Page 67 of Pierced

The sofa. I could lounge on the sofa. I run to the sofa and assume a position of repose. No, this is no good. Now I just look like a cheesy velvet poster of a seventies porn star. Shit.

Why is looking relaxed so damn stressful?

In about two seconds Myrtle is going to walk in here and ‘test’ me. I can feel it. Unless she isn’t. Maybe that’s the test! Oh, Myrtle, you sneaky minx. The test was to see if I’d feel tested and react as though she’s going to give me a test when that’s the test itself! Crafty vixen.

Oh. No. Guess not. Because here she comes. Oh, hell.

I see her approaching from down the hall through the glass wall. Shit. There is a test after all. Oh, Christ. I can’t show her that I feel stressed about the test. Stress test. That’s what this is. Aha! OK. Stand. Maintain composure. Look casual. Read something. Grab a magazine.

I have no magazines in here to grab. Are you kidding? This is a magazine and there are no magazines in here? Well, that’s ironic. Maybe—

“Pierce?” she says, entering the office. Which is wildly unnecessary. A) It’s my office. And B) she knows I’m in here because she can see me through the wall. Maybe I shouldn’t answer. She hasn’t given me permission yet.

Wait. What? What the fuck am I saying? It’s my office, not a dungeon. Oh, Jesus, she’s in my head. I can’t let her know that she’s—

“Oh. Hey, Myr. ’Sup?” I stand and lean on the arm of the sofa, super chill.

She blinks at me. “Did you just call me Myr?”

“Uh… I think I may have, yes.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Copy. I shall do it no myr.” I smile. “Get it? No myr? It’s a play on—”

“Yeah, no, I got it.”

I give her an o-kay sign with my hand and I wink. She takes in a breath and starts walking toward me. She’s wearing typical Myrtle-at-work wear, but as she moves in my direction, all I can see is what she had on last night. The dirty, Parisian dominatrix motif. I imagine that when she looks at me all she sees right now is a dog collar and a hard dick.

And… I kind of hate that. Not the second part. The dick thing doesn’t bother me all that much, but the first part…

“What’s up, Ms. Rothschild? How can I help?”

She gets close. Not so close as to cause anyone (aka Valerie) to notice, particularly, but close enough that I can smell her perfume.

“Well, I was worried that I wouldn’t see you today. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“Pffft,” I scoff. “Why—Why—Why would I be avoiding you?” Not sure the stammering gives me the strongest position of authority, but—

“I thought maybe you were trying to get out of your test.”

“Test? Oooooh, right. The test. Y’know, I forgot all about that.”

“Did you?”

“Sure did.”

I’ve never been in a Mexican standoff, as they are called, but this feels like maybe what one is. Everybody with their gun drawn, waiting to see who shoots first.

“Well,” she goes on. “I didn’t forget.” She steps closer still. Man, she smells nice. “Because, remember, if you pass the test, there will be a reward waiting for you when you come over tonight. You are still planning to show up tonight?”

“You betcha. Deal’s a deal.”

“Oh, good. Because I was afraid that after last night—”

“Deal’s a deal, Myrtle.”

It feels like the temperature in the room just dropped about ten degrees. That last bit came out of my mouth unexpectedly cold and a more than a little harsh.