They resumed their walk, passing a drugstore.

“Oh, Sutton,” Michelle said. “I forgot. I need to pop into the store and get a pair of cheaters.”

“Since when do you need reading glasses?”

“I don’t need them for reading,” Michelle said suggestively.

“You dirty bitch.” Sutton said, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s go get you some cheaters.”

He’d said hello to the receptionist then headed straight to his corner office and shut the door, a clear sign he wanted to be left alone. His only companion was the view of Manhattan from the windows. He could see New York. No one could see him. His phone buzzed, and he was tempted to ignore it. But the possibility that it might be her again had him grabbing it from his pocket.

M: Remember that time you knocked on my office door after your first appointment?

J: Yes.

M: You told me you had unfinished business with my pussy.

J: I did. I still do. Only because I fucking love your pussy, so I’m always going to want to do business with it, to it, for it, and in it.

M: I have unfinished business with your fabulous fucking cock.

J: Now you’ve done it again. Why do you torture me like this?

M: It’s only torture if I’m going to leave you blue-balled.

J: Well, what’s your plan, beautiful? Because my dick is hard, and I have no intention of jacking off in my office, and I have two more hours of work to get through.

He waited, and waited, and waited. But no reply came.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, because it was time to focus.

He tossed the phone on his desk. He needed to take care of a few thorny issues with suppliers before the weekend, but all he wanted was to rid his body and mind of the residual tension from the day. The meeting with Denkler combined with the time at the shrink’s, in addition to all those jumbled feelings of fuck-uppery with Aubrey had him on edge.

Michelle was nowhere to be seen to take that edge off.

He fired up the computer screen when his office phone beeped with the receptionist. He stabbed the answer button. “Hey, Christine. How are you?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sullivan. There is someone here for you with a delivery from the library. She wants me to send her back,” the receptionist said, lowering her voice.

“The library?”

“She said you ordered some books for personal delivery,” Christine said, sounding thoroughly flummoxed. He was, too. Until, some neuron fired and he had the sneaking suspicion the edge was about to come off. “Send her back,” he said, and then hung up as his cell phone rattled once more.

M: I hope it’s not work that involves other people.

J: Why not?

M: Because I wouldn’t want them to see what I’m about to do to you.

10

It is Certain

“Come in,” he said, as the brown door slowly opened.