soon as the door shuts, calling for a cab or whatever the company is called. It’s actually a great idea. Maybe I should invest in something like it.
I walk back to the living room. I don’t look at the couch where what was probably the best and worst moment of my life, at least sexually, just happened. I decide I’ll think about it later. As in, in the shower, with my fist. And maybe after that, when I have a clear head, I can figure out what the fuck stack happened here tonight.
I stand at the window, watching like a grade A professional stalker (I’m sure there are such things) until I see a car pull up. One guy gets into Zoe’s vehicle while she gets into the passenger seat.
My mind is already whirling since I’m apparently also good at thinking about something or with something other than my dick—kind of. I’m starting to put together a vague plan.
I never expected to see Zoe again, but now that she practically just waltzed straight into my life, I’m not letting her leave just like that, even if what she said was true. Even if I never did contact her, I still thought about her—a lot. I was busy, too, but I just had no idea what I’d say. Fear can make you do some dumb things, but it can also keep you from doing some smart ones.
It might not be clear that I really do want to talk. I want to know what happened in the past two decades. Or at least, I thought I did. Now, it might be more than that, for some reason I can’t quite comprehend. I don’t know what’s going on with my body where Zoe is concerned. I can only blame it on straight-up testosterone. Or something. To be fair to my cock, even if he did let me down in the most spectacularly embarrassing fashion tonight, I don’t know what’s going on with my head either.
And, after all, I did win at rock, paper, scissors, and that shit is serious business.
I have to find a way to keep Zoe from going back on her word.
Even if I can’t fully explain why.
CHAPTER 8
Zoe
By the time I get to work on Monday morning, it becomes evident that Rancid Raiden has struck again.
My two weeks’ notice is burning a hole through my purse, which I have slung over my shoulder. As soon as I walk in, I can tell just by the air in the office that something is up. No one is this happy on a Monday morning, but I see people walking around all over the place with huge grins and sparkly eyes.
The receptionist, Kate, flashes me a thumbs up as I walk by. I keep walking through the door and down the hall to my own department. It’s like freaking Christmas in there. There are folks everywhere, and Jamie is hooting something about a ‘free vacation’ while Sam is actually dancing a little jig. Sam is sixty-two, just to put things into perspective.
My closest friend in the department, Bonnie, grabs my arms the second she sees me enter our workspace. She quickly tugs me into my small office and flicks on the light.
“Oh my god,” she gasps excitedly.
Bonnie is almost forty. She has told me that she only smokes so she can have the extra break time. She’s worn her hair in a pixie cut for as long as I’ve known her, and we started here around the same time. She frequently changes the color of it, and right now, it’s dyed a flashy neon red. It kind of reminds me of a fire hydrant. She’s rail-thin, but then again, she’s almost six feet tall. Bonnie loves jeans and t-shirts, and even though we have a dress code here, she somehow gets away with pairing jeans with a blazer or a pencil skirt with a tucked-in t-shirt. She’s rocking the latter today.
“What’s going on? Why is everyone in party mode on a Monday morning?”
“Check your email!” Bonnie commands. “Or wait, I’ll just tell you. We all got an email this morning, all the department heads and managers, and HR people, and…”
“I’ll just check my email.”
“No!” Bonnie grips my hand and pumps it hard for no apparent reason. “I’m getting to the point. Just hold on. So, we all got an email this morning. And next week, we’re going for a week-long corporate training at some remote resort in Colorado!”
“What?”
“Yes! Everyone is super pumped. I