From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

A while ago, I mentioned not filling my schedule with any office events and holiday parties. You’ve been a great personal assistant and have kept my schedule relatively free of fluff. I realize in celebration of the season, I should be more receptive to “fun.” As such, I will attend the annual Christmas ball and the 50th anniversary gala. I still, however, request as few pictures and extended conversations as can be helped. I will give you a signal when I need to be rescued from excessive engagement.

Thank you.

D.

Dorsey held the phone and exhaled. The loft in Georgetown he rented seemed cramped and small with Jennifer still here milling about. She said she would drop a few papers off that he needed to sign. But it had been an hour. His head was filled with crop tops and glossed lips from Liza’s past summer on Instagram, and the last thing he wanted right now was company. It was nearing eleven p.m., and she showed no signs of packing up. The moon had long ago disappeared, leaving a quiet and dark night. The only sounds were the sluggish swoosh of the Foundry Branch and Jennifer’s anxious heels clacking on the polished wood floors. He winced with every step.

He was going to text Liza tonight. But he wanted Jennifer gone first. It thrilled him to think that he could affect Liza the way she did him. The fluttering in his stomach when she touched his shoulders in the hallway—had her stomach twisted too?

He should’ve kissed her when she glanced at his lips in the hallway. Why didn’t you do it? You coward, Dorsey chided himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d get a slap across the face or a warmer welcome. A near-constant What would Alexi do? rang in his head, but in this case he knew. Alexi would have acted. Dorsey should have coaxed her into the bathroom and taken her on the vanity, rattling medicine cabinets as cotton ball containers and toothbrushes toppled onto the floor. He would cover her mouth with his to keep her from moaning too loudly. Is she a moaner or a screamer? He imagined them walking back into the family living room, flushed and smelling like each other, everyone too polite to mention it. Dorsey groaned and and rolled his eyes. Jennifer approached, looking annoyed.

“Who was that on the phone?” she asked. Why does she feel so entitled to my private moments?

“What else is there to look over? I’m getting kind of tired.” He glossed over her question.

“Sure. Um, I’ll head out, then, unless . . .” Jennifer let the word hang. Dorsey noticed the slightest trembling on her lip, and he groaned. He would have to take the Alexi route.

“Look, Jennifer, I have to be honest with you. We had a few dinners, it didn’t work . . .” Dorsey started.