have to. This is our big break. If we slow down now we could lose all of it. And this is important. We will not get paid for two months, OK? There’s a payment delay with this kind of work. So I’ve got six new topics and we’re gonna do them all right now before you leave. And then every time our numbers start to dip, I’ll upload a new one. We get such a boost when we put out a new one, ya know? The monthly schedule was a good start but you’ve seen how much more we could make if we just up our game.”
“Not all tonight,” she amends. “Just three? Maybe?”
“I have so much going on at work right now, Zoey, I don’t think I have time to—”
“We have to,” she says, her face serious now. “We have to, Eden. This is too good. We must make the most of it. Our lives are about to change and… and… I’m so tired of worrying about money, ya know? About how I’m going to take care of Stevie. And I hate this stupid apartment. I need something bigger. Something that’s kid-friendly. A place with a playground or something. I can’t raise my son in a Tech Center one-bedroom. There are no kids around here, either. This neighborhood is for single people. I need more for him. It was my decision to have him and now I have to provide the best life I can. This isn’t what he deserves.”
“Hmmm.” I pout. Because I get it. If I had a baby I’d want the best for him too. Her apartment is cute as fuck. It’s not some run-down place at all. It’s only a one-bed one-bath, but it’s quite nice. And quite pricey.
“I want a house,” Zoey says, her voice suddenly sad. “I don’t need anything special, Eden. Just a two-bedroom rental with a back yard in a safe neighborhood. That’s all I want. And the Sexpert can provide this. I could move to Parker, or… or… Centennial. Somewhere quiet and green, and not a third-floor walk up.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I get it.”
“So I know it’s a lot of work for you. But…”
“Say no more.” I cut her off, walking over to pull her into a hug. “It’s no big. We’re gonna make this the best sex advice show on the freaking internet!”
So that’s what we do. It takes hours just to give the topics proper Sexpert names. And by the time we finish shooting the third video of the night, How to Whip Cream Her Fun Bags, it’s almost five in the morning.
By the time I get home it’s nearly six-thirty and I have just enough time to take a quick shower, get dressed, and walk over to one of the breakfast trucks to pick up a chocolate éclair and some crème brûlée coffee before heading into work to repurpose more Le Man articles that could topple our burgeoning little sex empire. (Making Sexpert videos always makes me crave sugar—I wonder why?)
I am so tired I sink into my desk chair and sigh, hoping against hope that Gretchen will be too busy to bug me today.
And that’s when I hear roaring laughter coming from another end of the large open cubicle area.
I stand up to look over the muted blue upholstered partition, trying to see what’s going on, when I hear… my voice.
Well, my Voice Lift voice.
They’re playing our newest Sexpert video, A Sprinkle of Nuts, in the break room. And yup, you guessed it. Pierce is in there watching it.
I slink back down into my chair and pull up my email, trying to ignore all the hubbub.
I have seven messages about employee benefits, book clubs, and upcoming birthdays. Two from Gretchen with ideas about hashtags she thinks are winners, but aren’t. And one… oh, what fresh hell is this? Emergency Team-Building Day Tomorrow.
Are they fucking with me right now? I have to give up a Saturday?
I reluctantly open it because every now and then we have these stupid things and they’ve always been mandatory.
And yup. There it is in bright red caps.
MANDATORY TEAM-BUILDING DAY AT THE TALLEST ROCK.
The Tallest Rock is, you guessed it, a rock climbing gym.
I’m pretty athletic. And I’m sure I could climb the hell out of a rock wall. But… but… didn’t Andrew say he was into rock climbing?
No, he wouldn’t come to our team building day. He’s not a Le Man family member.
But there’s a little part of me… this teeny, tiny part of me… that hopes he might be there.
I know it’s dangerous. I know seeing him could be the beginning of our Sexpert downfall.
And I don’t care.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - ANDREW
“Why am I here? I don’t work for you.”
“You don’t have to be here,” says Pierce, sliding on his rock climbing shoes.
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. You don’t wanna be here, go. I figured you’d dig all this rock climbing nonsense, but split if you don’t wanna stick around. You’ve got free will.”
I’m not sure he’s right. I’m not certain that I do have free will. Feels like right now my will is somehow bound explicitly to my dick. Because that is the reason that I’m here at Le Man’s Saturday team-building jamboree/hootenanny. I figure, since PC told me that it’s mandatory for his employees, that Eden will have to be here too.
I haven’t seen her since we acted out the porno version of Singin’ in the Rain at my place. (Swingin’ in the Rain? Slingin’ in the Rain?) And I can’t stop thinking about her.
There are a few reasons for that.
First, there’s the fact that despite me trying to tell myself it’s not true... I’m pretty sure she is the Sexpert girl.
I don’t have definitive confirmation yet; Dev’s a perfectionist and won’t let me field-test the new app until he’s happy with it. He says, “It works, but it’s clumsy. I won’t use an inelegant product with my name on it.” (He’s young. He’ll have to learn that sometimes good enough is good enough.) But I’ve watched several of the videos at this point and the coincidences can’t be coincidences. They just can’t.
Add to that the fact that having seen Eden’s breasts up close and personal... Well. There are no two people on the planet with boobs like that.
Unless she has a twin.
Huh.
I didn’t even think about that.
That’s hot.
Regardless...
The second reason I can’t stop thinking about her is because she’s the first woman I’ve been with in a long, long, long time. And though we didn’t actually have intercourse... Well, that’s the thing. I really, really want to. So, yeah, she’s been on my mind.
And the last reason I can’t stop thinking about her is... I like her.
I just really like her. She feels good. And she makes me feel good. And she’s funny. And she’s fun. And I like her.
But I’m so far out of the game at this point, I’m not sure what’s right. By which, I mean I’m not sure what the correct way to proceed is. She took off out of my place so freaked out that I wanted to give her some space. Besides, I figured I’d just run into her again. Hell, I ran into her all over the place when I wasn’t trying to. But, of course, as the laws of the universe would have it, as soon as I wanted to run into her, it stopped happening.
I even did some weird shit like hang out by the pool downstairs to see if she’d show up. Cheryl saw me there and asked why I was at the community pool when I have my own, private one on the roof. But she asked the question a little too loudly and this girl in what can only be charitably described as a “micro-bikini” came flouncing over to find out more about me.
And now I don’t hang out by the community pool anymore. (I may be horny, but I also enjoy being disease-free.)
The thing I did that’s the most unlike me is that I convinced Myrtle to give me Eden’s phone number. It took some cajoling. And it was both uncomfortable and something I know I’m going to regret. Because now I think I might owe Myrtle a favor. And I’m sure that at some point, that will involve making certain a body is never found.
In any case, after I called Eden and she hung up on me, I decided the best thing I can do is just try to forget about the whole thing. I’ve attempted to focus on running a company for the last few days, but my mind starts wandering in meetings. It’s weird. Even as discomfited as I’ve been having to admit to myself that I’m a CEO now and not Jasper Johns, like I wanted to be, I’ve been pretty good about compartmentalizing it. I can knuckle down and do my job when I have to. But since the Eden/rain/mid-day romance thing, my mind is wandering more. I find myself drifting off and thinking about, hell, whatever, painting murals on the sides of mountains and stuf
f.
I know that it’s just dopamine and norepinephrine and stuff like that coursing through my bloodstream as a result of the exciting newness of being with a woman I find interesting. I totally get that. It’s the same reason I like to climb. The same chemicals get released. But y’know what? Who cares? It feels good and there’s nothing wrong with feeling good. And I just kind of want to keep feeling it as long as I can.
So I’m here. Because I might see her. And at worst, this climbing gym has a V15 pitch which will be a good workout and release some endorphins, but not kill me when I fall. Which is always my preference.
“You find her yet?” Pierce’s voice.
“What? Who?”
“The thief. The violator. She who is without ethics.”
“No, man. Not yet. I’d tell you if I had. I promise I’m not holding out on you.” (I’m kind of holding out. Sort of.) “We’re, I dunno, maybe days away from being able to run some tests on the app. Then all I have to do is cross-match what we come up with against the database and I’ll be able to tell you what we find.”
“Cross-match against your secret NSA database, you mean?”
“Please don’t. Just, don’t, please.”
“OK. So, you staying or going?” Pierce asks, huffily, for some reason. He’s being oddly passive-aggressive.
“I’m staying, OK? Why are you being weird?”
He smiles, grabs me by the arm, and says, “Come with me.”
He drags me to the front of a climbing wall, stands me beside him, and says, “Everyone! Everyone, may I have your attention, s’il vous plaît!”
Pierce rented the place for the day, so the only people there are the couple hundred Le Man employees. They cease milling around and come to gather in a loose semi-circle around where Pierce and I are standing.
“What are you doing?” I one-third whisper, one-third sigh, and one-third weep.
“Yep, yep, that’s it! Gather round!”
I scan the group to see if I can spy Eden, but I don’t. I wonder if she may have come in while I wasn’t looking, seen me and taken off. But then I decide that I’m just being paranoid. I do spot Myrtle. She’s hard to miss. Everyone else is in shorts and t-shirts, or like me, cargo pants and tank tops or whatever, but she’s clad in these yoga-pants/tights kinds of things that have strategic cut-outs where there’s just transparent mesh running all along the inside and outside of the thighs, exposing her skin in a peek-a-boo way. And the top she has on... Well, I kind of thought tube tops were a thing of the past, but apparently they’re making a comeback.
