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  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