Page 3 of Devil In A Suit, Vol. 2

Chapter 2

I walkinto the office the following morning exhausted (turns out reliving the best orgasm of your life ad infinitum makes for a poor night’s sleep), but hopeful. My muscles are sore from multiple orgasms, and I have to stifle a yawn as I take my seat at my desk. I take a sip from my cup of coffee. I have four hours to get myself awake and ready to see him again. At lunch I’ll be covering the reception desk, and hopefully then I’ll get an explanation from Jared as to what happened last night at the end.

And, if there is a god in heaven, a rain check on our plans.

I dressed carefully this morning — no baby pink cardigan for me. Instead I selected the black pencil skirt that hugged my hips and ass like I was a comic book secretary. I paired it with a fitted button up, not quite buttoned all the way up, with my one and only pushup bra beneath it.

I wound my hair up in a loose twist, and gave myself the perfect daytime smokey eye. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a twenty-two year old virgin. I saw a woman who wants a man to do unmentionable things to her.

And dammit I really, really do.

I’m midway through trying to reconcile receipts from a conference in Vegas with their designated budget codes and wondering just how I’m going to make a visit to the Cheetah Lounge work as a write-off when my cell phone rings. I glance at the screen, see “Mom” flash across it, and sigh. I know exactly what she’s going to say. She’s been trying to get me to make the hour and half commuter rail trip out to Worcester to have dinner with her and dad. I’ve been avoiding it, because I find meals at their house sort of depressing.

My parents have been married for just over twenty-five years, but I don’t think they’ve stayed together because of their passion for one another. Their relationship began as a partnership between two good Catholic kids on the verge of graduating high school, and it’s seemed more like a business relationship every since.

I’m partially convinced that my mom’s desire to have me out to the house is just so she’ll have someone to talk to. My dad’s a great guy, but he doesn’t have much to say. And because I’ve been avoiding making the trip, I’ve also been avoiding her calls. But I know I’ve gotta answer one soon, or I may find her on my doorstep.

“Hello?” I say, picking up the phone.

“Quinn! Oh I’m so glad I finally got you!” My mom’s Massachusetts accent comes through the line like an ice pick. It makes me think of winter nights huddled by the fireplace with bowls of her famous clam chowder, and I feel a surprising pang of homesickness. “How are you dear?”

“I’m good,” I say, trying to keep my voice down. Half the office gossip comes from the assistants listening in on phone calls over the cubicle walls.

“Really? You sound tired.”

I stifle a yawn and then try to make my voice as bright as possible. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Are you sure they’re not working you too hard at that company?”

Immediately my mind flashes back the car and Jared between my legs. Working me hard indeed.

“I’m fine, Ma,” I say. “Really.”

“Oh good. Well then it sounds like you’ll have time to come out for dinner? I was thinking of making lasagna on Sunday. Your favorite!”

My stomach grumbles, because mom’s lasagna is my favorite, and other than my meal last night at Renew (which I barely tasted because I was so overcome with nerves), my meals have been mostly relegated to the two cheapest food groups: cereal and instant soup, with the occasional peanut butter and jelly thrown in for kicks.

I sigh, too tired to come up with an excuse. Still, I can’t imagine making the trip out in just three days, nor do I want to fill up my weekend before I’ve had a chance to check in with Jared. After all, he still might want to see me again.

So I meet her halfway.

“Not this weekend, but next. Is that ok?”

“You sure?” I hear her voice rise, so full of hope it damn near breaks my heart.

“I promise. Next Sunday, I’ll be there.”

She chatters on for a few more minutes about the gossip from the ladies auxiliary and the parents currently making her crazy on the PTA before I tell her I’ve got to get back to work.

The rest of the morning moves torturously slowly. I sit at my cubicle in the bullpen, where all the entry-level employees sit to slog through the lowest-level tasks, and comb through expense reports. For being a junior copywriter, I’ve written exactly no copy.

Even though the expense reports make my eyes cross, I make sure every time is correct. And when I’m done, I double check. By lunchtime, my vision is blurry from staring at line after line of Excel spreadsheets, but as soon as I see the clock approach noon, I feel shot through with a new burst of energy.

Jared.

I take the elevator to the top floor, trying to keep my heart rate from rising along with the elevator. I can feel a blush starting low in my chest, and I fan myself to keep it from climbing up into my neck. When the door slides open, Alec is already packing up his bag to head out for lunch.

“How is he today?” It’s a common question as we trade off the desk to help us stay out of his way when Jared is in beast mode. But today I’m asking so much more.