Dead End Job (16 page)

“How are we going to do that?” Surprisingly, I was actually interested. Even though it was totally unrelated to the work murder, I was getting really sick of having emotions come up in my life when I least expected and least desired them. 

“We are going to talk about it,” he said. I must have sighed a little bit in frustration because he continued. “I know it would be easier if I said there was a magic bullet, but unfortunately there’s not. We just have to meet and discuss your feelings, this is how therapy works.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry if I don’t have the best attitude about all this. You know, I’ve been to therapy before, and it hasn’t exactly helped me out.”

“We’ll see if we can change that. If I’m any good at my job, which I think I am, we will.”

“If you say so.” I tried, but couldn’t control the snark from bursting from my mouth. I liked Dr. Castro, but I just didn’t have that much faith in therapy.  At least I wasn’t having a panic attack.

“You know, I had a long discussion with your friend Martin this morning,” he said, changing the subject. I didn’t realize that Martin had got the mandatory therapy sentence too. “He is very upset about Mrs. Lieber’s death. So upset, in fact, that I recommended that he take some time off of work to process and recover.” This was news to me. Martin really didn’t seem that upset at all. In fact, he had barely mentioned Sarah. The Martin I knew was a classic narcissist when it came to most people—if it wasn’t about him, he couldn’t have cared less. Plus it’s not like he and Sarah and been the closest of friends. I decided that he was probably playing the sympathy card to either hit on the cute Dr. Castro or weasel some paid time off.

“I didn’t realize that. Is there something that I should be doing to help him?” I played along. 

“No, no. That’s not why I bring this up. The reason that I mention Martin is that he expressed to me how close the friendship is between you two. He also told me that as upset as he is, he knows that you are hurting much, much more. He said you’d be afraid to talk about it. I just wanted you to know that you are in a safe place here, Louisa.” What? I wondered what the hell this was about. Why was Martin throwing me under the bus to the therapist?

“That was nice of him,” I said with thinly veiled sarcasm.

“Martin also expressed to me your desire to take some vacation. I really think that’s a good idea. Would you like me to discuss this with your supervisor? I think a month would be sufficient. I can recommend someone for you to work with on a daily basis while you’re out. It might be just what you need.” Ahh. Martin was trying to hook
me
up with some time off—very clever. Too bad that I knew exactly how understanding Elaine would be if Dr. Castro told her that I was going to require a month-long vacation right before the merger. She would probably stab him with her letter opener.

“That’s a very nice offer,” I said, sincerely as I could while knowing that his suggestion was utterly futile. “I will think about it and let you know.”

“Yes, do that. I cannot emphasize enough how important your well-being is to Merit. They are fully committed to you feeling and doing great, both at work and in your home life.” Even though this sounded like a monster line of bullshit if I’d ever heard one, I swallowed my opinion and nodded amicably.

“OK, I think I have to get back to work now,” I stood up, not knowing if I should shake the Doctor’s hand or hug him or what. I hoped it to God that it wouldn’t be another awkward hug. I was relieved when instead he stood up and folded his hands in front of him. 

“Think about what we’ve talked about. I’d like to meet with you next week. If you feel that you want to speak with me before then, here’s my card. Call or email me any time. I mean that, I am always available.” He reached across the table and pushed his card into my hand, his deep brown eyes boring into mine.

“Thanks,” I said, and left the room, happy that the meeting was over. And after the door shut behind me I crumpled up the Doctor’s business card and chucked it into the first recycling bin that I saw.

Chapter 11: Who are You and Where are My Pants?

Maya was waiting for me when I got back to my desk with a look on her face that meant that if I whined about any of the work she was giving to me, she was probably going to beat me to death with a stapler. “Here’s the work that Priti and I assigned to you. It’s going to be a late night,” she said, unceremoniously plopping down a stack of files on my desk. She was right. For the first time since the beginning of my Merit career, I hadn’t vacated the office by exactly 4:00 PM. In fact, I didn’t leave until long after every other employee besides Maya, including Priti, who’d finished her work at 7:45 and trudged out, announcing her plans to buy a bottle of wine and go home and drink it by herself.  I didn’t see Martin for the rest of the afternoon. I desperately wanted to break up my massive workload with a little gossip, mostly about my talk with Dr. Castro, but he must have been in meetings with the management team all afternoon, because his desk remained irritatingly empty.

I finally left Maya at twenty past eight. I offered to wait for her, but she insisted that she had a few more emails to deal with that I could not possibly help with, and thanked me forcefully and told me to go home. When I arrived back at my house I was feeling a little bit restless. Kathy was not there, so the house was quiet when I poured myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from the unopened bottle in the fridge. I was happy to see that she had left me a note on the kitchen counter explaining that she didn’t know where I was but that she fed Winston and let him out. Now, even though I didn’t see him, I could hear that he was snoring away in the living room behind the sofa.

I flipped through the channels aimlessly as I drank my wine. I showered without washing my hair, and changed into a pale blue Capri and tank cotton pajama set. I was brushing my teeth when the doorbell rang. It was a little after 9:30, and I was expecting my unexpected guest to be one of Kathy’s grifter magazine friends coming over to wrestle up a free beer or some conversation. Didn’t these freaking people own cell phones? When I opened the door I already had my mouth open, fully ready to announce to whoever it was that “she’s not here,” then slam the door on their face.

Much to my surprise, the visitor was not a revolting stinky hippie in dreadlocks. It was Rocky.

He wore a soft black cotton t-shirt that was just tight enough to show off the flatness of his stomach over a pair of well-fitting dark jeans. I could smell his light, musty cologne from the landing. His brown eyes smoldered when he saw me.

“Hi Louisa,” he said. “I’m sorry to just drop by on you.”  

“That’s OK,” I replied, pretending not to freak out about my outfit and unwashed hair. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” he said, stepping through the door. I thought about just grabbing him and kissing him hello, but even after our very ‘passionate’ first date I still felt a bit awkward, so instead I quickly turned and started up the stairs, babbling. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink, but I knew that I at least wanted go get him away from Kathy’s bathroom as quickly as possible.

“I hope there’s not anything wrong,” I said, yammering on.

“No, everything is fine,” he said, following me through the house.

“Sorry that the house is a little messy, but Kathy’s not here, so she can’t bug you about composting or whatever it is that she was talking to you about the other day.” We got to the kitchen and I stopped. “This is the living room, and kitchen, and my room is upstairs. Oh, and that’s my bulldog Winston.” Winston hadn’t even bothered to get up when the doorbell rang, so I pointed in the direction of the snoring. “As you can see, he’s quite the guard dog.” The longer I stood there the more nervous I became. I was excruciatingly aware that I was wearing less-than-sexy pajamas, not a smidge of make-up and still sporting a very bruised eye. Not to mention that under the harsh kitchen light I was sure that the glass of Sauvignon Blanc I’d guzzled was making my face flush even more than normal. I continued, trying to distract Rocky from my appearance: “Um, do you want something to drink? I have some Diet Coke, and water, and I think there’s even a beer in the fridge.” I opened the fridge and started poking around for a beer.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, walking up behind me and putting his hand on my shoulder.  I shut the fridge and turned around to face him. His hand dropped to his side. “I hope you don’t mind that I came over, but I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He took a small step closer and picked up my hands in his. “That might seem completely dumb and cheesy, but really I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met in your office. I was trying to play it cool, but I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time.”

I took a deep breath. I could not believe my luck that this gorgeous man was standing in my kitchen professing his feelings for me.

“I don’t want to freak you out,” he said, “but I think that am really starting to care about you, Louisa.”

This is not how it was supposed to work. My experiences with dating had shown me that the good looking men always acted elusive and difficult—only the weirdoes and stalkers got all honest and vulnerable and told you ‘how they felt.’ Looking at Rocky, one thing I was certain of was that he was not a weirdo or a stalker. Another thing I was certain of was that he, one hundred percent, was a very sexy man. Who smelled good. And had big strong hands. And soft lips.

Staring into his big brown eyes, I couldn’t think of anything to say besides, “Me too.”

I had barely gotten the words out before he was kissing me. His arms were around my shoulders, then my waist, as his gentle lips wrapped around mine and his tongue softly probed into my mouth. His hands were everywhere: in my hair, down my back, grabbing urgently at my legs, my waist, my ass. All of my nerves dissipated as I returned his kiss with equal urgency. I slid my hands up the back of his shirt onto the rippling muscles of his shoulders. We continued furiously making out as he backed up to the counter. With very little effort he grabbed my legs right under my butt and lifted me up so I was sitting on the counter facing him. As he pressed against me I wrapped my legs around his waist. I lifted his shirt up over his head, and he backed up for a second to finish removing it. His body was muscular and hard, and he had a light dusting of brown chest hair over his large pecs and a rippling set of washboard abs.

My vagina was dying of cardiac arrest, but I only had a second to admire him before he was pressed up against me again. When he slipped his large hand up the front of my shirt and cupped my breast I heard him sigh, and I felt the bulge in his pants tighten against me. He enjoyed the moment, kissing my neck and ears while he gently played with my nipples. “Where’s your bedroom?” He asked huskily

Without saying anything I jumped down from the counter and practically pulled him up the stairs by the front of his jeans. At that moment I could not have cared less about playing hard to get: it had been way too long for me, and he was too hot to resist. When we got into the bedroom I barely had time to push the bath towel and robe I had dumped there earlier aside before he threw me down on the bed. He wasted no time in removing my little cotton tank top. He hotly kissed my face, the little hollow in my neck, and my shoulders, working his way slowly down. I thought I was going to explode when he finally went down on his knees in front of me, gently but urgently pulling off my cotton pajama pants. When he moved his mouth down between my legs I was aching for him all over.

After he made sure that I was well taken care of, he stood up and un-did his belt and jeans, pushing them to the floor. Things were definitely good down there, and from what I could see, as hard as a rock. I wanted him inside me so badly I couldn’t stand it. When he lay on top of me I parted my legs eagerly and he entered me. We were already both breathing hard, in fast ragged breaths.

“You are so beautiful,” was the only thing he said. He flipped us over and rolled me on top of him. After all the stress and craziness of the last week I suddenly knew that I needed this. I needed him. I threw the shreds that were left of my inhibitions away and opened myself completely to him. We made love like two people starved for physical contact. When we finished we collapsed in a sweaty heap on my bed in each other’s arms.

Rocky fell asleep first. I could hear his heavy, regular breaths even though he was laying face-down on my pillow on his stomach, sprawled out with one foot hanging out of the covers. Watching him sleep, most of me felt totally over the moon with happiness, but there was still a nagging voice in my head telling me to be careful. I knew that what my best friends always told me was right: my heart was directly connected to my vagina. I historically fell for any guy that I got in bed with, and after the emotional disaster that was my ex-fiancé I’d shut down emotionally as much as I could, barring myself from the kind of hurt and pain that comes with the total devastation of a relationship. These days I tried to keep the men I met at an arm’s length. I especially tried to avoid falling in love too fast, or at all. But pushing those thoughts aside, I decided that I wasn’t going to let myself spazz out about something that might or might not happen in the future with me and Rocky, and to just enjoy the moment while it was here.

I laid quietly beside him, not wanting to disturb his peace, even though I had to stop myself from reaching over and caressing his dark brown hair and running my fingers down his muscular back. I felt an overwhelming sense of well-being and I didn’t think it was completely due to the post-coital bliss. Being with Rocky in every sense had made me so happy—it was as if I didn’t realize all of the hurt I’d been carrying for so long until someone came and took it away from me. I was so thankful to Rocky for being that person in my life, and I couldn’t wait to see what the future would hold for us. As I waited for sleep I felt a painful wound somewhere in my heart start to slowly heal.

Chapter 12: Sloppy Seconds