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Vanessa: Hey, Amanda, Brock said to contact you about the Dior bikini bottoms I left at his place. It’s hunter green, with gold beads on the hips. I really wanted that suit for my trip to Cabo, so please overnight it to me. And, when you see Brock, tell him I had an awesome time on Saturday night. Those cocktails he whipped up were killer.
The text ends with kissy-lip emojis.
Three, in a row.
Did she really have to describe the bikini bottom’s color and style? Surely, there aren’t multiple bikini bottoms floating around Brock’s home estate…
Then again, for all I know, maybe there are.
He does have a reputation as a ladies’ man.
“One of us should probably go find Brock and tell him his assistant quit.” I set the phone carefully on the side of my desk as if it were a ticking time bomb and eye it warily. The tablet is equally problematic. Neither of these devices should be here in Shipping.
The cell phone seems to erupt in that awful ring about every five minutes, and I’m already dreading the next incoming call.
“Not it.” Lizzy touches a hot pink nail to the top of her nose.
“Is that professional?”
“Who said anything about being professional?” she teases.
“This is an office. You’re wearing a blazer.”
“And we are friends in addition to coworkers, and friends honor the not-it code.”
“So, I have to go deliver the bad news?”
She eyes the devices, her distaste curling her lips into a frown. “It’s either that or get an earful when he finds out his calls, texts, and emails have been unanswered all morning… and that we knew what was going on and didn’t address the problem. You know how he is about inter-department communication. He will figure out she’s gone eventually. He’ll look for her, find these here, and realize we didn’t take action. He’s all about action.”
I bow my head into my hands and rest it there, squeezing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. It feels good to block out the too-bright office. Maybe this darkness will help me think.
My mind churns through possible ways to get out of going to my boss’ office.
Maybe I haven’t had enough coffee. I can’t think of any possible way to dodge this.
“Ugh,” I groan. “This is not the Monday I hoped for. Really, it isn’t. I wanted to lay low, fly under the radar, get through the day, and then go home.”
“Gwen…”
I figure she’s going to give me some mother-hen advice about heading straight to Brock’s office, and I’m not up for hearing her practical advice. I want to wallow for a minute.
“I have never even been to his office, Lizzy,” I moan, palms still over my eyes, head low. “No, it’s worse. I have never talked to him. Not in person. And honestly, I’m fine with that. He’s ignored me for six straight years, and I’d rather keep it that way.”
“Gwen…” I can tell she’s talking through her teeth.
She’s probably as unhappy about the twist in our morning as I am.
I go on. “Mandy said it: he’s a monster, Lizzy. A stylishly dressed monster, sure, and maybe he has that great smile, but?—”
“A monster?” The deep, rich voice sweeps through my core.
I freeze.
That. Was. Not. Lizzy.
That sounded an awful lot like my boss.
I keep my face buried in my hands and try to think. Brock Benson is here, at my desk. This was supposed to be chit-chat between two friends, but he heard everything I just said. Which was…
