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“What?”
“I can see the seams from here.”
I follow her gaze to my shoulders and sure enough, the seam of my dress is peeking out from under my blazer. “Dammit, I’ve been showing around the SEC inspector all day looking like this.” I look down at the skirt where the wardrobe malfunction is even more obvious.
“Don’t worry,” Blake says, “It can’t be worse than what happened to me the other day.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, the buttons of my shirt basically exploded in the face of Gabriel’s general counsel.”
“Oh gosh.”
“On the bright side, Gabriel enjoyed the show so much he sent the legal team away and we had sex on his desk.”
“Okay, too much information.”
“You should try pregnancy sex. It never felt so good.” I pull a face and she moves on to the next topic. “So I guess you’re too tired to go finish the baby registry tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yeah, I just want to face-plant on my couch and live there for the next two days.”
“Mari.”
“Yes?”
“Go home. You look tired.”
“I was about to.”
We air-kiss goodbye, and I gather my things to leave. Outside my office, I stop before my secretary’s desk.
“Edna, did you know my dress is inside out?” I ask.
She lowers her eyes guiltily and nods.
“Did everyone else notice?”
Another nod.
“And why did no one tell me?”
She looks up now. “We were all scared to tell you. You’ve been slightly terrifying these past two weeks. And then someone said pregnant women can get emotional about the most trivial stuff. We didn’t want to upset you.”
I take a deep breath. “And you thought letting me show around an SEC official dressed like this would be a better solution?”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Thank you, Edna.” I flare my nostrils. “See, I’m not scary. You can talk to me.”
“You’re still being a little scary right now.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. It won’t do anyone any good if I blow up at my secretary. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little stressed. Let’s go home.”
She nods and follows me to the elevator, where we wait in awkward silence for it to arrive.
Friday night traffic is the worst, and by the time I get home that evening, I’m destroyed. I drag my feet past the entrance and into the kitchen to a domestic hell. Unwashed dishes are piled in the sink, the trash bin is overflowing with take-out containers, and two open pizza boxes sit abandoned on the counter. I’ve scattered dirty coffee mugs all over the place in my attempt to drink enough low-caffeine coffee to stay awake and work late from home.
I open the fridge to forage for something to eat, but only find even more smelly, disgusting leftovers. No fresh vegetables, no homemade dinners. Not even a flipping carton of unexpired milk.
