by Megan Hart
attic but goes in anyway, armed with only her ear-piercing
screams and a wooden spoon or something. Facing Paul's
office felt that stupid to me. I knew what they wanted to
talk about, and I knew I didn't want to discuss it.
I liked working for Paul, even if I was "only" an executive assistant. It wasn't, frankly, al I intended to be. Not
forever. But for now. Moving into another position,
working for another person didn't appeal to me even
though I knew it should, but I didn't want to work for
Vivian Darcy. I didn't like her, and I didn't think she liked
me, which made her sudden interest al the more
disturbing.
Despite al that, at 11:00 a.m. exactly I pushed away from
Despite al that, at 11:00 a.m. exactly I pushed away from
my desk and knocked on Paul's door. They were laughing,
their heads bent together, when I knocked, and they both
looked up. Paul put distance between them at once,
pushing back in his roling chair. Vivian didn't move. Her
mug rested with familiarity on the edge of Paul's desk.
I hadn't brought him coffee but he stil sipped from a venti
Starbucks cup, so I figured he was al right. I took the
chair in front of the desk but kept it back far enough that
my knees didn't come close to the wood. I crossed my
legs, watching her, not him, and she gave me a level stare
in return.
"So. Paige." Vivian's smile didn't warm me any more than
it ever had, though I thought she'd put more effort into it.
She tucked a short blond curl behind her ear with French-
tipped fingers and didn't say anything else.
I smiled, too.
Paul cleared his throat after a few seconds and leaned his
elbows on the desk. "Paige, Vivian's been working with
the marketing department to create some entry-level
positions. The idea is to get expansion going on, starting
from the ground up. They're looking to hire in-house,
from the ground up. They're looking to hire in-house,
people they feel wil be an asset to the department."
"And you feel I'd be an asset to your department?" I
watched her face carefuly as she answered.
Her gaze flicked so briefly toward Paul and back to me I
was supposed to miss it. She might not even have known
she looked at him first, that's how fast it was. But I didn't
miss it.
"Oh, yes," Vivian said. "Absolutely. Paul's spoken so winningly of you."
Seriously, what the fuck? Aside from the fact I was pretty
sure she hadn't used it correctly, who ever says
"winningly"? Except, of course, a woman who's trying to
find something flattering to say to a woman she doesn't
realy like.
And then I understood it.
Paul and Vivian were fucking. They were very good about
hiding it, more discreet than a lot of interoffice couples I'd
come across. But there it was, the truth slapped down on
the desk between al of us like a gauntlet. They were
lovers and her dislike for me had nothing to do with
lovers and her dislike for me had nothing to do with
anything as simple as my clothes or education. It was al
about my blond hair and blue eyes and the size of my tits
and ass. She thought I had her on the run.
"I haven't seen the jobs posted on the board," I said
without bursting into sudden laughter.
Vivian looked at her gigantic mug but resisted drinking
from it. "They're not going up for open applications until
after we've interviewed the people we have already
prescreened. We'd realy like you to consider an
interview."
I didn't know much about how human resources works, or
the hoops anyone's required to jump through in the name
of being politicaly correct, but that didn't sound quite right
to me. At any rate, I nodded as though it made perfect
sense. Paul smiled and looked back and forth between us.
I couldn't look at him. Not because I'd figured out Vivian
thought he and I might be having a fling but because I was
convinced they had. And it wasn't any swinging of my
moral compass toward judgment, either, but more about
the fact I didn't want to believe he had such bad taste.
"Can I ask you why you prescreened me? Aside from
Paul's recommendation." I knew my smile for him had to
be a sliver in her skin, but I didn't care. "I don't have any
background in marketing. I have a business-school degree
from Harrisburg Area Community Colege."
"There's a certain amount of on-the-job training we're
expecting to provide."
I'd spent enough time around people who couldn't stand
silence to understand how powerful it can be. I nodded
instead of speaking, even to murmur what could be
construed as consent. Vivian looked at Paul, but he and I
had already established our lack of need for speech to
communicate.
She cleared her throat to draw his attention and then
drank, at last, from her mug. "Paul has spoken so highly of
you, Paige, and your background can only help you. This
is a great opportunity."
"Could you explain why?"
Her lips parted, and she drank again instead of answering
me right away. When she put the mug down on Paul's
desk the sloshing from inside had lessened considerably.
She looked at him again with her brow furrowed. Clearly,
the fact I wasn't jumping up and down for joy to leave
behind my dreary life as a secretary for the bright, shiny
world of junior whatever-thefuck confused her.
"You'd be salaried, not hourly," she said. "And of course, there'd be more responsibility."
I kept my eyes on Paul. "I have plenty of responsibility."
We al laughed, though she didn't sound amused. She
drank again and her mug rattled with the unmistakable
sound of emptiness. She put the cup down with a final-
sounding thud.
"This would be different," she said flatly.
The men I knew were more often insensitive rather than
purposefuly cruel, obtuse rather than inattentive. Paul was
more in tune than most and, smile fading, he turned to her.
I wondered if he'd only just now figured out her real
reasons for wanting me out of his office.
The silence went on long enough to make it officialy
awkward. Then Vivian stood. "Excuse me a minute."
awkward. Then Vivian stood. "Excuse me a minute."
I was surprised she'd lasted as long as she had. My
kidneys would have been floating. Neither of us said
anything as she went into Paul's bathroom and closed the
door firmly behind her.
He turned to stare at me. "Paige."
"Let me just get something straight, Paul. This isn't even an
interview for the new position. I'm interviewing for an
interview for a job I've been preselected for, right?" I leaned forward and caught his gaze with mine.
Paul hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
Back straight, chin lifted, I sat back in my chair and
recrossed my legs. From the bathroom I heard the sound
of running water. I kept my expression neutral,
though I
had no doubt he could tel my mood even through the
steady monotone of my voice.
"Then I deserve to know exactly why I've been selected
and why I should consider it," I told him. "You can't
expect me just to jump up and down for joy because
someone's offering to take me away from al this."
Paul opened his mouth but before he could speak, I
added, "I happen to like the job I have, Paul. Very much."
"I'm glad," he said quietly, and before he could say more, Vivian came out of the bathroom.
I took petty pleasure in seeing that she'd splashed water
on her skirt and silk shirt. She'd run a damp hand through
her haircut, too, to settle it into place, and I could see the
edges of her makeup had run a little bit along her cheeks.
She didn't know I didn't want the man who wasn't even
hers, but the fact she was worried he might want me
settled the power between us, and I was on top. We both
knew it.
"If you could describe the job to me, that might be helpful,"
I told her. "And we could set up a time for an interview."
The conversation had turned upside down and Vivian
didn't like it, but it would have been difficult for her to
react without looking like a bitch, or worse, stupid. We
gave each other a matched pair of fake smiles with Paul
the prize between us. I stood and looked down on them
both.
"I'l get back to work, Paul."
He nodded. I left. Behind me I heard her soft exhale and
the murmur of their discussion, but I couldn't tel if she was
castigating me or if he was defending me. I didn't realy
care, either way.
Vivian Darcy didn't intimidate me anymore.
Chapter 27
My heart skipped al kinds of beats when I saw the note in
my mailbox, but I didn't have to read the signature to
know it wasn't from Eric's original anonymous mistress. I
didn't have to know who she was to know she'd never
have sent a note on anything less than the finest, and this
was a piece of blue-lined, loose-leaf paper, the sort you
can buy three packs for a buck during the back-to-school
sales. I gave it a surreptitious sniff anyway, and caught a
hint of cologne under the scent of cheap ink.
Eric had a doctor's stereotypical scrawl. I hope you like
the flowers. His signature was mostly unrecognizable but
for the E at the front. I folded the note and tucked it into
my bag, then headed up to my apartment where I unfolded
it and laid it on the kitchen table so it could stare at me
while I made my dinner.
I had a few options. I could ignore the note, and the
flowers, which I'd brought home and finaly put in water. I
could send him a text or leave him a note commanding him
to pursue me…or ignore me. As I made my simple meal of
pasta with olive oil and garlic and a tossed salad, I kept
sight of the note and the flowers, and by the time I'd eaten
sight of the note and the flowers, and by the time I'd eaten
and cleared away the dishes, there seemed only one real
choice of action.
I knocked on his door ten minutes later. I'd brushed my
hair and slid gloss along my lips, had changed from my
work clothes into a pair of jeans and a cute T-shirt with a
fitted sweatshirt. I'd brushed my teeth, too, just in case.
When he opened the door I didn't want the first thing he
noticed to be a wave of garlic breath.
"Paige!" He sounded pleased and only a little
apprehensive. "Hi."
"I came to thank you for the flowers," I said without
making a move toward the door.
I hadn't yet decided where I wanted this to go, but I was
sure I knew how I wanted it to happen. I didn't want this
to be forced by an unseen hand. I didn't want to wonder if
I was competing against myself.
"You're welcome. I hope you liked them."
"They were beautiful. Nobody's ever given me roses
before," I said, and Eric looked surprised.
before," I said, and Eric looked surprised.
"You're kidding."
I shook my head. "Nope."
"Wel, that's just not right." He laughed a little and stepped aside, subtly, without making it seem as though he was
inviting me in.
I'd learned the benefits of silence, but I also knew when it
was time to speak. "Can I come in?"
I saw his hesitation, as subtle as the not-invitation had
been, but then he stepped farther aside with a smile.
"Sure."
He brought me a glass of iced tea and we sat on his couch
facing each other from either side. I could've stretched out
my arm and stil not been able to touch him. He'd brought
a glass of tea for himself, but he set it on the coffee table
and didn't drink it while I sipped without quite tasting.
"About the other night," I said. "I just wanted to tel you, Eric…you don't have to apologize."
"No, I was out of line," he began, but I cut him off with a
"No, I was out of line," he began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
"No. It was fine. I was surprised, that's al." I sipped tea and then put my glass down, too. It settled onto the table
with a clink.
"Paige," Eric said softly. "I was surprised, too."
I believed him, though it meant I was no longer on solid
ground. I studied my hands, clasped loosely in my lap,
before I looked at him. Tension bloomed between us and I
wanted to lean toward it, and him, but I held myself stil so
as not to give myself away.
"Would you let me take you to dinner?" Eric did lean, just a little.
I had hooked up, hung out, made out and had a few
unmemorable one-night stands. I'd been married and
divorced and both purposefuly and unintentionaly
celibate. But, like the roses, being asked out on a date was
a first.
My phone, which I'd shoved into my pocket, buzzed. I
didn't miss the way Eric's eyes lit up or how he reached
automaticaly for the iPhone on the table behind him, or the
automaticaly for the iPhone on the table behind him, or the
faint look of disappointment when he realized it wasn't a
message for him.
I'd have let it go but Eric looked expectant, so I puled it
out and flipped it open.
Where you @?
The sigh came out before I could stop it. I deleted the
message. Eric didn't ask, but I offered, anyway.
"From my ex," I explained. "He likes to keep in touch."
"Do you like him keeping in touch?"
I'd have asked the same question if it had been him getting
the cal, but I'm not sure I'd have been as good at keeping
any hint of jealousy out of my voice.
"I've known him since high school. It's sort of a habit."
"Ah." Eric sat back a little.
When my phone rang a moment later, I ignored it in my
palm and didn't answer it. I looked at him, instead. "I'd
love to go to dinner with you, Eric."
love to go to dinner with you, Eric."
It should have been enough, the promise of that date, but it
wasn't. Along with the other myriad lists c
ommanding he
relate to me just about everything in his life, I left him a pair
of my panties, worn, tucked into an envelope and a note
detailing exactly what he was supposed to do with them.
And I wanted pictures. They were waiting in my in-box
when I got home from work that night. A series of shots
taken in close-up of his prick, his fist, the soft cotton of my
panties clutched tight around the shaft.
I was halfway in love.
I could've found a thousand pictures just like them on any
Internet porn site, true, but al my breath disappeared
when I opened them. He'd done this for me. Because of
me.
Powerful stuff.
Dinner was, if you'l pardon the pun, anticlimactic after
that. He took me to a nice new Mexican restaurant where
we drank margaritas and listened to a very good mariachi
band while we shared first-date stories as though he'd
never been on his knees in front of me.
never been on his knees in front of me.
He kissed me in the elevator when it reached his floor.
One smal, sweet kiss, lips closed. A hand on my waist. A
gentle squeeze. When the door started to close, he
laughed and hopped off through. He watched me as it
shut, until the last thing I saw was his smile through the
crack.
When I got home, my phone rang. It wasn't the expected
text from Eric relating the details of the date, though I had
left him a list of topics I wanted essays on. It was the other
man in my life, the one I couldn't throw away and didn't
want to keep.
"I'm downstairs. I just wanted to tel you, I'm coming up."
"Oh, no, you're not." I cradled the phone against my
shoulder and looked in the mirror. I'd been unbuttoning my
shirt but now I stopped. "I'l meet you at the Mocha in
fifteen minutes."
"No way!"
"Way," I said firmly.
Silence as neither of us gave in. Wel, silence as I waited
Silence as neither of us gave in. Wel, silence as I waited
for him to refuse so I could hang up. Austin sighed, finaly.
"Fine. I'l meet you there."
I didn't change my clothes. I wanted him to see me al
dressed up and wonder why. Yes, it was bitchy. Yes, it
was unnecessary. But I was hardly going to toss on a pair
of grungy sweatpants and a pair of sneakers to greet him.
It didn't matter that Austin had already seen me at my
worst.
You might imagine the audience for caffeine would
