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I hear the spikes of her heels on the terrazzo floor as she follows me, that ominous clacking like gunshots. She knows that I know, too. She isn’t trying to hide it.
As soon as she gets into the area, she palms the panel that activates the privacy screens, turning my space from an open area to a more traditional office.
Carefully modulating my reaction, I don’t act as though she has trapped me in here with her. The best strategy for getting out of Veronica’s way is not to let her know that’s what you are doing.
She stalks around the perimeter, slowly flexing those long, lean muscles, trained into supermodel-worthy flanks. She’s wearing a custom-made silk blouse that only fits her two days of the month, corresponding to her ideal body weight aligned with her feminine cycle. It is that precise. I know, because I invented the process that would scan and produce a garment that exceptionally fitted.
She finally stops walking back and forth and leans on her knuckles, letting the neck of her blouse slide open like the petals of a flower. With a slow smile, she bites her lower lip and smirks.
“I love watching you work,” she purrs.
Standing up straight, I try to get space between us without looking like I am retreating.
“The project won’t go anywhere,” I observe. “You know that.”
“Oh no?” she simpers. “It was brilliant. A real game changer.”
“It was just an exercise,” I sniff, inadvertently letting some of my irritation into my voice.
As if on cue, she pouts reflexively. I fell into her trap. Great.
“Irving, you have to believe in yourself,” she implores me dramatically. “All of this… It’s all you. Without your vision—”
“You know what? You’re probably right. Go ahead and start the project.”
She breaks off midsentence and smiles tightly. That wasn’t exactly what she was expecting.
“All right, sure thing,” she answers mechanically.
I sense her backing away. It will probably only be for a little while, but it’s definitely going to be nice to get a break.
“Just make sure Opal is on the project, okay? She won’t offer this information, but her work in Honduras was really spectacular. Even if the project doesn’t work out, I think there’s something there that we could leverage. You should look into it.”
She stands up straight again, squaring her shoulders and sucking in her cheeks.
“I already looked at that,” she sniffs. “A bit redundant, don’t you think? Marty more than covered—”
“Take another look.”
She goes silent as I begin working on a different project, looking through some competitive research that has… something. The truth is, I don’t remember. But there is a small voice in my mind that is telling me I saw something or read something and then forgot it. And the thing that I forgot, if I can remember it again, will make me think of something else.
It just makes me laugh. People say I’m some kind of genius. If they knew I was just stumbling around in the dark 99 percent of the time, I would lose everything.
It might’ve been something about cattle futures in Uruguay. Something about that seems right. Or maybe sunflower production. Or maybe reversing the flow of a river? It could be anything. But I have exhausted search engines, as far as I know, so I believe that what I’m looking for is written down on a literal piece of paper somewhere in this stack of corporate reports and investor pitches.
I feel her behind me. My core automatically stiffens, along with parts of my body I wish would not stiffen so readily.
“God, Irving, you’re so tense!” she murmurs as she comes up behind me, floating her hands over my shoulders. I can feel the heat from her palms over my muscles and even though I want her to get the fuck out, I also want…
“Probably in the other cabinet,” I mutter defensively, sidestepping her touch.
But as I pivot around the edge of the table, she works those long legs to cut me off. She stands in front of me, leaning against the table with her chin raised in invitation, her blouse opened just so, her breath sweet and artificial.
“Let me make you feel better,” she suggests, batting her organic eyelash extensions, trying to sound as though it is a perfectly professional offer.
“Veronica, we have been through this.”
My voice is a hostile growl. There is only a very narrow range of appropriate conversational topics and tones that I can take with her. I am going to run out of things that I can do or say in the situation in mere seconds.
