“Where did you disappear to last night?” she demands from my doorway.
“I…” That’s as far as the sentence gets. The truth is that I’m still trying to figure out what happened to me last night. Encounters with Matt always leave me a little befuddled.
For example, did I really grind on his lap while our mouths were fused together? And then, did my lifelong crush slip his hand inside my panties and nearly make me come, while I moaned like a porn star? One thing I know for sure—mid-groan, we were interrupted.
With a different kind of groan, I put my head in my hands.
“Oh honey!” Jenny yelps. She shuts the door and flings herself into the visitor’s chair. “Tell Auntie Jenny what happened!”
“It was wonderful and terrible,” I whine. “Like all my encounters with Matt.”
She makes a sympathetic noise.
“That shopping order he put in was because he wanted to make me dinner,” I start, and Jenny squeals with delight. “That part of the night was really fun. I was able to calm down and turn off the…what did you call it?”
“The latherblather,” my friend says with authority.
“Wait…” I say, just noticing the takeout cup in her hand. “You went to the coffee shop without me?”
“Sorry,” she says. “If you tell me what happened, I’ll run out and grab you one.”
“You want me to humiliate myself without coffee?” I grumble. “That’s cold.”
She removes the top of her cup and hands it to me for a sip. “Now spill. The story. Not the coffee.”
Right. I take a single gulp and hand it back. “After dinner, we sat on the couch.”
Her eyes light up with glee.
“He could tell that I was terrified. So he made a bunch of jokes to calm me down. Then he dared me to kiss him.”
She leans forward, bracing herself on the edge of my desk. “And then?”
“And then I kind of lost my mind. I attacked him like Rufus attacks a doggy bone.”
“Whoa!” Jenny’s eyes are saucers. “Did you get a bone? Right there on the couch? In front of those floor-to-ceiling windows? Was it awesome?”
Embarrassment heats my neck as I realize that there are giant windows in Matt’s apartment. And I don’t think the blinds were drawn. Not only did I give him a lap dance but I performed for all of Yorkville, too.
“Omigod, you did!” she shrieks. “You’re my hero!”
I shake my head quickly. “No! I didn’t. It’s a long story. But he makes me crazy, Jenny.”
“That’s the best!”
“No!” I argue. “It isn’t. Not at all. You said so yourself—I used to be a confident person. And I need to start dating again. But Matt is not the guy for someone who needs to go back to Dating 101. He doesn’t make me confident. He makes me nuts. When he’s in the room I’ll say anything. I’ll do anything.” I’ll unbutton any piece of clothing. Yikes. “I need to date someone who doesn’t give me the…”
“Sluttyflutters?” Jenny suggests.
“Exactly!”
“On the other hand…” she starts.
But she’s interrupted by Jackson, who’s standing in the doorway to my office. “The slutty…what?”
My face heats another ten degrees. “Is it time for our meeting?” I ask my ex, hoping to throw him off the scent of a story.
“Our meeting? There’s nothing on the schedule.”
Of course there isn’t. But I’m desperate here. “Right. Then what did you need?”
“Uh.” He gives Jenny the side-eye. “Can we talk?”
My stomach twitches nervously. Those words never begin a happy conversation. “Sure,” I say, giving Jenny a pointed look.
With a disappointed sigh, she takes her coffee cup and heads out the door.
I’ve extracted myself from one difficult conversation only to find myself in another. “About the other day,” Jackson says when she’s gone.
“I didn’t see a thing,” I stammer, thinking of the sex toys on my desk.
He frowns. “I know you haven’t seen it. That’s why I want to show it to you.”
“You…what?” I rack my brain for a reason we’d be talking about sex toys. I’m obviously missing something. “Wait. What is it I’m supposed to see?”
“A property on Bayview.” He frowns at my obvious confusion. “For the expansion.”
“But I thought you weren’t ready to expand!” I sound hurt even to my own ears. But he’s not making a lot of sense right now. “You said it was too soon.”
He leans his head back against my doorframe and closes his eyes. “I don’t know, I guess. My dad thinks this lease is too good to pass up. It’s right near all those Bridle Path mansions.”
“And you want me to see this property?” I’d rather take the carefully sharpened pencils out of my pencil cup, hunt down Mr. Emery, and stab him with them.
“I guess so.” He opens his eyes. “What do you think of the idea?”
I hate it. “Any property on Bayview has got to cost a mint. It must be twice what we pay for this place.” I throw out an arm to indicate our Yorkville spread, which is only affordable because it’s on the second story of a small building, and Mr. Emery is our landlord. “How much is it?”
When he quotes a number, I groan. “And you think this is a good idea?”
“I think…” He pauses to chew his rather thin lip. I never saw it as thin until right this second. But just last night I was up close and personal with a set of bossy, bruising— Focus, Hailey!
“…we could do well in that neighborhood,” he says slowly. “Just take a look? See it before you decide.”
“All right,” I agree, managing to keep my tone civil. “But we can’t make this decision just based upon a lease opportunity. If you’re serious about expanding, I’m going to calculate the ROI based on the density of that neighborhood and the average cost of residential real estate per square foot. Then I have to compare the results to other cash-rich neighborhoods. Like Rosedale.”
That will only take me about fifty hours.
Jackson nods. “Fine. But look at the place, okay? I need to get back to my father.”
Of course he does. And I’ll probably become first woman convicted of office supply murder.
When Jackson leaves, I pull up some data about the Bridle Path. I should really be working on our mobile-app rollout, and the interruption makes me growl at my computer.
“Wowzers,” Jenny says from behind me. “That’s the sound of sexual frustration.”
“Stop,” I bark.
“Fine. Is this a bad time to mention that there’s a new request from…”
My heart leaps.
“…Mr. Dick?”
It crashes to the ground again. “What does he want?” I spot the red notification in the corner of my screen and click it. “A swing?” I giggle, feeling the tension leaving my shoulders for the first time in hours. I wonder if the Bridle Path has a colorful clientele, too.
“The specs make me think I can find him something at Home Depot. Or a sex shop. But look at the picture. Please?”
I shift my computer browser to pull up the request on the big screen. And then I’m disappointed, because MrEightInches is not himself today. There’s no penis in the picture. Only a beamed ceiling, with hooks embedded in one of the beams. “So he’ll have a place to hang the thing,” I say. “That makes your job easier, I guess?”