Текст книги "The Job "
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“I am,” I tell him, slowly making my way toward the kitchen until he gets the point and starts following me. “At least for now, but I want to get Cheryl prepared so she can start taking over some of my duties by Monday.”
“You know,” he says, “I’m really proud of you for being willing to change what wasn’t working for you. Not a lot of people are willing to do that.”
“Well,” I tell him, “like you said, if I don’t start delegating, the store’s either going to close or I’m going to end up burning out and, if I’m unable to learn to delegate before then, the store would close anyway, so it’s really by sheer survival that I’m doing it. I have beer or vodka.”
“Vodka,” he says. “I never really liked beer.”
“All right,” I say, pulling the vodka out of the freezer and setting it on the counter. “Did you want a shot or a mixed drink?”
“Surprise me,” he says. “To be honest, I’ve never been that good with shots, but I never know what to mix it with, so I really don’t drink that often.”
“Actually,” she says, “I think you’ve got that backward. If you drank more often, you would have figured out by now exactly what to mix your liquor with. Ice?”
“Sure,” he says.
I mix up a quick screwdriver, mostly for the fact that vodka and orange juice are the only non-water beverages I have in the house.
“So tell me something,” I start, trying to figure out how to say what I want to say.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You’re single, right?”
“Yeah,” he says and I hand him his drink.
“What do you think makes a good relationship?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Trust, affection, respect…I think there are a lot of things that go into making a good relationship, but even with all of those things, I guess you never really know whether the other person is where you are with everything, so who knows?”
“Trust, huh?” I ask, but decide not to push the issue until I have some more information.
“Yeah,” he says. “The problem, like I said, is that you never really know whether the other person is worthy of that trust. I guess that’s why we learn to trust people in the first place. Otherwise we’d all be paranoid of each other all the time. Still, I trusted Amy, enough to want to marry her, but that turned out to be pretty fucking stupid.”
“So, what would you do if you found yourself in a new relationship and you found out that your partner was hiding something from you?” I ask.
“Did you start dating someone recently?” he returns.
“No,” I tell him, “nothing like that. I guess I’m just curious. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real relationship that I’m just trying to figure out if I’d even be good in one.”
“I think you would,” he says, taking a drink. He swallows and wipes his mouth, adding, “I think your willingness to admit your own limitations should tell you that you’re ready for something more serious.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you just got out of a relationship that ended so badly, I’m just wondering if you still have faith that they can work,” I explain.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “All that crap aside, I think relationships have the potential to be wonderful things. The problem, in my view, is that so often, people get into something wanting to change the other person or thinking that it’s even possible to change another person without him or her being really ready and willing to do the work themselves. I think that’s what dooms most relationships. In the end, the person never really changes, so you either go into denial or you grow so resentful that you end up wanting to blow the whole thing up.”
“Is that what happened with you and Amy?” I ask.
“To be honest, I don’t know what happened with Amy and me. Alec keeps telling me that he saw something was wrong from the beginning, and to his credit, that’s true. The only thing is that with him, he thinks that anyone who’s not in at least a semi-open relationship isn’t doing it right,” he answers.
“So you’re the monogamous type?” I ask.
“I haven’t always been,” he answers, “but as I started growing up and seeing what it was that I actually wanted from a relationship, I realized that it wasn’t something I could really have with more than one person. I think relationships like the one Alec and Irene have are great for some people, but they’re not for everyone. They’re not for me.”
“Would you like another drink?” I ask him.
I’m not going to lie: I am trying to get him drunk. People tend to be more malleable when they’re intoxicated.
“Sure,” he says. “I hardly tasted the alcohol in that at all. Would you mind putting in a little bit more next time? When I can’t taste the booze in a drink, I always get worried that I’m going to end up drinking too much without knowing it.”
“Sounds like we both have control issues,” I tell him, taking his glass.
He chuckles. “Maybe so,” he says. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You said that you’re single, but it sounds like you might have someone in mind. Anyone I know?” he asks.
Boy, he’s starting to push it. I don’t know if it’s the booze or if he’s actually trying to make his move, but I’m going to have to keep on my toes if I’m going to learn whatever it is I’m trying to learn.
“I don’t know,” I tell him coyly. “I guess I’m more open to the idea than I used to be, but I still think it would have to be on my terms.”
“What are your terms?” he asks.
“Well, like you,” I tell him, mixing the drink, “I think that honesty’s a must. I think I’d have a really hard time being with someone who would lie or knowingly withhold the truth from me.”
I wonder if he’ll get the hint and come clean.
“It’s an important quality,” he says. “What else?”
That’s a no.
“I’d want someone who doesn’t think of my ambitions as a liability,” I tell him. “Sure, I’m starting to delegate more and all that, but I still have a lot that I want to accomplish in my life, and if I were to start dating someone, I think they’d have to really be okay with that from the get-go.”
“I’ve always been really attracted to driven women,” he says. “I think it’s important for people to be passionate, to have things that they want to accomplish.”
“Is that why you took over your company?” I ask.
“Kind of,” he says. “I think the real reason is that it’s been in the family since my grandfather, and if I didn’t take it, it was going to go to someone else.”
“So you’re trying to keep the family business alive, then?” I ask, handing him his second drink, this one with not two, but three shots in it.
I’m going to get the truth out of him one way or another.
“I guess so,” he answers and takes a sip. “Shit, I think this might be a little far the other way.”
“Well,” I tell him, “the best we can do without wasting anything is for you to take a couple more drinks and then I’ll start filling it back up with orange juice.”
I think he’s starting to suspect that I’m digging for something, but the look on his face is hardly one of certainty.
“I guess my big drive in life has been to fulfill other people’s drives,” he says. “I’ve never really thought of it that way, but really, I am kind of living my father’s life.”
“Why not change it then?” I ask. “If I can make changes, I’m sure you can.”
“It’s not that simple,” he says. “José could very easily take over, but I’m really not in a position where I could afford to sell the company, and I don’t think he’s in a position where he could buy it.”
“What would it take for you to follow your dreams?” I ask.
“I don’t know that this isn’t my dream,” he answers and takes another gulp of his drink. I fill it back to the top with orange juice.
“I thought you said you were living your father’s life,” I respond.
“Yeah,” he says, “but my father had a great life. I mean, I don’t do everything that he’s done and I do a lot of things that he’d never dream of.”
“Like going home and getting drunk with your boss?” I ask.
“No,” he says, taking another sip, “that’s something he did all too much. That’s kind of what made things difficult with him and my mom.”
“Divorced?” I ask, but quickly add, “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “They were talking about getting a divorce, but when mom came down with cancer, he did the right thing and stuck with her.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about the fact that my own mother has cancer, even though all indications point to her being fine. I can’t imagine what it must be like to actually lose a parent.
“It is what it is,” he says, taking a drink.
“Want another one?” I ask.
“I think I should probably slow down,” he says. “When it comes to liquor, I’m a cheap date.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, shooting for inscrutable.
“What about your parents?” he asks clumsily.
“What about them?” I return.
“Are they still together? I don’t know, that’s really none of my business. I just thought I’d—”
“They’re still together,” I tell him. I plan to stop there, but the juxtaposition of the cancer comment with his direct question regarding my parents is hitting me pretty hard. “My mom just found out that she has cancer and, to tell you the truth, I’m pretty freaked out about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What kind does she have?”
“Chondrosarcoma,” I answer. “It affects bones and joints. From what I know, they didn’t exactly catch it as early as they would have liked, but it looks like her chances are pretty good.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says.
“What kind did your mom have?” I ask. “Really, if you don’t want to talk about it, we can change the—”
“Cervical cancer,” he says. “When it happened, I was too young to know what that meant, but she never had a chance. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. If you ever want someone to talk to about your mom—not that she’s…you know,” he stammers, and I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the conversation.
So far, my search for clarity hasn’t provided very much in return.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I might take you up on that. So, how about that drink?”
“You know what?” he starts. “I think I will have another one if you don’t mind. Not as strong as that last one, though.”
“I’m on it,” I tell him. While I’m fixing up his third drink in the last fifteen minutes, I start again, “You know, I really think that one of the things that’s most important in a new relationship is chemistry.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
I’m still pouring orange juice, so I don’t turn around, but I can hear the confusion in his voice.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s weird how it can happen, too. You never know who’s going to end up giving off that spark, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the wall for support.
“I know when you and I started working together, I was almost sure something was going to happen between us,” I tell him.
Not really. I thought he was good looking but I knew better than to sleep with my contractor.
“Really?” he asks. “It’s funny, I thought the same thing.”
“Yeah?” I say, turning around and handing him his drink, this one with only a single shot in it.
“Yeah,” he says and takes a sip. “This one’s perfect, thanks.”
“What made you think that?” I ask.
“That something was going to happen with you and me?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Well, I was attracted to you physically for starters,” he says. “More importantly, though, when we started talking, it became very clear very fast that you seem to know what you want and what you have to do to get it. I guess I fantasized that, at some point, I might be one of the things that you’d want.”
His large pupils hold steady eye contact and I don’t know what to say. My hands feel clammy and my heart picks up speed.
“I see.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I just thought you were hot.”
Truth. Really hot.
We both laugh.
“Come on,” he says, “there’s got to be more to it than that.”
“Well,” I tell him, “you’re difficult.”
“That’s attractive?” he asks, smiling.
“Yeah,” I answer, “not really. It’s not that in and of itself, I guess, but it’s more the fact that you’re willing to stand up for what you feel is right, but you’re also willing to compromise when it really comes down to it. Not always, though,” I add. “You can be pretty pigheaded.”
“So,” he says, “does that mean the infatuation has already worn off?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, looking him up and down. “I’d say the attraction’s there; I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“If you could have the one thing you want most in life, would you give up everything else to get it?” I ask.
He looks at me and takes a drink.
As far as he’s concerned, this is just a question that I ask people. I doubt he knows that I know.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I used to want to say yes to that question, but I think there’s just always more to want. How would I know that one single thing would be enough? Maybe the things I’d be giving up would be necessary in order to have a full life. I guess it would come down to a case by case basis.”
He’s testing me.
A lot of his answer is new, but he came pretty close to quoting my response to the question directly, too.
“What about you?” he asks, searching for any sign that I’ve got it figured out yet.
“I don’t know about that,” I tell him. “I think that if you really want something, you’ve got to go for it. Consequences be damned.”
Now I’m testing him. That’s nowhere near the answer I gave him last time and I’m kind of hoping that he’s going to call me on it so we can move past this whole charade.
“I guess I can see that,” he says. “Although, in my experience, you never really know until you’re already there. Life is a series of choices. We try to make our choices, planning ahead, but there’s never any guarantee that the outcome is going to be what we’re anticipating. Doing something that seems like it’s the healthiest thing in the world might turn out to be one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made. Doing something that seems stupid or impulsive on the other hand, well that’s just a mixed bag like everything else.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Eric,” I say, “I’d think you were hitting on me.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” he says. “After all, you are the big boss lady.”
He’s moving toward me slowly, that look in his eyes that has me ready to melt, but I stay in character.
“So you’re basically saying that no matter what we do, we can never expect an outcome?” I ask.
“Kind of,” he says, “yeah.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that it doesn’t really matter what a person chooses to do?” I ask as he gets within a couple inches of me.
I’m looking up at him as he’s looking down at me and he answers, “I don’t know if it’s that simple. I think there are some choices that will almost always end badly and some choices that will almost always end positively. What I’m really talking about are the leaps of faith,” he says. “Sometimes it takes just that extra inch of courage to take a leap that you might not otherwise be prepared to take.”
“It sounds like you have something specific in mind,” I smile.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m wondering what would happen if I kissed you right now.”
He’s already bending down and, despite the fact that I’ve hardly made any progress in my fact-finding mission, there isn’t a single part of me that wants to turn my head or walk away.
Our lips meet, the salty tang of his skin mixed with the orange juice and liquor fills my senses and I put my arms over his shoulders.
We kiss deeply, our tongues timid, but playful as we test his personal chaos theory.
He pulls away and I stare into his deep green eyes.
“So, was that a mistake?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”
“Yeah, that felt rather nice,” I assent.
As much as I’d like to think through all of this, it’s all I can do to keep my feet on the floor.
I know I’m attracted to him and, for now at least, that’s enough for me to tilt my head back again and welcome the taste and touch of his lips on mine.
My hands move on their own over his firm upper body, and I can taste the adrenaline that’s surging through my body.
With a simple motion, he lifts my shirt up and off, and I respond in kind, feeling his warm skin pressing into mine.
I’m not ready to take this all the way just yet, but I have a feeling that inclination isn’t going to take very long to land.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers before kissing my lips again and wrapping his strong arms around me.
My eyes are closed now as we continue to kiss and I can feel myself sinking into him, my knees barely capable of keeping me upright.
He pulls away again, and I push him backward lightly, giving myself enough room to reach behind my back and unhook my bra.
“We should probably go somewhere a little more comfortable,” I breathe. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to stand, and I’d like to have a nice soft place to land.”
He smiles and takes my hand, leading me out to the living room, but as he goes to release my hand, I only grasp his tighter and lead him through the apartment to my bedroom.
I don’t know where this is going to go after tonight, but for now at least, tonight is enough to know that I want to do this.
“Lie down,” he tells me and I do.
He bends down and unbuttons my pants, kissing just below my navel as he slides the fabric off of my legs and onto the floor.
I’d anticipated that I’d meet the man on the other end of the phone and, although I didn’t know where it would go or how far it would go, I’m the kind of woman who likes to be prepared for all eventualities.
His fingers slip between my thin, black tanga and my skin and slide them off of me easily.
Eric runs his hands up my legs and over my thighs, kissing my knees and all the way up toward my center.
“Take your pants off,” I tell him.
He stops what he’s doing and smiles.
“What?” I ask. “I thought you said you liked a woman who knows how to get what she wants.”
He chuckles and undoes his pants, pulling them and his dark boxers down and steps out of them.
Irene wasn’t lying. Eric is—let’s just say he’s a big boy.
His hands move back up my thighs and over my stomach while his mouth kisses the inside of my legs, staying just far enough away from my core to tantalize me, make me want it even more.
When his lips finally graze my folds, that electricity that I’ve so long forgotten returns and I gasp deeply as he flicks his tongue over my clit.
His hands move back down my body and wrap around my thighs, holding me in place as his lips and tongue speak silent, breathless verses that flow throughout my entire body, and I writhe in sweet anguish as I can feel myself growing ever wetter with his touch.
He moves one hand up to grasp mine while with the other he punctuates his ode, at first playing with my wetness and then plunging two fingers inside of me.
I’m gritting my teeth to keep from wailing in ecstasy as I marvel that it can feel so intense, my hips responding to his every touch, inviting him to come closer, feel every part of me.
With my free hand, I run my fingers through his hair and then up my own body, grasping my breast and delighting in the rigidity of my nipples as his tongue traces forgotten shapes over my most sensitive skin.
“That’s it,” I whisper, “right there.”
With his fingers inside of me, he’s rubbing my g-spot with a deftness I know I’ve never felt.
He moves his mouth away to kiss the angle between my thigh and my pussy, softly sucking my skin and filling me with the sweetest drug.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him as my legs begin to quiver on their own.
“Not yet,” he says, sensing my proximity to a place I could only dream of these past few years.
My free hand leaves my own body and slithers again through his thick hair, and I lightly pull him toward me, the pressure of his mouth and fingers increasing at my command.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, feeling myself catapulting upward into a thick, warm something, and the only thought left on my mind as my whole body shakes is that I’ve been without this feeling far too long.
I moan with alternating heavy breaths, a hint of hyperventilation only giving rise to more pleasure as my mind is blotted out, and I grit my teeth again, unable to keep my mouth closed as a cry escapes my lips.
My body is hot and cold, rigid and loose as he guides me through the most powerful orgasm of my life.
My body jerks and releases with tiny movements as the crescendo dies down, and I can’t wait another moment.
“I want you inside me now,” I tell him, breaking the moment just long enough to grab a condom from my night stand.
I almost didn’t buy them, but the thought of meeting the man on the other end of the phone persuaded me.
In this moment, I can’t imagine it being anyone else.
I toss the condom to him unceremoniously, but he catches it and he quickly pulls the closed ring from its wrapper, placing it over himself.
“Are you ready?” he asks, and I’m far too eager to feign politeness.
“Now,” I tell him. “I want you inside me now.”
It’s been too long.
He climbs on top of me and kisses my neck as he slides his sheathed tip over my wetness before pushing himself into me.
My arms and legs close around his body, and he brushes the hair off of my face with his hand as he stares into my eyes now, desire and the promise of beautiful gratification written so clearly on his face that I can feel my own yearning reflected in him.
“Harder,” I tell him and he increases the tempo.
His skin moves over and against mine, the friction of the moment driving me out of my mind.
I pull his head down, his lips meeting mine, and I unwrap my legs from around his body, lifting one hip, letting him know without words that I want to be on top of him, looking down over his gorgeous body.
We rotate together, and in a moment, my knees are under me and he’s running the palm of his hand between my breasts and down my body, settling his hand opposite the other, both resting against my hips as I ride him.
With a quick motion, I pull the tie from my hair, letting every strand fall over my naked shoulders, teasing him with the threat of covering my breasts.
My hands are on his chest now, and I’m lifting myself straight up, feeling him against every part of the inside of me as I work myself up and down, pushing him deeper.
His hands move around my body and come to rest on my ass, the strength in his fingers now dormant, now active as we move together now, one with another.
His feet are flat against the bed, his knees raised, and I hook my own feet beneath his thighs, leaning forward to feel the warmth and firmness of his body as he penetrates me so fully.
“God you’re hot,” I tell him in a distant echo from the completely different existence of twenty minutes or more, and I kiss his chest, the wonderful taste of his salty sweat bringing new life to my body and I tilt my head downward so my hair covers my eyes as they well up with pure satisfaction, only the urge to keep every part of this moment as every part of my world for as long as possible.
I kiss his chest again and run my tongue over one of his nipples, eliciting a quick breath from him as he parts the dark curtains of my hair to find my smile as I look up at him expectantly.
He smiles back at me, and I slide my arms up his body and under the pillow supporting his head, my upper body content to remain pressed against his.
His hands move up my back with a feather touch, and my skin comes to a new level of awareness, tiny pinpricks of invisible energy at once consuming and yet exuding from my body.
With one hand on my shoulder, pulling me onto him and the other on my lower back, pulling me into him, our movement both opposite and perfectly aligned and he drops his knees, my ankles still beneath his thighs, only driving me farther onto him.
We kiss, and I cradle the back of his head with my hands now, my body stretched out and clasped by his.
“I want to taste you,” I tell him. “Tell me when you’re about to come.”
He nods and whispers, “It’s not going to be long.”
Like the right key unlocking me, his words propel me upward again, and I’m breathing heavily against him, my skin, my breasts, every part of me pulsing against him with every lungful of air.
I grind myself onto him greedily, feeling my own rising passion as I can feel the beating of his heart and the flexing of his muscles as he fills me faster and faster.
Breathless now, he mouths the word, “Okay,” and I’m instant to untangle my body from his.
Lifting my pulsing core from him, I turn my body around to straddle his head as I take the condom off of his member and seal my lips over him, my hand attending to what my mouth can’t cover and his warmth explodes into me, his own mouth sucking my clit between those perfect lips.
I swallow every drop and continue to suck him as he brings me again to that delicious fulfillment, stronger than before.
My mouth leaves him and I swallow again, feeling him everywhere on and inside of me and within a moment, I am beyond breath, only one question on my mind.
When the contractions cease, I use the last bit of energy I have left to turn around and crawl next to him, falling into his arms.
He turns his head and kisses me.
Still catching my breath, bathing in the afterglow, I can’t wait any longer.
I have to know.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
Chapter Fourteen
The Wrong Kind of Breath
Eric
“Tell you what?” I ask.
“You’re him,” she says and a new kind of adrenaline courses through me. “You’re the one that’s been sending me all those messages.”
Fuck. This isn’t going to be pleasant.
“I wanted to tell you,” I say. “I just didn’t know how you would react. We’ve only recently started to get back on good terms, and I wanted you to know that there’s more to me than disputes over our contract.”
“I get that,” she breathes, “but you should have told me.”
“I know,” I answer, looking up at the ceiling and holding her close against me.
“Can I just ask one question?”
“Anything,” I tell her.
“What the hell was that?” she asks.
I wheeze laughter, still far too exhausted to make much of a sound.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, “but it was incredible.”
“That,” she says, “it was.”
And with that, she pats me on the chest and sits up.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I need some water,” she answers. “Do you want any?”
“I’ll come with you,” I tell her and sit up on the other half of the bed.
I put my pants back on, but don’t bother with anything else.
Jessica takes a bathrobe out of the closet and wraps herself inside it, pulling the flaps closed around her amazing naked body. She’s a fucking goddess.
“Are we okay?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “After what just happened, it’s pretty hard to say no to that question.”
My knee-jerk thought is to say something about how sex fixes everything, but luckily I’m nowhere near that drunk and nowhere near that stupid.
We walk from the bedroom back to the kitchen where Jessica bends down to pick up her shirt and her bra.
“I do think we should have the talk,” she says, “but let’s not do it tonight. I don’t know about you, but I could sleep for days right now.”
“All right,” I tell her. “We can talk in the morning.”
“That’s not going to work,” she says. “I’m going to sleep as long as I can, and I’m pretty sure that’s only going to leave us enough time to get showered and ready for the day.”
“All right,” I tell her, “what about lunch?”
“No, I think it might be a good team-building exercise if we all go out to lunch together: You, me and Cheryl.”
“All right,” I snicker. “Just let me know when you’re ready to talk and we’ll talk.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” she says and gives me a peck on the lips before opening her cupboard and grabbing two glasses.
She fills one and hands it to me, and I drink it down before hers is filled.
“Someone’s thirsty,” she says.
“Yeah,” I answer and take a breath, setting the empty glass in the sink.
“Did you know this was going to happen tonight?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her. “I’m glad that it did, though.”
“Good answer,” she says. “On that note, I’m going to bed. There’s a blanket on the back of the couch.”
“I can’t just sleep with you?” I ask.
“I’m not used to having someone else in the bed with me,” she says. “With the early morning, I really need my sleep if I’m going to be a receptive vessel for all of your hidden knowledge tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” I tell her, though I am disappointed.
The feeling of her in my arms was one of the most amazing sensations of my life.
She makes her way back down the hall toward her bedroom and I decide to refill my glass before settling in on the couch.
After making a quick stop at the restroom, I go back to the living room and prepare my makeshift bed for the night.
I’m asleep before my head hits the couch cushion.
* * *
The next thing I know, I can’t breathe and I jerk my head back against an unseen force pinching my nose shut.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jessica says. “I’m sorry about the rude awakening, but it’s about the quickest way to get someone from dreamland to full awareness and we’re already running late.”
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s almost seven-thirty,” she answers. “I told Cheryl we’d meet her at the store by eight. Now up and at ‘em.”
Okay, I like this woman, but we’re going to have to have a talk about acceptable and unacceptable ways to wake each other up in the morning.
I sit up and stretch as Jessica makes her way toward the bathroom.
“If you want to shower,” she calls, “you’re probably going to want to make it quick. I used up most of the hot water.”
She’d mentioned that it’s been a while since she’s been in a relationship, but I had no idea…
I quickly make my way into the bathroom and turn on the water. Putting my hand under the spray, I adjust the cold water all the way down until only the hot water faucet is on and there’s precious little warmth left in it.
My shower is quick to the point of almost being superhuman, but before my feet are back on the bathroom floor, Jessica is already hurrying me up again.
“Come on,” she says, “I don’t want to set a bad example for my new manager.”
I wonder if now would be a good time to ask her whether I’m getting paid for my consultation, not to mention the less than hospitable conditions under which I’m already working.
