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I closed the desk and flicked myself again, but nothing happened. The vibrational intensity stayed the same.
“I’ll just let it ring,” I said. “It’s my… mother.”
It was getting very difficult to say words and, by the same token, come up with a lie about who might have been calling me. In retrospect, a spam call might have made sense.
“It’s still going,” Elaine said.
I was very much well aware that it was still going.
“Maybe you should answer,” she said. “If this is a bad time…”
“Yes, actually,” I said. “Could you all step… outside?”
I smiled at them, feeling the fire of repression in my face as I devoted all my energy to ignoring the sensations that the pleasure machine between my legs gave me.
“Certainly,” Elaine said and stood up. “Gentlemen?”
They walked out of the room as slowly as they possibly could and, the second they closed the door, I fell out of my chair onto the floor where I flicked the base of the ring as hard as I could, and it stopped.
I stayed there for a while and caught my breath where I waited patiently for the erection to subside so, eventually, I could remove the ring.
From then on out, I vowed to take the ring home and leave it there. I never wanted it anywhere near my office again. This was an at home toy only, and I couldn’t wait to try it with Sloane.
CHAPTER19
***SLOANE***
Iwished I could freeze time. Life should have been like an old tv show, where, at the end of each episode, everything goes back to the way it was at the beginning. When things are perfect — which is so rare — they should just stay that way.
Unfortunately, time works the exact opposite way. When things are absolutely perfect, everything moves so quickly and, before too long, the deal with the Dyer house had finished and Wesley and I had been together for over two months. Things were getting serious. Or to be more accurate, they stayed wonderful even as time passed and we fell into a routine. I hadn’t moved in with him, but I had my own toothbrush and closet space and spent very little time at my actual apartment, to the point that it felt more like a storage space than my living space.
At first, when I woke up, I thought it was just a stomach flu or something. I felt off. I figured that once I forced myself out of bed and ate something, I’d feel better. The muffin from Starbucks did nothing to quell my nausea, but while I was eating it, a woman walked in with two energetic kids and I realized it had been two months since I’d had a period.
I love kids and always wanted to be a mother, but not now. It was always an indefinite time in the future. The far future, when I had my life sorted out. Not now, when I was in a secret relationship with my boss — whom I absolutely adored, by the way, but wasn’t sure if he truly was interested in serious long-term plans with me. Rationally, it was too soon to tell, though I know if he asked me to, I’d agree to be with him forever. That’s how I felt. That’s what my heart told me.
Or maybe that’s just what the baby hormones were telling me.
Chill, Sloane, I reminded myself. You might be misremembering. Maybe you just forgot about the last period.
Maybe, or maybe work stress caused me to skip it. Or maybe… I don’t know. There were a million things that could be going on that weren’t a baby.
But it could also be a baby.
At any rate, I had to finish the muffin and get to work because I was cutting it close for an important meeting with the house inspectors.
With clients who were buying a house — or even those who were selling — there was some stress surrounding the inspection, but this was a whole new ball game. We’d already bought the house and Dynasty was watching us like a hawk. With a little luck, there wouldn’t be too much we’d need to do and we could fix everything up for a few thousand dollars, then turn it around and not lose too much money on it. At least that’s how Wesley explained it to me. Maybe I was being optimistic, but I thought that, if Wesley and I focused on selling the house — and didn’t need to deal with the preferences of the current owners — we might, with a little luck, maybe even manage to pull a profit.
Wesley told me that was extraordinarily unlikely based on how much other houses in the area were going for, and I trusted his judgment, but I still had hope in our professional abilities.
It was the same hope that reminded myself that I might not be pregnant. And while I believed the hope that told me we could net a profit on the house; I wasn’t so confident in not being pregnant.
I made it into the conference room in the office with a minute to spare. Wesley, as per usual, was already there and so was our punctual inspector with the report.
“All in all,” the inspector said, “It looks good.”
Oh, thank God, I thought.
“You have to fix the mold — it’s illegal to sell the house in its current condition — and you’ll need to disclose that the A/C unit and electrical fuse box are previous generation — but in the scheme of things, that’s fairly minor.”
