She shrugs, although her mouth is smiling. "He's a very … charismatic man, and I'm not dead. But"-she sighs-"I know he's married. So … "
"Don't they have other unmarried hotties at the firm? It looked like it was full of young, ambitious men the last time I was there."
"Yeah, but they aren't the same. Gavin's the alpha male." She adjusts her top, smoothing it so it lies perfectly against her enhanced cleavage.
So that explains her outfits. I don't know if she's consciously choosing to wear them or not, but I hope she doesn't do anything stupid. Unless I'm mistaken, Gavin is utterly in love with his wife. I open my mouth to say something, then stop. It seems a bit presumptuous of me to lecture Traci when she already knows about his marital status and we've just reconnected after a couple years apart. Unlike me, Traci's been smart enough to make something of herself, so who am I to act like I know better?
"Although … There's this guy in accounting with this totally hot look. But I hear he's gay. Pete's handsome too, but he's taken." She sighs again. "It's always something."
Finally. I perk up. "You mean Pete Monroe? Dennis's boss?"
Traci nods. "He's Gavin's brother-in-law. Really yummy, but engaged to some interior designer."
"What's he like?" I lean forward. "He's handling my account, so I'm curious."
She whips her head my way. "Wait. You're a client?"
I nod. "Didn't I tell you?"
"No. You didn't." Her eyebrows pinch together as she quickly drops her gaze for a moment. She inhales. When she meets my eyes again, the frown is gone, and she's smiling again. "He's pretty amazing from what I heard. Gavin trusts him, and he's very good at what he does. Dennis is lucky to be doing his internship with him. You couldn't ask for a better man to mentor and guide you."
Perfect. "How's he doing? Dennis, I mean."
"Pretty par for the course, from what I can tell. I think he's stressed out because he's really hoping to make an impression and get hired on full-time. OWM doesn't take that many new analysts."
"How come?"
"Turnover's too low." She nibbles on her lower lip. "By the way, I asked around about an opening."
"Oh?" I'd almost forgotten that I asked Traci about a job. "And?"
"There is one. It's not a great position or anything. A junior assistant to one of the VPs. Her current assistant's going on maternity leave in eight weeks, so it's sort of temporary, if you don't mind that. But she'll be gone for at least a year-"
"A year?"
"What can I say? OWM has a great maternity leave policy." Traci pushes her curls over a shoulder. "Anyway, it's a temporary position, but it'd give you a chance to network and get some office work experience for your résumé. A foot in the door."
I consider. I want to say yes right now, but things are fragile at home. It'd be better to discuss the matter with Elliot before committing to anything. I don't think he'll object, but our fight has been about me keeping things from him. I want to show him in every way possible that I won't do that anymore. "Let me think about it and get back to you."
"No problem." Traci checks her watch. "Oh, shoot. I need to get going. Gotta prep for a meeting."
I wish we could linger-I don't want to go home right now-but of course she has to work. We walk out together, chatting animatedly. It's somewhat forced on my part, but it's better to pretend I'm fine.
"We should do this again when you don't have a crisis going," Traci says. "It was fun."
"Definitely." I smile.
Talking things out with her has definitely improved my mood, even if we couldn't come up with a solution to my problem with Elliot. I can't tell her much, not like in the old days, but just knowing that I have someone I can talk to makes me feel better.
We hug each other goodbye outside the door, and I watch her trot off down the street. When I turn to leave, something cold splashes all over my chest.
"Oh shit," comes a dismayed male voice. "Sorry about that. Are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah … I guess." I tug the wet dress from my chest with a grimace. The iced coffee drink-probably a latte-really did a number on my outfit. It's turned the yellow into a semi-transparent brown, and I can feel it soaking through my padded bra, making my breasts cold and uncomfortable. A couple of large rivulets have also dripped all the way down to the hem; several drops land on my shoes.
"Really, really sorry." He pulls out a pale cream handkerchief from his jacket and hands it to me.
I take it and do what I can to salvage the dress, but it's no good.