Page 23 of For the Plot
The mirrors have those soft built-in lights like I’ve seen at expensive hotels. The marble countertop is cool to the touch, the scent of expensive hand soap lingering in the air. I grip the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection.
"You're fine," I whisper to myself. "This is fine. Everything is totally, completely, not even remotely fine."
I look like I'm keeping it together. Sure, I’m flushed, maybe a little windblown from the tension, but not hysterical. My lipstick's intact. My blouse is still tucked in. I haven't sweat through my blazer, which frankly feels like a small miracle considering the heat radiating off Reece Blackwood's body when he’s near me feels like the sun.
My phone is already in my hand before I make the decision to call her. Maya picks up on the second ring.
"Oh no," she says by way of greeting. "What happened?"
"How do you always know?" I whisper shout, my words echoing around the empty space as I squat down to check beneath the stalls, making sure that I’m alone. My heels sound sharp against the tiled floor as I scurry back over to the sink to wash my hands.
"Because you're calling me from a bathroom and not texting. It's giving spiral."
"Accurate," I breathe, pacing a tight line between the sink and the automatic towel dispenser. "I'm spiraling. I am deep in the spiral. I've passed the panic level and reached the stage where I'm wondering if I need a therapist or a priest."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing."
Pause. "What did he wear?"
"A white shirt. Rolled-up sleeves to reveal a priceless Rolex. Veins in his forearms. Maya."
She groans. "That's emotional assault."
"He smells like sin and restraint and top-shelf bourbon. I am unwell."
"You're doing amazing."
"I almost flirted with him. I said something about flirting my way into a second monitor and he looked at me like—like?—"
"Like he wanted to pin you against his desk and make you forget your name?"
“It’s gets worse.”
“Spill,” she says without missing a beat.
“I may or may not have unbuttoned my blouse to use a fan because of my anxiety sweats and um…” My voice cracks. “He definitely walked out of his office and saw me.”
“Oh Jesus.” She sighs. “How unbuttoned?”
“Three. Sheer bra.” I make a strangled sound and slide down the wall until I'm crouched on the floor like a shell of the woman I confidently strode into this office as. "Why did I take this job?"
"Because it's temporary, you're qualified, and you've been playing it safe for so long your soul was starting to atrophy."
I groan. "Okay, wow. That was poetic and a little rude."
"You needed both."
"I'm not even mad."
"Good. Because this was the plan, remember? Reignite your life. Try new things. Let hot, complicated billionaires remind you you're alive."
"Temptation was not on the list."
"Temptation is the whole point. Look, you're not going to sleep with him on your first day?—"
"Not helping."
