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“Right,” I hear myself saying as if from a distance. My heart pounds in my chest. “Good idea.”
What? a part of me shouts. Are you so horny your brain has stopped working?
“I better hang up now,” he says. “Have to clean up.”
Clean up. Right. Because I made him come. My face burns bright again, even as disappointment snakes through me.
I’m not ready for this to end.
“When should we resume?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even. Professional, as befits an interaction between an employee and her boss’s boss. “Tomorrow?”
His eyes gleam. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I wouldn’t want to make you work on the weekend.”
Ah, right.
It’s Friday night.
I forgot that—along with my name.
“Weekend is no problem,” I manage to say. “I did all that resting. This isn’t going to eat up my whole day anyway. We’ll just do one more piece of hardware. You said this was important.”
Do I sound overeager?
Am I overeager?
“How does eight p.m. tomorrow sound?” he asks. “Unless you have plans?”
So, he and the perfume lady aren’t meeting on Saturday night either. That raises the chances there isn’t anything going on between them—unless whatever is going on doesn’t require formal dates, that is.
I take in a deep breath. “I’ll clear my evening schedule.”
“See you then,” he says and hangs up.
I make sure he really hung up, then grab a female toy at random and finish myself off to regain a semblance of sanity.
Giddy with relief, I document today’s testing, finish my daily routine, and go to sleep.
* * *
The next day goes by in a haze.
I code more of Phantom’s suggestions, play with Monkey, and in general try to keep my mind off the big event that’s happening at eight.
A package from UPS comes in the afternoon, filled with eyebrow paraphernalia. It takes me a while to try out the indelible eyebrow pencil, eyebrow powder, and the temporary tattoos, but the winning look turns out to be the stick-on human hair eyebrow wigs, proving once again you get what you pay for.
Doing my best not to think about where that human hair actually came from, I go about my day until I get a call from Ava.
“Have you been avoiding me?” she asks instead of a hello.
“No,” I say.
She huffs. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts.”
“Fine, maybe. I just had a lot going on.”
There’s a prolonged silence on her end of the line. “Is it Impaler related?”
“Yes.” I tell her what happened.
