Chapter 23
23
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Carly grins at me before taking a bite of her salad.
“What makes you think there’s a lucky guy?” I hedge as I waddle—yes, waddle—toward the coffee pot.
“Oh, come on.” Maeve rolls her eyes from her seat beside Carly at the breakroom table. “The last time I walked like that, it was because I found an actual stud on a dating app. He wasn’t marriage material, but the guy could go all night long .”
I ignore her emphasis of the last few words. “Why wasn’t he marriage material?”
She laughs. “Please. A guy that well hung with that kind of stamina? They never grow out of the sowing-their-wild-oats phase. It’s like they’re not happy enough with what God gave them. They need to constantly stroke their own egos by proving they’re gifted with as many women as possible. They’ll never be faithful, much less settle down.”
I glance at Carly for confirmation. She nods as if this is a well-accepted fact.
“Which variable precludes such men from faithfulness?” I question on a yawn. I’m curious, but also tired. “The well- endowed penis or the stamina? Is it unusual for men to possess all-night sexual prowess?”
I have a personal dearth of experience of this sort of data. In grad school, once a day seemed to be Peter’s limit. Our overwhelming schedules necessitated every two to three days, but I always felt that he resented those time constraints. He proved that assumption correct multiple times last night. And twice this morning before work.
I’m so sore.
It occurs to me that he might have been trying to prove a point. Surely, he’s as tender as I am today.
“I don’t actually know,” Carly admits, her tone pensive. “There are so many dependent variables to consider—age, experience, emotional versus physical interest.”
I appreciate her level of thoughtfulness. Carly and I might be completely different, but ever since my first day, I’ve liked her. Her comments offer further proof that she’s an amazing human being.
Maeve barks out a grating laugh. “True, but still. We can extrapolate. The younger the guy, the greater the stamina. Short recovery times, you know?”
I nod like I know, but I do not know.
She continues, “If he’s experienced, then he uses that to his advantage. He’ll take longer breaks by being generous downtown, but the second he’s recovered enough, it’s all P in V until he wears out again. Or A…” She squints at the air in front of her before shaking herself out of it. “If it’s emotional, then it’s more P in V slash A. If it’s purely physical, then it’s front loaded by P in M.”
I have a sinking suspicion that I should pity Maeve’s data-collecting experiences, but I’m also far too exhausted to make sense of her acronyms .
I’m so tired that I barely react when Peter strolls into the room.
I’m not too sluggish to notice that the women pause our conversation at his presence. It seems that everyone in the building constantly toes the line of appropriate workplace behavior and conversation—except Peter. He’s the lone stickler for the rules, and they all know it.
“Dr. Carrington,” Maeve greets.
Rather coolly, I observe. It’s a far cry from the way she cornered him in my apartment to unabashedly flirt.
“Ladies,” Peter likewise acknowledges them. He stares at me then the coffee pot before clearing his throat. “Did you want the last cup, Dr. Fowler?”
I blearily blink at him. “What?”
“I’ll make more,” he offers before filling my mug that I hadn’t realized I didn’t fill until just now.
While he sets to work brewing another pot, I turn toward my female comrades. “What do P, V, A, and M stand for?”
Carly subtly shakes her head.
Maeve says confidently, “Penis, vagina, anus, and mouth.”
Carly’s face turns bright red.
Peter chokes on air.
Maeve appears rather triumphant over the situation.
“My apologies, Dr. Carrington,” Carly offers. “It was just…girl talk.”
She frowns as soon as the words leave her mouth.
Maeve cackles. “Please. Why should we apologize after all the conversations we’ve overheard from the men in this building?”
I’m not nearly as alert as normal, but I tip my head as I stare at Peter, waiting for his hopefully egalitarian response. This is the moment where the rubber meets the road, so to speak. I have also born witness to Maeve’s observations. When I tried to meet my predominantly coworkers on their level, I was met with…crickets.
He nods as he sets the coffee pot to brew a fresh batch of sweet, sweet nectar. “You’re right. It’s hardly fair. We’re a small office, and I’d like us to all be friends here. I don’t see any problem with sociable conversation as long as it doesn’t impact our day-to-day operations or create a hostile work environment. Carly?”
Our HR rep smiles as though she’s greatly pleased by Peter’s comments. “I agree. We don’t want to be a debilitatingly sterile office, but we need some boundaries.”
“General conversation is fine, but the limit is personal insults?” Peter asks yet states.
“That’s too obvious,” Carly says, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth as she seriously considers the topic. “Personal insults indicate a hostile work environment regardless. Maybe it should be more that general conversation is acceptable, but personal observances are off the table.”
Maeve disagrees with a firm shake of her head. “Personal anecdotes are a way of bonding. If we want a friendly work environment, then we can’t forbid that.”
I don’t necessarily agree with her, but I’m too tired to voice my quasi-agreement.
I also have a vested interest in keeping personal anecdotes…personal.
“What about giving our employees the power to dictate professional behavior?” Peter suggests as he digs around in the refrigerator, presumably for creamer. “Everyone is free to share what they’re comfortable with, but when someone states a defined boundary, it’s to be upheld. No questions asked.”
Carly tips her head to the side. “I would agree, but everyone has different limits and boundaries.”
“We need defined parameters for acceptable behavior without alienating anyone from participation,” Peter insists. He returns to the coffee pot with two bottles of creamer. He slides the French Vanilla toward me while pouring the plain into his mug for one, two, three seconds.
I vaguely register the vast differences between the Platinum Rule and the Golden Rule, but I busy myself dumping liquid sugar and cholesterol into my mug.
Thankfully, Peter tops off my mug with fresh coffee, so I don’t have to risk spilling it all over the countertop.
“It hasn’t even been a full year, Pete,” Carly murmurs. “Give it some time. We’ll find our footing.”
“Time is not on our side.” Peter shakes his head for emphasis.
“I know,” Carly demurs, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
Maeve glances between everyone with a suspicious expression. “Why is time not on our side? What am I missing?”
“Nothing,” Carly and Peter insist simultaneously.
They obviously don’t want a member of the marketing department knowing that Chester R now you’re paying the price.”
Peter glares at him. “Inappropriate.”
Joel shrugs. “You should’ve heard me cursing at the SEM this morning. Inappropriate is my middle name.” He swings his gaze toward the women at the table. “You two—I have no idea.” He grins. “Well, maybe some idea. Maeve, are you possibly pissed that Pete obviously got laid last night? Carly, did your fiancé forget to take out the trash again?”
Carly suspiciously averts her gaze. I don’t get a chance to measure Maeve’s reaction before Peter obnoxiously clears his throat to get my attention.
“Speaking of uncomfortable topics…Dr. Fowler, your probationary period officially ended last week. You’re due for a performance review. Do you have time in your schedule today?”
I blink at him as I barely restrain myself from blurting that I’d also like to initiate a performance review. Of his insatiable sexual appetite that he was clearly hiding in the past. “I have time now.”
“Excellent,” he murmurs as he strides toward the doorway of the breakroom. “Follow me, please.”
Joel catches my elbow as I limp through Peter’s wake. He hisses, “Don’t let him bait you. Whatever fun you got up to last night is your own business, and it doesn’t have any relevance to your performance at work.”
I glance at him in shock. “Thank you. That means a great deal, coming from the number two man in the department.”
He releases me with a self-deprecating shrug that competes with his smug grin. “Hey, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“Bullshit,” Maeve spits, interrupting our not-at-all private interlude. “If that was true, you wouldn’t have personally attacked us the second you walked into this room.”
“It wasn’t an attack.” Joel shrugs. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
I abandon the tension in the room with the hope of a much easier task. I’d rather be interrogated about my job performance than decipher other people’s emotions and motivations.
“Close the door, please,” Peter murmurs as I step into his office.
As soon as the doorknob latches into place, Peter runs his hands through his hair. “This is fucking torture.”
“I know.” I nod in agreement. “When I said that I wanted to research your full capabilities, I didn’t realize I was going to find out that the phrase ‘bang me until I can’t walk tomorrow’ is possible.”
Peter winces then hops up from his chair, tugging his suit jacket off as he rounds the desk. He folds the material then sets it on one of the two club chairs that face his desk.
“I’m sorry. I—” He guides me to sit in the chair on top of his jacket, helping me to adjust until I’m as comfortable as possible. “Well. I’m just sorry.”
“I asked for it,” I remind him. “It’s an interesting experience. One that makes me doubt many women’s assertions that they wish to go all night long.” I make air quotes for yet another common phrase. “I think they must never have had the opportunity, or they would change their minds. Are you not sore at all?”
“Not as much as you,” he mutters as he pulls a footstool out from beneath his desk before arranging my feet on it.
I sigh in relief. This position is actually much more comfortable. I gingerly scoot further down in the chair to take more weight off my aching parts. I hate that he’s feeling guilty over something I actually asked for. “Peter.”
“Hmm?” He glances up at me from where he continues to bow over my feet.
“I made you even smarter.”
He furrows his brow. “How so?”
“You would never have known how much you enjoy sex if not for me.” I grin at him.
He shakes his head with his patented frown, but his sparkling eyes give him away.
“Do you want to work in here today?” He quickly trails his hand up my leg before stepping back to a more professionally appropriate distance. “I can bring your laptop for you.”
As much as that suggestion sounds heavenly, I shake my head. “I think our coworkers already suspect something between us. They are simply being coy about it. If we work in each other’s offices all day, that will only bolster their beliefs.”
He approaches me slowly, a smile widening his mouth until it’s a full-blown grin as he hovers in my personal space with his hands braced on the arms of the chair. “Dr. Fowler…”
His closeness, his scent, the heat from his body, the way he continues to grin like he knows a dirty little secret—all of these things combine to propel a shudder of awareness down my spine. Ow. That hurts.
I glare at him in his sexy glasses with his sexy facial hair and dress shirt and tie, and why do we have to be at work right now? I close my eyes and let the fantasy play of pulling him to me with that silken tie and crushing my mouth to his until I’m satisfied.
I’m appalled to realize I may never be satisfied. More and more fantasies roll on at lightning speed. Him bending me over his desk and taking me from behind. Peter spreading my legs on the arm of this chair and dropping to his knees before me. Up against his closed office door, his hand over my mouth to ensure my silence. Me, beneath his desk as he takes calls and struggles to keep an even tone of voice.
I’m not sure my body can handle what my mind wants.
Also, my mind is a depraved, horny fantasyland today.
I wasn’t a virgin before last night. Why does this time feel different?
When I open my eyes again, the level of Peter’s grin borders on insane.
“What?” I’m terrified I’ve narrated my fantasies out loud.
“What makes you think they suspect something about us?” he questions instead, that smile never leaving his lips.
“Um.” I blow out a breath and shove aside the horny movie reel in favor of rebooting memories that have nothing to do with sex. Mostly. “Little comments here and there, combined with expressions that convey both mirth and skepticism. Like the day that Joel set you up with a blind date and also offered me one. Or the time he barged into my office before Chet showed up. Carly and Maeve knew why I was walking funny without me saying a word. You know. Little things that add up.”
Peter rolls his lips between his teeth like he’s trying not to laugh. He shakes his head as he rises to his full height. “You don’t have a low EQ. You understand people and their motivations just fine.”
“Why are you so obsessed with this personality flaw of mine?” I sit up straighter in my seat then immediately regret the pain that movement causes. “Is this a problem for you in some way?”
“Not me.” He points at himself for emphasis before swinging his finger to me. “For you.”
“I have no idea what you’re implying.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking effortlessly calm and sexy. And smug. Exactly the way he learned how to be during grad school. “You just don’t want to admit it because that would mean you have to do terrifying things like trust me, be vulnerable with me, and make yourself emotionally available to me. Even if that might result in pain.”
“I’m in pain now.”
“Physical,” he argues. “Not mental.”
“I’m getting there. Is this really the appropriate place to have this discussion?”
“No,” he concedes. “I am, however, acclimating you to the idea that we will be returning to this conversation at length. I’ll be right back with your laptop. We actually do have work to accomplish together.”
Ah. Right. The proverbial elephant in the room. Which of our coworkers are stealing company secrets?