Hard Code: A Laugh-Out-Loud Workplace Romantic Comedy

by Misha Bell

“Speaking of work…” He steps toward me. “Are you up for more testing tonight?”

  Tonight? I’m ready for some right now. The mother of all blushes adorns my cheeks as I nod.

  “How about eight p.m.?”

  I nod again.

  He takes another step toward me. We’re now close enough for me to smell his warm, sensual scent, but also that slight undertone of perfume.

  He stares at my lips.

  Fuck it. I’m going to ask him about the perfume.

  Any second now.

  Just need to make words, that’s all.

  The doorbell rings.

  He draws back. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  Still mute, I shake my head.

  “Who could it be?” he asks. “Your parents? Ava?”

  I force my vocal cords to function. “Ava’s at the hospital. Parents have the keys to this place and, sadly, just barge right in.”

  He takes out his phone and sends a text.

  “Could it be Ivan?” I ask.

  His phone pings. “Not Ivan. Some guy. Blond, thin, with—”

  I furrow the human-hair eyebrow wigs. “That sounds like my ex.”

  Vlad’s real eyebrows snap together. “Ex-boyfriend?”

  “He’s been finding excuses to visit from time to time.” I’m unsure why there’s so much defensiveness in my voice. “A month ago, he ‘realized’ he forgot an Xbox game. Two months prior to that, it was a hoodie.”

  “He just comes unannounced like that?”

  The doorbell rings again.

  “Let me see if it’s actually him.” I head over to the door.

  Vlad follows, and I feel a little giddy at the prospect of Bob seeing a guy this hot in my apartment—and reaching conclusions.

  “Who is it?” I shout at the door.

  “Fanny, this is Bob,” the person says in the voice of the One Who Shouldn’t Be Named.

  I open the door.

  Bob grins at me—a grin that peters out when he spots Vlad. “I was… err… in the neighborhood,” he stammers. “Realized I forgot my copy of GEB at your house. Any chance you can give it back to me?”

  I glance over my shoulder at Vlad. “GEB is Gödel, Escher, Bach.”

  Vlad’s face is vampire cold. Maybe even liquid-nitrogen cold. “Right. The book by Douglas Hofstadter. I’ve read it. It’s great.”

  That makes sense; lots of people in our industry like that book.

  “You’re Bob, right?” Vlad says in a voice colder than a vampire after his daily liquid-nitrogen bath.

  With a noticeable gulp, Bob nods.

  “I want you to think really hard about any other object you may have forgotten here,” Vlad says, practically oozing menace. “This is your last chance to get it.”

  Was that a threat? Bob’s face definitely looks like he’s taken it as such.

  What should I do?

  “I j-just came to get t-the book,” Bob says with a stutter he never had while we dated. “I can’t t-think of anything else.”

  Vlad lays a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Fanny, do you know where the book is?”

  “Sure.” I make my voice breezy, mostly to cut the tension down to about-to-explode-balloon levels. “I’ll go get it.”

  As I leave the two men behind, I wonder if there will be only Vlad by the time I get back, plus an exsanguinated husk.

  Locating the book, I rush back.

  Bob looks whiter than a brand-new porcelain toilet, while Vlad’s eyes are like icicles as he stares my ex down.

  “Here.” I thrust GEB into Bob’s noticeably shaking hands.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles.

  “Did you think of anything else you will ever need?” Vlad’s tone could cut through glass. “I mean it. This is your last chance.”

  “N-no. I will never come here again.” The words come out as a stuttered oath. Then Bob turns on his heel and dashes away as if a thousand devils were chasing him.

  It’s official. My ex just got impaled by the Impaler.

  “What did you say to him while I was gone?” I ask, closing the door.

  “Nothing much,” Vlad says calmly. “Now I’ve got a lunch meeting.”

  Before I can ask for details, he strides back into the living room, gently picks up Oracle from the aquarium, and puts her into the carrier.

  “You can keep the neutral play space here,” I say. “This way, it’ll be ready for the play date.”

  Assuming the play date is still on. He looks stormy enough to cancel it.

  “You sure it wouldn’t be in the way?” he asks, his expression warming by a degree or two.

  I wave my hand dismissively. “Leave it.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “But it might be best to put Monkey back into her own habitat before the play date.”

  “I get it,” I say with a chuckle. “The famous guinea pig territorialness.” It’s almost as bad as that of a company owner over his testing minion.

  His answering smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

  I usher him to the door and hold Oracle’s carrier as he puts his shoes back on. Handing him the carrier, I ask, “We’re still on for eight, right?”

  His eyes narrow. “Why not?”

  “No reason,” I lie. “See you then.”

  He heads toward Ivan’s car, and I close the door, exhaling the breath that seemed to have been in my lungs from the start of the Bob debacle.

  What the hell was that about? Was Vlad jealous?

  No. Can’t be. Bob must’ve inadvertently broken some Russian custom—something like “never come over unannounced.” That or Vlad gets particularly hangry around lunch time.

  Yeah. One of those must be it. Someone who has a perfumed sidepiece doesn’t get to be jealous.

  I make my way to the aquarium, pick up Monkey, and hold her near my face.

  Nope. No rubbing noses for me. Clearly, that’s only something she’ll do with Vlad.

  Figures.

  I gently put the little traitor back into her home, give her a snack, and go make myself busy until eight o’clock rolls around.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I examine the toys I’ve chosen for the big testing session.

  If tonight had a theme, it would be suction: The toy for him is something called a penis pump, while mine is its tiny cousin—a clit suction device.

  According to my research, both of these toys are meant to work as appetizers of sorts. They draw blood to the target area, heightening sensitivity. The Belka models seem to take this a step further by incorporating vibration and who knows what else.

  Since there’s time, I take the pump that’s a duplicate of the one Vlad will use later and stick my fingers into it.

  The material is soft but not all the way jellyfish.

  I turn it on.

  Wow. It’s like having my fingers inside a vacuum cleaner. Is this really going to feel good for him?

  I turn on the vibration.

  Still feels like a vacuum cleaner, just a louder one.

  Turning off the pump, I take the clit sucker and slip the tip of my index finger into it before turning it on.

  This feels like the device is trying to give my finger a hickey.

  With vibration, it feels like it might want to keep the tip of the finger forever.

  Hmm. I wonder how this will feel once it’s used as directed?

  Maybe I should choose a safer toy?

  The videoconference feature of the app rings, and I pick up.

  “Hi.” Vlad smiles, his earlier grumpiness seemingly gone. “How did the rest of your day go?”

  I shrug. “Caught up on some chores. How about you? Did you and Oracle get home okay?”

  “I was much too busy for a Sunday,” he says. “Oracle is good but acting subdued. I think she might be missing Monkey already.”

  Come to think of it, Monkey was a little glum after they left. Is she also missing her new piggy friend? Or maybe Vlad?

  “We’ll have to set up that play date soon,”
I say.

  He nods. “You said your schedule is open, so maybe we make it a work day, sometime early in the week?”

  “It’s a piggy date,” I say. “Now, should we get to work?”

  Did those blue eyes just turn hungry behind the horn-rimmed glasses?

  “Are we doing ladies first again?” he asks.

  Nodding, I show him the toys I have in mind.

  He unbuttons the top button on his shirt. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  I’m wearing a dress without any underwear, so it’s a matter of a single moment to put the suction thingy next to my clit. “Ready.”

  His eyes darken. Has he just figured out my commando situation?

  The toy comes to life and latches onto my clit like an FDA-approved leech.

  Wow. The finger test didn’t properly prepare me for this.

  I sneak a glance under my skirt. Damn. Things are engorged. It looks as though I’m about to sprout a penis. I’m glad he can’t see that situation. My heart hammers, waves of heat washing over my body as the sensations intensify.

  As if from a distance, I hear him ask, “Should I up the suction?”

  “No,” I pant. “Let’s give vibration a try.”

  As soon as the vibration begins, I have the most intense—borderline painful—orgasm of my life.

  Something between a moan and a scream is wrenched from my lips.

  Then the device turns off—releasing the vacuum but also causing another orgasm.

  This is when I realize that in the throngs of passion, I dropped the phone onto the couch.

  Reddening to record levels, I grab it.

  His face on the screen is unreadable again.

  I belatedly cross my legs. “Did you see anything?”

  A hint of a smile. “A gentleman never looks and tells.”

  That’s a yes! How much did he see? And why did it all need to be red and swollen from the suction thing?

  What am I saying? I’d be just as mortified if everything were nice and pink down there. Now if my old bush was still there…

  Crap, I’m making this worse by staying silent. “It’s your turn,” I say, my brain kicking into high gear. “According to my research, you don’t need to be, umm… ready for that one. The suction of the gizmo will take care of that step.”

  His hand disappears from view for a few moments. Then he says, “Ready.”

  As a testing perfectionist, I want to ask if he’s starting this out fully erect or not, so I can document that fact. My mouth doesn’t form those words, however, so the testing documentation will be less than perfect.

  Not that it really matters. As I told him, the device makes it so he’d be hard pretty quickly—a version of the same pump is even used on ED patients.

  I press the “On” button.

  I can hear the motor whirling on his end of the call.

  It sounds strained or something.

  His eyes widen.

  “I’ll up the suction, okay?”

  He nods.

  I twiddle with the intensity controls.

  He sucks in a breath.

  If he wasn’t hard earlier, I’d bet big money he is now—and that knowledge sends tingles into my oversensitive lower regions.

  Suddenly, there’s a strange sound. Vlad grunts, but in pain rather than pleasure.

  I gape at his face.

  It’s not his O-face. I know what that looks like now.

  This looks more like an uh-oh face.

  I halt the suction. “Did something happen?”

  He looks down and shakes his head in disbelief. “The pump broke.”

  “Broke?” I look at my own version of the pump for any breakable parts and don’t see anything of the sort.

  “It appears to be a sizing issue.” This is said almost shyly, and certainly without any hint of superiority or ego.

  My eyes bug out.

  A sizing issue? As in, the pump got him so big he broke the freaking thing?

  How big is he?

  I look at my version of the device again.

  To break it, he’d need to be as large as Glurp.

  Poor little pump. It couldn’t take the impaling.

  Shit.

  Could I?

  “Do you think this test was a failure?” Vlad’s voice intrudes into my insane thoughts, and I realize I’ve been silent all this time.

  I force myself to smile. “No test is a failure. We’ve learned something that needs to be addressed, and that’s good for Belka. In this case, it’s more of a hardware rather than a software problem.”

  He nods seriously. “You’re right. I’ll pass this information along to the people at Belka.”

  Huh. That should be a fun conversation. “How about we wrap up the testing for today?”

  Because that monster cock needs to rest.

  “Sure,” he says. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Works for me,” I say and hang up so that I can finally spring over to my utility drawer and get my measuring tape.

  The pump is eight inches in length and seven in circumference.

  That gives me the lower bounds of what Vlad must be packing—and it’s big enough to require its own name.

  I don’t have to think hard to come up with one.

  Dracula.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My sleep is even more restless than the night before.

  In the morning, I find an email from Sandra in my inbox. She wants to meet for an update.

  I tell her I can be down at the office by 11:30 a.m.—time chosen because I, not so secretly, hope to bump into Vlad and have another lunch together.

  Sandra thanks me and says that time works, so I dress in my favorite pencil skirt and blouse to look extra professional, put on my good eyebrows, and commute to the office.

  As I’m about to step into our building, a classically beautiful woman catches my gaze. She’s model tall, has pouty lips, shampoo-commercial jet-black hair, and striking blue eyes.

  When she passes by me, I understand what’s caught my attention.

  It’s not her looks but her scent.

  I recognize it.

  It’s the perfume that was on Vlad the other day. It’s all over her, as if she took a bath in it.

  Attack, the green monster commands. Kill first, figure out if it’s her later.

  No.

  I get it. Too many witnesses. Stalk her into a dark alley.

  I have a meeting with Sandra.

  Puny weakling.

  Shut up.

  Don’t tell me to shut up. I’ll kill you too.

  A security guard looks at me suspiciously, so I get my ID out and finally enter the building.

  As I step into the elevator, a guy stops the doors from closing and follows me in.

  He looks familiar, but I draw a blank for a second. Then I recall that I saw him at the monthly meeting the other day. My app had decided he looks like Butt-Head; it’s just harder to place him without Beavis.

  “You’re Fanny, right?” Butt-Head asks. “Fanny Pack?”

  “That’s me.” I extend my hand. “And you’re…”

  “Mike,” he says. “Mike Ventura.”

  I press the button for our floor. “You work in the development department, right?”

  I’ve tested his work, so I know this to be the case, but it seems polite to ask.

  “Yeah, I do,” he says. “I hear you plan to join us from QA. Saw your code. Pretty elegant.”

  Elegant.

  Phantom keeps saying that about my code.

  Could Mike be Phantom? Would it be weird to just out and ask?

  The elevator doors open.

  He gestures for me to leave first. “If you’d like, we can get together, talk about code and whatnot.”

  “Sure,” I say, figuring that might also be a good time to learn if he’s Phantom without being late to see my manager. “Shoot me an email. It’s fpack at Binary Birch.”

  There, work email.

  Keeping t
hings profesh.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Mike says with a wide grin. “See ya.”

  Waving goodbye, I sprint over to Sandra’s cube.

  “Things are progressing ahead of schedule,” I tell her once we grab a meeting room and settle in our chairs. “Nothing to worry about.”

  She exhales a breath of relief. “Thank you. I’ll have to give an update to Mr. Chortsky this afternoon, so this really helps.”

  I redden. He already knows how things are going, but I obviously can’t give Sandra a heart attack by letting her know who my male tester is.

  “Anything else?” I ask, eager to run to the pantry to see if he’s lurking there.

  She smiles. “I heard from my equivalent in the development department.”

  That catches my interest. “And?”

  “She says they don’t have an opening right now, but that your code impressed everyone, so when they do get one, you’re going to be the first person they interview.” Sandra lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The feeling I got is that the interview would be a mere formality at that point.”

  Yay! They like me. “Do you know how often they have openings?”

  She shrugs. “Can’t be more than a few months. Company’s growing.”

  My excitement dwindles a bit. That’s forever away. I should’ve asked for the move sooner; the countdown could’ve begun then.

  Then again, I didn’t have the app to impress everyone with.

  Sandra stands up. “Thanks again. Please keep me posted on further progress.”

  “I will.”

  I wait for her to leave, then beeline for the pantry.

  My heart sinks.

  Vlad isn’t here.

  How wrong would it be if I just popped into his office?

  If by “wrong” I mean “inappropriate,” then very.

  Daydreaming about his eyes, I pour myself some hot water. As I’m putting in the tea bag, the cup slips off the edge of the counter, the water spilling everywhere.

  Crap. At least I didn’t get burned.

  Grabbing some napkins, I bend over and begin to dab at the liquid. My skirt makes a strange creaking noise—it might be too tight for this maneuver—and I feel it rolling up my thighs.

  Crap. Is that air I’m feeling on my thong-clad—or rather, un-clad—butt?

  I smell citrusy bergamot just as someone clears his throat.