Page 44 of Touch of Class

You touch people for money.

It had been several days, and she didn’t care to admit how often the details floated through her mind unbidden.

A little alarm sounded on her smart watch, and she clicked it off without glancing at the screen.

“Saved by the bell.” Maria hopped up. “Maybe we can punt that both/and thing to next session?”

“I’ll be ready.”

“I appreciate that about you.” Maria slipped into her coat. “You’re always ready for everything.”

“I try.” She rose and opened the door, seeing Maria out, then closed it quickly behind her. She wasn’t ready to face another client yet. She needed every one of the next ten minutes to focus, before she met with … oh God, who was next?

Maria, then … why couldn’t she remember? It had been one appointment after another, and she’d spent her lunch break returning calls about new client inquiries, and there were two intakes, and—her stomach growled loudly again.

Dinner. She sighed. She didn’t have a client. She had an hour, one glorious hour, and it was Brooke’s turn to cover Take-Out Tuesday. Gillian didn’t have to do a damn thing except make her way down the hall to the conference room. Surely she still had that in her. Only, as soon as she stepped out of her office door, she realized the task would take more from her than it should, when she bumped into Daphne. Literally.

“Oops.” Daphne turned around but didn’t take a step back, which put them flush against each other. For a second, Gillian’s brain dropped all the way into her body as soft curves butted against her sharp edges, and for a fraction of a second, she leaned forward.

“Easy there.” Daphne caught her arm, and the direct contact snapped Gillian back into herself.

“I’m fine.”

Daphne laughed. “Do you ever find that when someone says, ‘I’m fine’ unprompted, they usually aren’t.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Gillian muttered. She did, in fact, find that, but she didn’t want to think about it or anything other than getting out of this conversation.

Daphne burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?” Robin asked from across the room where she and Tegan were huddled over the same phone.

“Gillian said ‘fuck.’”

“Ah.” Robin nodded. “Does happen sometimes. The one you gotta get is Brooke.”

“Get me to what?” Brooke pushed through the door, loaded down with two big paper bags.

“Say ‘fuck.’”

Brooke wrinkled her nose slightly. “Okay, at anyone in particular?”

Tegan kissed her on the cheek before taking one of the bags. “I love you so much. And no. We’re all a little loopy here. Long day. Tuesdays always are.”

“Hence reinforcements.” Brooke nodded to the bag. “I got barbecue tonight. The cooler weather called for something heartier.”

“I love you, too,” Gillian blurted as gratitude washed over her. “In a different way, of course, but … Tegan, kiss her again.”

“Gladly.” This time Tegan planted a real kiss on her mouth, one that went on two seconds longer than necessary.

“I said kiss, not make out,” Gillian grumbled, but, honestly, if she could get some pulled pork right now, she wouldn’t split hairs.

“Romantic liberty.” Tegan shrugged. “Not sorry. What were we talking about?”

“Food?” Gillian asked hopefully.

“Right.” Tegan turned to Daphne. “Want to join us? We always get way more than we need. Take-Out Tuesdays are an office institution. We don’t have to talk about clients if you want to pop in.”

Gillian bit her tongue. Normally, she would’ve argued about including anyone else in a work tradition, but she needed not to right now. She didn’t have the bandwidth. She needed to extract herself as painlessly as possible. Besides, she had not won her last argument with Daphne, which still bothered her on several levels, and she wasn’t in any place to process or repeat the experience.