“Honestly,” I said, “I kind of want to relax and get a beer.”
“Is there a particular place you have in mind? Perhaps an Irish pub with some deep historical significance?”
“There’s an Irish pub next door. It’s not particularly significant, but they do have Guinness on tap.”
“I’m sold.”
We meandered over to the Playwright Tavern, where we sat next to each other in a vinyl booth and knocked back a couple of porters. The thick, brown beer went straight to my head, leaving me pleasantly dizzy and suddenly inspired.
“Let’s do a pub crawl,” I said.
“You’re certainly being spontaneous,” he said. “Who are you, and what have you done with Sophie?”
My lips grazed his ear. “She’s gone,” I whispered. “I scared her away. I think she thought I was a little too wild.”
The tip of my tongue dragged lightly along the tender skin of Carson’s neck. From the look on his face, I thought he might press me back against that tattered seat and ravage me right there in the middle of the bar. Instead, he said, “Let’s go, before we do something crazy and they wind up kicking us out.”
So began our spur-of-the-moment bar-hopping adventure. The rest of the day was spent sampling drinks at Midtown watering holes: Smithwick’s at The Perfect Pint, Hurricanes at Jimmy’s Corner, and Moscow Mules at Cock & Bull, where Carson finally got that burger he’d been craving. By the time we emerged from the underbelly of Cellar Bar, the sun had long ago disappeared and I was feeling good.
We walked along 42nd Street, arm in arm. “This is Bryant Park,” I said, gesturing to my right. “It’s where Fashion Week used to be held.”
“Isn’t that your office building?” I followed the direction of Carson’s outstretched arm and saw One Bryant Park towering above us. Its brightly lit spire seemed to reach endlessly into the pitch-black sky.
“Yup. That’s it. McKinley Worldwide Headquarters.”
“Wanna take me inside and show me around?”
“No way. I called in sick this morning, remember? I can’t take the chance of running into someone now.”
He glanced down at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty at night. Nobody’s gonna be there.”
For the most part, Carson was probably right. Sure, there were a few dedicated souls who religiously burned the midnight oil. Like Elizabeth. I’d have bet five hundred Hong Kong dollars she was still up there, hunched over her keyboard with that ever-present scowl on her face. But her office was on the thirty-fifth floor, two flights above where Seth and I shared our little space. And there was no way Seth was still around. He’d assuredly left at five on the dot, bolting from the building so fast he likely left behind a cloud of smoke.
“What floor do you work on?” Carson asked.
“Thirty-three.”
I tilted my head back and counted the skyscraper’s stories, trying to figure out which row of windows housed McKinley’s suite on the thirty-third floor, but I lost track at number eleven. There were still so many lights burning inside the building. Do I really want to risk it?
“I’ll bet you’ve got a great view from up there,” he said.
“I do.”
“I’d love to see it.” He slid his hand around my hips and tucked his fingertips beneath the waistband of my jeans. “It looks like those windows are all mirrored on the outside.”
“Just like the Grand Amadora.”
“Yup.” His fingertips inched lower, brushing the lace trim of my panties. Then they were sliding beneath the lace, running gently down the curve of my hip.
In that moment, I wanted his body more than anything else in the world. More than a roof over my head, more than a blue and gold business card. The only goal I cared about attaining was a climax.
“Let’s go,” I said.
The security guard in the lobby didn’t look up from his newspaper when we passed through the turnstiles and into the elevator. On the thirty-third floor, half the overhead lights were turned off. As we wandered toward my office, I scanned the floor for stragglers but found no other signs of life. Once inside, I shut the door and flipped the lock for good measure.
Carson looked from Seth’s desk to mine. “Lemme guess: Your desk is the one without the pile of trash on it.”
“You’re correct.” I grabbed Carson’s hand and pulled him toward me, wrapping my arms around his midsection and peppering light kisses along his neck.
“Wait a minute.” He pulled back, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think we should be partaking in this kind of behavior in the office.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I nibbled at the edge of his chin. “It’s okay. We’re definitely alone now.”
“Oh. Well, that’s a different story.” With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto my black leather desk blotter. My breath was ragged, and when our lips met, I released an unwitting moan. His hands went to the front of my shirt, unfastening buttons with grace and speed as his tongue teased and tickled my skin. My breasts spilled from my bra, and he trailed kisses down my chest. I leaned back with my eyes open, watching him treat my body with unmatched tenderness. My gaze floated across the room, to the tornado of papers littering Seth’s desktop, and I briefly remembered the last time I’d had sex in this office. How awful it had been. Seth hadn’t even bothered to unbutton my blouse.
Meanwhile, Carson was heading farther south, unzipping my jeans and slipping them down over my hips. When he caught sight of my panties, he groaned. “Red lace,” he said, peeling my pants down over my ankles and slinging them over the back of my chair. “These look so hot on you.”
In an instant, he was on his knees, moving my red lace panties to the side and stroking me with the tips of his fingers before following up with his tongue. I fell backward, no longer in control of my own movements. My arms jutted out, grabbing the desktop, sending my organized piles of manila folders crashing to the floor.
“Come for me,” he said, his baritone voice sending vibrations through my core. “Come for me, Sophie.”
And I obeyed. I came so hard that I crushed the corner of my expensive leather desk blotter in the palm of my spasming fist. When I relaxed my hand and opened my eyes, Carson was stepping out of his shorts and tearing a condom packet open with his teeth. “How do you want it?” he asked.
I answered by slithering to my feet and turning around to face the window. With my legs spread, I leaned forward onto my elbows. Bent over my desk, with Carson behind me.
It didn’t escape me that Seth and I had sex in this same exact position. On this same exact desk. But I was no longer sure that what Seth and I had done could technically be categorized as sex. Not after feeling what Carson was doing to my body. He entered me slowly, his fingertips creeping around my body to touch me in just the right way, in exactly the right places. As I came, he ran his tongue up my spine. I couldn’t remember if I wailed. All I recalled was looking at the window and seeing our faint reflection superimposed against the backdrop of the city, Carson standing behind me with his face twisted in pleasure.
No. Before Carson, I’d never known what sex was supposed to feel like. Nothing could ever compare to this sensation.
By the time we caught our breath, it was after eleven. We picked our clothes up off the floor, hid the condom in a ball of crumpled printer paper, and got dressed. The smell of sex in the air was pungent; I could only hope it would dissipate by sunrise.
“Where do these go?” Carson was crouching over the mess of folders I’d sent toppling to the ground in the throes of passion. Paperwork was the last thing I felt like dealing with.
“I don’t know.” I bent over and picked it up in one jumbled pile. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
He righted a tipped-over pencil cup, the one that held the highlighters. “This is a really nice office you work in.”
Was it a nice office? Right about then, all I could see were two disorganized desks, a chair with a squeaky wheel, and a whiteb
oard covered in smudged red ink, detailing a project plan I couldn’t care less about. I’d rather be working on a tour bus, hourly salary and all.
“It’s all right, I guess.” An overwhelming urge came over me. The urge to flee from this building as fast as I could. I turned the lock and opened the door, but as I stepped into the hallway, a shriek escaped my lips.
There was Owen. Leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded across his chest. Staring me right in the face.
“Hey, Sophie.”
“Owen.” Deep breaths. Don’t panic. “What are you doing here?”
“Working late. I’m on deadline. I went to the kitchen for some coffee and heard some strange noises coming from down the corridor.” He glanced from me to Carson and back again. “But it was just you two.”
Shit.
“Okay.” What else could I say? I was already moving toward the front door, my eyes on the stained Berber carpet beneath my feet. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Glad you’re feeling better,” he called out.
I couldn’t look back. Hopefully Carson was still trailing behind me.
In the elevator bank, I jabbed the DOWN button, tapping it continuously until I heard the bell ring. Carson waited until the doors closed behind us to ask, “That wasn’t, like, your boss, was it?”
“No.” I stared at the red LED screen and counted the floor numbers as we went down: 28, 27, 26. “It’s just some random dude that works with me.”
“He seemed like a weirdo. Do you think he was standing outside the door listening to us the whole time?”
14, 13, 12…
I could feel Carson studying me. “Did you ever…you know…”
“Sleep with that guy?”
“Yeah.”
“No.” The thought made me shudder. “God, no. Gross.”
Carson pulled me next to him, a movement that would normally make me melt. But my limbs felt stiff, my mouth dry. Because I was screwed.
There was no way Owen wasn’t going to tell Seth about this. And there was a really good chance that Seth would then tell Elizabeth. He knew I was already skating on thin ice with her, and he had no reason to cover for me. Elizabeth would definitely give me the ax if she found out I’d skipped work to fool around.
After hours.
On my desk.
While drunk.
I needed a job. And not a job on a tour bus. I needed this job. My rent could not be paid on minimum wage. My primary goal in life could not be an orgasm. This day had been fun, but not fun enough to justify throwing away my entire existence. If I’d messed it all up on account of my hormones, I’d never be able to forgive myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When the alarm went off at 6:30, Carson didn’t wake up. In fact, he slept through my entire morning routine. Even the coffee grinder didn’t stir him from his sound slumber. At one point, I leaned over to make sure he was still breathing. He was. So I went back to blow-drying my hair, while frowning in his direction.
Carson couldn’t grasp the gravity of my predicament. He was used to giving up when he encountered a problem: dropping out of school when he got some bad grades, flitting off to another destination when the going got tough. He had never held down a real job before, didn’t understand the pressures of the professional rat race. He didn’t get that climbing the corporate ladder wasn’t a team-building exercise or even a good-natured competition, but rather a gladiator game full of carnage and spite, and if you took your hand off the rung for even a split second, someone would grab the opportunity to send you plunging to your death.
What the hell was I thinking? In the three years I’d been employed at McKinley, I’d never once called in sick. I worked through migraines, tonsillitis, even the flu. Once, I’d flown across the country with stomach cramps so debilitating, they had me lurching for the airplane bathroom every fifteen minutes; halfway to our destination, I’m sure the flight attendants were cross-checking my name against the no-fly list. But I’d been dedicated. Determined. Disciplined. Nothing could keep me from working toward those goals I had listed on my five-year plan. Yet here I was, messing up my hard-earned reputation with a guy who’d never had a plan in his life.
After leaving a spare key in plain sight on the kitchen counter, I stormed out the door, slamming it behind me. Maybe that would wake Carson up.
When I got to work, the only thing waiting for me in the office was the chaos I’d created on my desk the night before. I set down my briefcase and got to work reassembling my once-perfectly organized filing system.
“Hello.”
At the sound of Seth’s voice, I shrieked and dropped a stack of sequence diagrams to the floor around my feet. He stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the handle of a coffee mug.
“What are you doing here so early?” I said, scooping the papers up off my sensible leather pumps.
“Well, the project’s behind schedule.” He sauntered into the room and perched on his desk, his mannerisms conveying anything but urgency. “Someone’s gotta get here early to take care of things. Especially since we were one man down yesterday.”
“I’m sorry I was out. I wasn’t feeling well.”
He nodded, looking somewhat amused. “Feeling better now?”
“Mostly.” I started riffling through my documents. Unable to focus my vision enough to comprehend the words printed on the papers, I just matched the sticky flags to their corresponding colored folders.
“Owen said he ran into you last night.”
Blue sticky. That means flowcharts, right?
“He said you had a visitor.”
No, wait. Blue means financial statements.
“Was it the guy in this book?”
My hands trembled at the sight of Carson’s sketchbook in Seth’s hands. I’d completely forgotten it was in my desk drawer. He flipped through it like he was perusing a magazine at the doctor’s office.
“I know I saw a picture of him in here somewhere,” he said.
I snatched it from him and shoved it in my briefcase. I knew precisely which sketch he was looking for. “That’s private,” I said. “Why were you going through my desk?”
“Well, when I got here this morning, the place was a mess. Your chair was on the other side of the room; your folders were scattered all around. I knew you’d never leave things in such a state of disorder, so I thought maybe we’d been robbed. I was just checking your drawers to, you know, see if it looked like anything had been stolen. But then Owen came by and told me about your little run-in last night. Then it all made sense.”
I wanted to smack that shit-eating grin right off his face. “What do you want from me?”
“Whoa, hold on a minute.” He put his hands up, like a white-collar criminal. “Who says I want anything from you?”
“It’s written all over your face. Now just tell me what it is you need me to do so that you’ll keep your mouth shut about this.”
Seth looked out the window and stroked his chin, undoubtedly concocting a dozen different ways to blackmail me. What a fool I’d been. A weak, irresponsible fool.
“You know what?” Seth slapped his thighs and stood up. “I think I’m gonna take the morning off to ponder your question some more. If Elizabeth comes by, just tell her I’m…conducting research.”
“Okay.” This seemed too easy. He must’ve been expecting more than just an alibi for his game of hooky. As it was, he barely showed his face in the office. I braced myself against the desk, waiting for the next blow.
“So, while I’m gone, I think you should take care of…this.” He heaved a pile of crinkled papers from his mountain of junk and hurled it onto my desk. I turned and rummaged through them. Right on the top was every to-do list Elizabeth had sent since the project had started last week. Not one of the boxes had been ticked off.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “You’ve really accomplished none of these tasks?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Seth, I have my own to-do lists to take care of.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad.” He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, feeling for fever. “’Cause I think I might be coming down with something. It could keep me out of the office for the rest of the week.”
“You know, this is blackmail. And harassment. You could get fired.”
“What’re you gonna do about it?” Seth leaned toward me, so close I could smell the mixture of coffee and Altoids on his breath. “Run down to HR and tell them all about how John Ramsey’s son is making you sad?” He mimicked a sob.
“Maybe I am.”
He straightened up, sneering. “No one’s gonna believe you, sweetie. And even if they do—which they won’t, but let’s pretend for a second that they’ll buy your crazy story—what are you gonna tell them? That you lied about being sick? That you skipped out on work, then fucked some stranger on your desk after hours? You’ll get fired, too. Frankly, I don’t care if I get fired. I don’t need this job. Certainly not as much as you do. So if I were you, I’d think long and hard before opening that pretty little mouth of yours.”
Seth hovered over me, gliding the tip of his finger across my bottom lip. I stood as still as a statue, staring over his shoulder and out the window, trying hard not to breathe. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he stepped away and shuffled into the hall. I slammed the door shut behind him and gasped for air.
Deep breaths. Do not cry. You don’t deserve to break down in tears right now.
And I didn’t. Everything happening was my own stupid fault. I made this mess, and now I had to clean it up. Only I wasn’t sure if that was even possible. I was already drowning in my own task list. Now I was supposed to pick up Seth’s slack, too? For ten days, he’d done nothing. I could work around the clock and still not have this project done by Monday morning.
The only thing I could do was the only thing I’d ever done: sit down at the desk and approach it methodically. One task at a time. First, I had to get all these papers in order. I spread them out on the blotter and sorted them into piles. Flowcharts here, financial statements there. Then out came the sticky flags and the color-coordinated folders. By lunchtime, my desk had been tidied up, but I still hadn’t checked a single box on my to-do list.
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