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“I have an announcement to make. As you all know, our top priority right now is finding that harlot who stole the Le Man Sexpert idea. And we’ve made significant progress. We have that little cupcake in our sights and we’re about to go in for the kill because she is one of us!”
Oh, shit. Does he know? I look around nervously. I can see almost everyone through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Gretchen’s office. But no one is looking for me, so I force myself to calm down and take a deep breath.
“Was that too much?” Pierce asks someone.
“Just… just keep going.”
Wait, was that Andrew? Is he up in Pierce’s office right now?
“But in the spirit of benevolence,” Pierce bellows in a deep voice that might actually be an imitation of a—king?—“we are going to give her one. More. Chance. To come clean. Sexpert, we know you’re here. So listen carefully, shortcake. One chance. Come up to my office right now and out yourself, or we will be forced to—what?” There’s mumbled whispering. Like Andrew is giving him pointers. “Oh, right, right, right. Got it. We’re here to make an offer, Sexpert. A very generous one. You see… I respect what you’ve done.” His tone turns a lot more conciliatory. “Because… because it was genius. We think you are the perfect partner for Le Man magazine and we want to make you our next superstar!”
“Since when do we have superstars?” Gretchen asks.
I’m thinking the same thing, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t need any extra attention right now.
“So… Sexpert. What do you think? Can we work together? Come see me. Quickly. Because this offer expires at the end of the day and after that we’ll be forced to take more deliberate measures.” There’s more screeching feedback and then we hear Pierce say, “That went well, right?” before the speakers go dead.
Everyone’s chattering and laughing out in the cubicles, looking around, trying to figure out who the Sexpert is.
I turn back to Gretchen, very much wanting to get back to business, so I push my glasses up my nose and say, “OK, so where were we?”
But Gretchen is lost in thought. “Who do you think it is?” she asks.
“Umm… Myrtle?”
Shit! Why the fuck did I just say that?
“Myrtle!” Gretchen practically guffaws. “No way. If she were a Sexpert she’d compare everything to pain and death, not cupcakes and frosting.”
I do not move. Because Gretchen suddenly gets an idea. And it’s about me. I can see that little lightbulb going off over her head.
But then she shakes it off and says, “Go back to work.”
“Cool,” I say. “Good talk.”
“And Eden,” she snaps.
“Yes?”
“Do. Not. Disobey me. Again.”
“No problem,” I say, closing her door on my way out with the hope she will just stay in there and never come out.
I go back to my desk and do simple mindless things like disobey Gretchen’s last direct order. I find new scrumptious graphics to send up to the bloggers. And come up with new titles. But I’m just on autopilot. Because all I can think about is that offer.
Maybe I should do it? Maybe I should just go up there and tell him it’s me?
I mean… he said superstar, right? He’d give me a promotion. He’d get me out from under Gretchen’s thumb.
But what about Zoey? We’re on the verge of some real financial independence and she’d never want to stick Stevie in daycare to join the rat race again.
I mull that over all morning and then someone yells, “Eden! Eden Presley?”
I pop my head up to find a delivery woman standing near the reception door looking around like she’s lost. “That’s me!” I say. “Over here.”
The woman smiles and weaves her way through cubicles, relieved to have found her target. “Delivery. Sign here.”
“Oh,” I say, instantly happy. Because it’s a very glossy pink box with a black satin ribbon. “What’s this?” I ask as I sign her slip.
“There’s a card.” And then she just stands there and smiles at me.
“Right!” I say. “Tip. One second.” I fish through my purse, come up with five dollars I can’t really afford to give her, and hand it over.
“Thanks so much, Eden. Enjoy your surprise!”
I make one of those teeth-clenched grins and turn back to the pink box that is now atop my desk, then take the little card out of the little envelope and read it.
Welcome home. This will look perfect in your new place.
But there’s no name.
“What is it?” Janet asks, popping her head over the partition wall.
“I dunno,” I say, pulling on the slick satin ribbon. It comes loose like chocolate melting in your mouth. I lift the lid off, pull the layers of tissue paper apart, and… “Oh.”
“Wow,” Janet says, blinking at my sculpture. “That’s… sexy.”
“It really is,” I say, breathing those words out in a low whisper.
