“I seriously hope so.” I jut out a hip as I pull a laptop from my bag. “I’m Sandra — I work up in accounting. I spilled something on my keyboard this morning and I will be, like, eternally grateful if one of you can salvage it.” I pause for effect. “The girls upstairs were like, ‘Oh, you should take it to the geniuses at the Apple Store’ but I was like ‘Um, don’t you know we have a whole department of geniuses right downstairs?’” I grin when I see Larry, Moe, and Curly are hanging on my every word.
“So…” I swivel my gaze around the office. “You think you guys could help me? If you’re too busy… I guess I can go to the Apple store…”
“No!” All three of them practically yell at the same time.
My grin widens until I’m beaming. “Great!”
I step into the office and walk toward Moe, swinging my hips and stopping a fraction closer to him than I would a normal stranger.
It’s safe to say he’s affected by my nearness. The man can barely meet my eyes as he takes the junk laptop — another prop I keep handy for occasions such as this — from my hands. You wouldn’t believe how many times this same routine has gotten me access into buildings I’m not supposed to be within a ten-block radius of.
Never underestimate the power of horny tech-support staffers.
(Spoiler alert: they’re always horny.)
“We’ll take a look and see what we can do,” Moe tells me as Larry and Curly watch from the sidelines, no doubt envious they aren’t the ones who’ll be attempting to resuscitate a computer that’s been dead since 2010, when a city-wide power outage fried my hard drive.
“Thanks so much!” I gush. “I owe you guys! And I’ll be sure to tell the girls upstairs that they should stop walking all the way to the Apple Store every time they have an issue. This is much closer… and you guys are way cuter.”
Moe’s expression matches that of a child on Christmas.
Larry looks like he might start weeping tears of joy.
Curly looks a little nauseous.
God, I’m good.
“I suppose you guys won’t mind if I hang out here for a bit, while you’re fixing it?” I ask, batting my eyelashes. “I can just, like, play Solitaire or something on one of your extra computers.”
“Of course not,” Moe mutters quickly, looking slightly embarrassed as he examines the console beside his. The desktop is littered with empty Red Bull cans and old microwaveable burrito wrappers. “Let me just clear this off for you…”
“You can sit over here!” Larry calls.
“Or here!” Curly adds.
“No worries, boys.” Holding Moe’s gaze, I watch a blush creep up the side of his neck beneath his collar and try not to smirk as I backpedal toward a desk in the corner, where my screen won’t be visible to them. “This one will be fine.”
“Okay.” Moe looks a little crestfallen, but turns his attention quickly back to the fried laptop in his hands. “This looks like it might take a while. Just hang tight and let us know if you need anything.”
Oh, Moe, I think as I log onto their server and cue up the terminal window. You’ve already given me everything I need.
5
The Magic Trick
An hour later, I step off the elevators onto the penthouse floor with a spring in my step and a smile on my face.
“Do you have an appointment?” The pretty receptionist behind the desk tilts her head at me. Her hair is pinned up in a French-twist or some other elaborate, work-appropriate up-do that looks effortless but I’m sure took at least thirty minutes. Not a single shiny, brown lock is out of place.
Ugh. I can barely manage a freaking pony tail without compressing the nerves in my neck. Right now, I feel the weight of my curls straining against my clip. It’s only a matter of time before it clatters to the marble floor — one more casualty in the war to tame my mane.
“No,” I blurt when I realize she’s staring at me, waiting for an answer. “I don’t have an appointment.”
“Well, I’m afraid Mr. West has no availability to see you today. Fridays are always busy — no time for walkins.” She purses her lips as she gestures toward a prim stack of gray business cards to my left. “Feel free to take a card and call the office to make an appointment. Currently, we’re booking into March.”
I stare at her, not moving. “March. As in… three months from now?”
“Mr. West is a busy man.”
“Oh, I’ll bet he is.”
Her eyes narrow at my thinly-veiled sarcasm. “If you’d like to leave a message with me, I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“Uh huh.” It doesn’t escape my notice that she makes no move to pick up her pen. I figure that means the chances of her passing on any messages are nil.
“So.” She rises to her feet and I see the rest of her is as annoyingly put-together as her hair. I feel like an idiot in my thrift-store ensemble. “If you’ll just make your way to the elevators…”
“Yeah, the thing is, March isn’t going to work for me.” I stare her down.
She goes still and her voice lowers. “Please leave and call back for an appointment.”
“Nope, don’t think so.”
“Miss, I will not hesitate to call security.”
“No need to waste their time.” I shrug, turn, and cross to the white leather sofa across from her desk. “I’ll just wait while you call Mr. West and tell him I’m here to solve his computer issues.”
“But—” Steam is going to start leaking from her ears any second. “We aren’t having any computer issues.”