Perdie scratched her head. “Yeah, I suppose I can.”
“What’s really wrong with you? Can it really be all about this Carter guy? I’ve never seen you like this over anyone.”
At Perdie’s silence, Lucille’s eyes went wide. “Wow, talk about role reversal. For once you’re the one hung up on some loser and not me.”
Perdie rubbed her face. “Yeah, except he’s not a loser. He’s...” She gulped. Then whispered, “He’s nice.”
Lucille cupped her ear and leaned forward. “Sorry, didn’t catch that?”
Perdie rolled her eyes. “He’s nice. And not like a nice guy who’s actually a creep. A nice guy who’s actually...good.”
Lucille laughed. “Plot twist. A nice guy. Who could’ve seen that coming? Well, why don’t you text him then? Why even put on this facade. Maybe he’s right. You’re two consenting adults...”
“No.” Perdie shook her head. “I have to show some level of restraint. You should’ve seen the judgment in Jennifer’s eyes.”
Lucille crossed her arms. “Okay, but she always looks like that. And since when you do you give a fuck? She hired me for a baby shower so she can’t be all bad.”
Perdie could feel her insides simmering to a roil, so she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I need to hold strong.”
Lucille stepped forward and planted her hands on Perdie’s shoulders. “I mean this from the bottom of my heart. Text the guy already.”
Then she spun around to leave, turning back with a bright smile that showed off her dimples. “Brunch at eleven with Noah. Should I wear my new red sweater? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll leave the details to you. Be back soon, so hurry up and get ready.”
Perdie collapsed onto her bed, spread like a starfish. She clicked the button on her phone one more time.
Zero messages.
Okay. Enough of that. Up again, she wobbled to the bathroom.
After a steaming hot shower renewed her spirits, she wrapped herself in her silk robe with thick velvet cuffs and collar that made her feel like some kind of sexy old-timey movie star.
No more obsessing over Carter. Rebirth.
She held that conviction for about five more seconds until she checked her phone again.
One message from Carter.
Her heart raced, or maybe it was the residuals of a hangover.
50,000 digital documents received at 9:42am. FYI
Her heart sank. Oh. Completely professional. What else would it be? The fact that she was hoping for anything else was lunacy.
She froze in place as a wicked thought crossed her mind. She could take a sexy pic and accidentally send it in response. Hadn’t Lucille used that ploy with Hampton to much success in the past? She could pretend it was meant for someone else. Some fictional man who was also drop-dead gorgeous and also into her very much but whom she hadn’t basically told to fuck off and treat her like a sexless gnome.
After all, there was no better time to send a dirty pic than when one was flushed and supple right out of the shower.
She sat back on her bed, a splash of water from the ends of her hair hitting the glass. No, of course, it was too desperate. Too obvious.
Sighing, she picked up her phone to text Noah.
Got the digital docs right on time. Any interest in brunch around 11 for discussion? Mimosas on me. And by me, I mean Joy and Schulz ;)
She hit send, the curiously sharp feeling in her sternum for Carter beginning to dissipate along with her hangover. A little work and play could distract her now.
Her phone lit up.
Golf with Frank and the Fletcher Group people. Didn’t know mimosas were on the list of permissible colleague activities. What other “colleague” activities am I missing out on?
Perdie clapped her hand over her mouth. She had sent the message to Carter instead of Noah. Talk about her subconscious working overtime. Freud would have a field day.
P: Sorry, meant to send this to our patent plaintiff.
C: Mimosas with your client?
Was he jealous?
P: Golf with YOUR client.
C: AND Bloody Marys.
The next message made her heart thud in her chest, a selfie of Carter, Bloody Mary in hand, the sprawling green-and-blue backdrop of the manicured golf course behind him.
The subsequent thought that popped into her head was a naughty one. One she shouldn’t act out. One she should thoroughly resist. It could only serve to complicate a friendly and normal situation. The selfie Carter sent her was completely innocent. It could only stand to tangle her into a weird, sexually charged workplace-web of which she had purposely extricated herself.
Still, she reached for her half-full wineglass. She raised it to her lips, squeezing her cleavage together, peering up at her lens under dark lashes and snapped the selfie.
The Fates intervened that day because usually Perdie had to take at least seventeen selfies before she could pick a suitable one for public consumption. But this time, with the morning light streaming into her bedroom, the luxe velvet trim of her robe, the moisturized and flushed skin from her shower, she looked good. She also looked like a woman who wanted to get fucked.
