My glare should make him spontaneously combust, or at least turn into a hedgehog with a profound case of psoriasis, but no such luck. “Not even close. I hurt my inner thighs sitting on the toilet this morning.”
His eyebrows shoot up and disappear into his disappearing hairline. “You need more fiber.”
“I need a lot of things, Josh.” Limp. Limp. I feel like I’ve been riding a Shetland pony for three days. At least I don’t have saddle sores. But Josh’s original idea, of having a man do this to me in bed…Mr. Sexy Suit comes to mind. Not the pompous ass who made me flush my own hand and cell phone, but the one I turned into Mr. Dreamy before The Great Toilet Fiasco of 2014.
I have the second door on the left, sandwiched between Josh and Amanda. My office smells like pine and vinegar, which means it must be Thursday. The cleaning crew came through the night before. I hang up my purse, pull out the baggie with rice and my phone in it and put it in my windowsill to bake in the sun, and flip my computer on.
Amanda’s left a note on my desk: Leave it for two days in a baggie full of rice. If it doesn’t work, we’ll get you a new one. Greg won’t be happy, but too bad. Hope your hand doesn’t fall off from germs.
It’s so nice to have a friend who really gets your OCD phobias. Or who understands your mom. Or both.
“Shannon? I recovered your data,” Josh says, scaring the hell out of me. He moves like a vampire, suddenly behind you in your office. I think he likes it. Office sadist.
But I forgive him, because what? “You recovered my shops?” Hope springs eternal.
“It’s all in the cloud now, so thank me for setting that app up and forcing Greg to spend money on something worthwhile. Everything is in there but the last one, because you didn’t hit save.” I get a scowl that makes me think Chuckles is more evolved than most humans. Josh looks like a lamb pretending to be mad.
“I was perched over a men’s toilet trying not to watch a man whip it out. Don’t you dare shame me.”
“The only shame is that you didn’t try to look when he whipped it out,” Josh says, eyes twinkling.
“You recovered all eight shops?” I’m incredulous. This is making my day already, and it’s only 11:37 a.m.
He nods. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. “I would French kiss you if you weren’t g*y,” I murmur.
“You keep this dry spell up and you’ll start French kissing me even though I am g*y,” he mutters, shaking his head. “If the only action your inner thighs are getting is while hiding from a hot guy in the men’s room of a shop, it’s time for a lifestyle evaluation.”
“Let’s mystery shop Shannon’s life!” Amanda squeals, appearing at the perfect moment. The perfect moment to go through another episode of Let’s Dissect Poor Shannon’s Failed Love Life, that is. My mother would emcee it.
We’re on season three, episode five by my count. Netflix should pick this one up. People could binge watch and point to the TV as they laugh, feeling a sense of relief while thinking, At least I’m not as bad as Shannon.
I could provide an important public service.
“What about Hot Guy? Did he ask for your number?” Shannon and Mom had clearly connected.
“I’m sure he hits on all the women he meets who have their arm flushed down a toilet in the men’s room.” Does he? Because if he’s met more than me that way, then it’s really not me. It’s him.
“Sample size of one!” she chirps. “You stand out from the crowd.”
“I’m the only one who could give him E. coli by feeding him grapes!” I look nervously at my hand. It looks the same.
“You didn’t catch his name?” Josh asks.
I freeze inside. Declan McCormick is on the tip of my tongue, but I keep it behind my teeth, like a candy you savor and suck on. Heat creeps up my chest and neck as I think about things on Declan I could suck.
I shake my head hard, like a dog after a swim. “Nope. Just really rich, really confident, and enough of an ass**le to make me want him.”
All three of us wistfully sigh in unison.
They believe the lie. They should. We’re all really good liars. You kind of have to be in this business, because you spend so much time pretending to be something you’re not, all while evaluating the surface level of people.
It’s a cold job when you think about it that way. Now I frown and Amanda looks at me with concern. Then I realize she has black hair again. Fourth color change in four months.
“What did you do?” I ask as she follows me into my office. Yesterday she was a blonde, and the shift is jarring, like she’s gone from looking like a beach bunny to a dominatrix.
“Carole flaked on the hair salon shop, so I had to go to yet another color, cut, and style,” she says sadly. She touches the ends of her hair. “I look like Morticia Addams.”
I snort. “You look like Katy Perry.” Amanda is the cheerleader type. Was in high school, still is. And yes, I’m lying a little, because Amanda actually has near-zero similarity to Katy Perry other than black hair and red lips. In fact, right now, she’s staring at me in a creepy way with that new hairdo, like that woman on the Oddities San Francisco show.
Like she either wants to tell me a secret or stick me in a jar with preserved three-headed piglets from 1883.
“You got all your shops in?”
“Eight out of nine.”
She looks at the wall clock in the hallway. “Twenty-three minutes to get the last one in and we get credit for exceeding client expectations.”
“But—um—hello? Toilet water? Dead phone? Hot guy?” I can’t catch a break.
“Hot guy or no hot guy, we have that big meeting at four today with Anterdec Holdings, and if we get this all in on time it makes it much easier to land a client so big Greg will have to start turning the heat up over fifty-five in the winter.”
“You know how to improve company morale. Don’t tease me,” I say, pretending to fan my face. “Next thing you know you’ll tell me we’re allowed to turn the overhead lights on after sundown.”
“Don’t push it,” she says in a fake flat voice. But with the new hairstyle she makes my abs tighten with fear. I flinch. She sees it and frowns.
“You look like something out of a BDSM novel,” I explain.
One corner of her mouth hitches up. It’s half adorable and half chilling. “Really? Too bad I’m not dating anyone right now. This is just going to waste.” Her hand sweeps over her face.