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“Who’s on top? How would you rate her pelvic floor strength?”
“I am not—” He stopped when he realized she was laughing. “If you run into Flick, you can’t mention this.”
“So, Flick was on top.”
“You are never getting another bonus. Never.”
“Typical.” Wren’s smile dropped. “Now tell me what you’re doing about Harry.”
Of the evils, talking office politics or sex, sex was probably the least problematic. “I don’t think the rumor is true. Harry is busy, that’s all. We’ll get to it.”
“The whole office is gossiping, you know. Harry had an affair. Harry needs a divorce. Mrs. Harry Hardiman is going to take every penny she can get. It means Harry needs the money, so he’s not going to retire.”
Tom was aware of it. “We don’t know any of that.” It was hard to imagine Harry having an affair in the first place. He didn’t want to play into it. If he was going to be the boss, he had to act like the boss and the boss didn’t gossip.
Or lose his concentration on a panel because he was thinking about the sex he’d had and how he wanted to have more of it.
And how he couldn’t because he needed to keep his head straight and he’d just proven he was incapable of doing that.
“If you don’t get the job, they’ll bring in an outsider.”
Wren was right. If he was passed over it was a vote of no confidence and his career at Rendel would have a use-by date.
“There’s no reason to worry. Worst case, Harry’s retirement is delayed.” And he’d need a new roommate after Flick moved out, or a new job if the delay was serious.
He went straight to the office from the airport Monday and put in a full day of meetings and client reports. After a weekend of enforced social activity, he was desperate to go home and not have to talk to anyone.
And reluctant.
Because he’d have to talk to Flick, to tell her in as emotionless and practical a way as possible that much as he’d enjoyed their hookups, for the sake of his job, it couldn’t happen again.
She’d understand if he put it like that, because perhaps the one thing they had in common was their ambition.
Chapter Ten
Flick didn’t exactly know when Tom would be home. They didn’t have a “synchronize calendars, message each other” relationship. It was unclear what kind of relationship they had. Tormenter and victim, maybe.
She expected him Sunday night, but he never showed and that left her flat. Monday night, long after he was normally home, she wandered about the place, in the satin slip she’d worn under her white coatdress, bored and tense and wondering if she’d misunderstood his travel plans.
Elsie had left a message and wanted to talk. It would likely end up costing Flick money unless she didn’t act like such a pushover.
She played Tom’s weird old music, ate a box of mac and cheese and ran property searches on apartments for rent in Washington. And still he didn’t come home.
And she called Elsie. “It’s me.”
“’Bout time.”
For someone who wanted something, Elsie was infuriatingly surly. “What do you want?”
“The girls need new bikes.”
“They’ve got bikes.” New last year. Or was she forgetting and it was the year before?
“And they grew. Not that you’d understand that.”
The fact Kendall and Krystal grew was the reason they always needed new shoes. Shoes, clothes, books, dentists kids needed, but new bikes?
“I bought decent bikes. How can they have outgrown them already?”
