She tried to pull away. “Oh, Jonas, you’re sweet, but I’m not—”

“That is a gorgeous forty-year-old woman in there,” he said, not letting go of her arm, and pointing to the mirror with his other hand. “Sexy and smart and The Boss. I mean, what could possibly be hotter than that?”

“Forty-five.” She added, a little bitterly, “As my ex never failed to remind me, I’m never going to see thirty again.”

“Fuck your ex. I think this is the one. We should get this one. And a matching bra.”

Dr. Barb stared at herself for a long minute. “Well. The color is nice.”

“The color is fucking phenomenal, I’m telling you, it brings out all your natural color, brightens up your—oh, right. Your hair.”

She clutched her braid and tried to back away. “Never mind my hair.”

“Come on, Dr. Barb. All I’m asking is that you cut two feet off of it.”

“No!”

“But it would look so much better if it wasn’t dragging your whole face down. I’m thinking layers around your face, and shoulder length. And,” he added slyly, “everybody could still read your name on the coat.”

“No, Jonas. No. Not the hair.”

“Yes, the hair, listen, trust me. I’m an impartial observer. Besides, you think I do this for every woman?”

“Certainly you’ve never done it for Dr. Bimm,” she said slyly, and he laughed. She looked at the mirror, and it was almost like his laughing reflection helped her make up her mind. “All right. I’ll take it. But when the board fires me for dressing like a slut, I’m moving in with you.”

“Done,” he said fervently. “Okay, hurry up. We’ve got time to hit the lingerie counter and then it’ll be lunch time.”

“Lunch time?” Dr. Barb practically shrieked, looking at her watch. “Oh, Lord! I should have been back—”

“Dr. Barb, what in the world is the use of being The Boss if you can’t fuck off for a Saturday? I mean, a Saturday. Come on.”

“You are very bad for me, Jonas,” she scolded, stepping into the dressing room and (rats!) closing the door. “You are a bad, bad boy.”

He leaned against the wall so he wouldn’t fall down. God, he loved the older teacher type thing she had going, but when she scolded him! He hoped to God she didn’t notice the raging boner lurking in his boxers.

“I never even let Phillip pick out my clothes,” she said from the other side of the door, and laughed. “I can’t imagine what he’d think of this.”

“He’d think ‘when did I turn into the world’s biggest dumb shit?’ is what he’d think.”

She laughed and he heard the sound of rustling clothing. He squashed the urge to mash his ear against the door and imagine what she was putting on. Or taking off. “Considering the fact that you never had the pleasure of meeting him, you certainly have strong opinions about him!”

“He’s a dumbass. Anybody who’d let you go isn’t worth a nanosecond of my time. Or yours.”