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“I thought it might be.”
Chapter six
Laineydrovebackhomein complete silence, her thoughts piling one of top of the other, a Jenga tower of sexual and academic frustration. When she arrived home, she took the to-go box out of the front seat and felt the heat radiating through the bottom of the container. She bit her lip at the memory that sprung behind her eyes and walked in the kitchen, throwing it in the fridge. She found, thankfully, that Jill was gone, probably doing yoga in the park with people she met on Meetup or something of equal value that Lainey could never picture herself doing.
She walked in silence through the house and decided to bathe, something she’d wanted to do before she went to meet Mr. Arnault anyway. She untied the strings on her dress and let it drop onto the tile floor, pulled the hair tie off from around her braid to allow her hair to fall down her back. She ran the bathwater until it was steaming and lay in it, stretching her legs in front of her, arching her toes dramatically. Why had she rushed to meet him? What was it about him that excited her, that made her impulsive? That, worse yet, made her obedient? She shuddered at the thought of his thumb pressing into her throat and the way her body had reacted. Her body was reacting again, and she moved her hands to her breasts, holding them as they floated, imagining Mr. Arnault’s strong fingers cupping them instead. She thought of his thumbs travelling to her nipples. A man his age would know what he was doing, wouldn’t waste time flicking them but would instead be capable and precise in his movements, squeezing lightly, rotating his fingers around them.
She thought of showing up at work on Monday and pictured herself sitting at a heavy oak desk across from him, intent on her work until she felt a pen dragging its way up her thigh, then a warm hand separating her legs, his fingers slipping under the elastic of her underwear. Lainey gasped inwardly at the image, one that was so strong she could feel it. She was pulsing, and the warm water around her was melting her into the vision. Her hands slipped under the water and down between her legs, which she’d been crossing all day, trying to suppress the feelings she was having for Mr. Arnault. The feelings were alien to her. She’d never had eyes for anyone but Josh—she’d never let herself. She’d always been the perfect girlfriend, loyal and chaste. But with Mr. Arnault, she found herself wanting to lean into whatever persona he wanted her to adopt. It was in direct opposition to the life she’d always lead, one where the path was clear. Although, in her imagination, the path was clear too—it was just a path beneath her skirt, a tunnel for him to drive his finger into with a light above leading the way. She could feel herself full of two of his fingers, squeezing tightly around them as his thumb stroked her clit in eager circles, her juices flowing freely until he suddenly pulled his hand away from her and pulled her underwear back into its proper place, patting the fabric. Lainey rubbed her clit feverishly under the water and arched her back as she imagined herself rocking back and forth on the chair to his smirking supervision. She held her breath between yearning gasps at the thought of him watching her grovel before running his wet fingers over her lips until she parted them and accepted his fingers into her mouth, her tongue tasting the flavor of her desire. She came with a violent throbbing. It sent shockwaves through her body, and her writhing displaced water over the brim of the bathtub. She held her heart and waited for its beating to return to normal as she stared right through the water on the floor, her eyes there but her mind somewhere else, kissing Mr. Arnault a thank you.
Chapter seven
Mondaymorning,Laineytriedto quell her nausea, the saliva that was brimming on the back of her tongue. She moved the gear to the “park” position and touched the ignition button. The car quietly turned off, the screen blackening. She kicked at the door with her feet to hold it open as she let herself out then slammed the door closed with her hip. She was a few minutes late as the road she went down had been closed. She’d had to figure out how to get there without GPS and had failed miserably, turning down several cul-de-sacs before finally finding a road that deposited her back on the road a little farther down.
She expected Mr. Arnault to welcome her, but instead she was briskly greeted by a woman who gripped her by the elbow and whisked her to an empty room to complete onboarding paperwork. She sat quietly, filling out all the information that had defined her for her entire life without actually capturing anything about her. Who was Lainey? A name, an address, an emergency contact, three references, an education, a birthday, and a social security number. She was a culmination of numbers and letters. Her experiences didn’t matter, and thank God for that anyway, because she’d always won Never Have I Ever, always been left with more fingers than her peers. She read through the HIPAA laws, through the employee handbook—apparently, she was entitled to three fifteen-minute breaks and one thirty-minute break—and then she signed a non-disclosure agreement, which gave her a thrill. She’d never had a secret before, not that she could remember.
The woman, whose name was Monica and who was evidently the office manager, showed her around the building with that serious face that women who had had to claw their way into positions always wore. She showed her the bathrooms, the conference room, the kitchen, the lounge, the research room, the various offices of employees, pointing out Mr. Arnault’s without stopping, and then took her back into the waiting room to show her how to use the fax machine, computers, and phones. Though the phone looked complicated at first glance, she just imagined the buttons as tabs that she could switch between with the one hold button being the holy grail she needed to remember. Then Monica got her up to speed with the various apps for organization and communication the company used and had her sign up for them all, and they were many. Monday, Slack, Trello, a personalized work email address, Zoom, Google calendar—the list was daunting. When she’d been in school, she’d just used a white board and the school’s email.
“It almost seems like too much communication,” Lainey marveled, wondering how their conversations didn’t get lost in the various threads.
“Too much communication isn’t possible,” Monica quipped back, her eyebrows touching the bridge of her nose in genuine angst.
“Too many branches of communication, then. It’s fragmented.”
“How about you work here for at least a day before you give me ideas on how to manage,” Monica shot back, her eyes sparkling with annoyance.
“Sorry, of course.”
Monica smiled a smile that didn’t touch her eyes and pulled her phone out of her back pocket as it buzzed.
“Our boss just communicated with me via one of our fragmented branches of communication that he’d like you to see him in his office. You remember which one it is?”
“Yes. Sorry again,” Lainey mumbled, walking away and feeling that icy hot zap of concern shoot through her body as she realized that she had already fumbled in her relationship with Monica. She opened the wrong door and looked behind her shoulder to make sure Monica hadn’t noticed. She had. She sucked on her teeth as Monica pointed wordlessly.
“Lainey, how is your first day going?” Mr. Arnault asked cheerfully as she entered his office.
“Great!” Lainey chirped, swallowing down the copper-flavored apprehension that coated her tongue. “Monica has been so welcoming.” Maybe, she hoped, that would get back to Monica, and all would be forgiven. Or maybe that would get back to Monica, and she would assume Lainey had said it sarcastically.
“She’s been with me for a long time, so I’m glad to hear that. She’s really blossomed here, as I hope you will. Truth be told, she helped me blossom too. I was a little lost without some management. I need you to do me a favor.”
“Of course, Mr. Arnault! What can I do for you?” She tried to say it with a hint of something sultry in her voice. He handed her a credit card.
“I added a list of coffee orders to Monday and sent you a reminder on the Slack intern board. Run out and grab those for us, please.”
“Sure. Peppermint green tea for you?” she asked, pointing a finger gun at him. He paused for a moment, eyeing her hand, which she lowered.
“Yes . . . but should you forget, it’s on Slack. And of course, get yourself whatever you like as well.” She stood there a moment, fingering the thick metal of the black card, staring into the back of Mr. Arnault’s head at the little swirl of the crown. “Lainey? Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Now?”
“Oh! Yes.” She left, confusion welling in her, and closed the door behind her. She noticed Monica’s smug face and grabbed her keys in silence.
“Coffee?” Monica called as she was walking out.
“Mhm,” Lainey responded tightly, staring straight ahead, letting the door close as hard as it would, which wasn’t that hard as it had hydraulics in the hinges.
Chapter eight
