Finally she gave up on sleep and went to work. At four-thirty, she was the only one there save for the Allie, the other coder with insomnia. As she sank into her work, the sun, that old reliable, started to rise, warming the room and settling her nerves. If only it could reset her heart.
****
Elliot’s first IM arrived at nine o’clock sharp.
“Late for work?”
“Early. Coding now.”
“Please call when break. Please.”
She cut off the app, which felt a bit like cutting off arm or a major tree root or something, and realized she had to pee. Dammit. Now her concentration was broken. After depositing the old coffee, she picked up a cup of fresh joe and settled back down to the mess on her screens.
It didn’t work. As she was trying to roll the tightness out of her shoulders, Josh’s head and shoulders popped over her half-wall. He looked the worse for wear. She tried to guess at his troubles, but, you know, politely.
“So the anniversary went well?”
“See the gossip page today?”
Shit. Heart in her throat, she typed in the address for the Daily. Sure enough, the Page Three photo was from the party. Scalding hot, and most definitely inappropriate for minors.
The photo was shot through the window. She knew it – that flash behind her eyes had actually been from the outside. But how?
Josh came round the wall into her guest chair, tossing the paper version on her keyboard. “Looks like your beau’s got some ’splaining to do. Or maybe not – I see you’re already missing a certain fancy ring.”
Her ass was one-third the picture, with a slightly fuzzy but still very recognizable Elliot leaning over, readying to smack. Her thong was front and center, her legs slightly apart.
Smart to go for the extra-special wax job, whew. No bumps.
Emily tried to shrug it off, show she didn’t care, but it turned to a shiver instead. The motion shook loose a sob.
“Hey, hey. It’s just the Daily, nobody will see it who matters.” He waggled his eyebrows the way that always made her smile, and she hiccupped. “And if they do, they won’t care. They’re consenting adults in the privacy of their own home. So to speak.” He frowned. “But – and isn’t it a big butt, sorry I had to say it – he’s not the right guy for you. He’s not old enough yet to appreciate a good woman.”
She looked at the photo again. Her ass looked great at that angle. And her Elliot, well, she’d never seen him look happier.
“He seems to appreciate me plenty,” she said.
“Obviously not. He’s not ready to settle down. A stag party, at his age? Maybe he never will be. I knew it all along.”
“You are not five years older than he is.”
“And me with two kids already.”
“Neither over four years old.”
“Is this about me or him?” Josh reached out and put a hand over hers. “It’s about you. How do you feel?”
“Confused.” Could Elliot have been right about her having a bit of a hang-up? She did feel differently about her body now, more objective, less critical. She looked gorgeous in that photo – she loved it. Maybe she should get a wax every week.
“Makes sense to me,” Josh said. “I say let him stew in his own juices for a week and see what happens. Ten to one he flakes and you’re rid of him.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I do. But I like you better.” He patted her hand again and started to stand.
Emily’s desk telephone burbled, outside line. She stared at the classic Vox, bewildered. Who ever would have that number? She reached for it, but Josh was faster. He picked up the handset and answered.
His eyes widened. “It’s him,” he mouthed at her. Elliot? The man who refused to use landlines because they might be bugged?
Josh grimaced. “She doesn’t have time to talk to assholes today. Maybe tomorrow. Leave a message?” Emily grabbed for the phone, but Josh spun his arm out of her reach. “Roger that. Over.”
He hung up, and winked at her. “The guy’s sweating bullets. Make him pay.”
Emily’s head was spinning. “So now you like him again? What could he possibly have said?”
“He said he would be waiting on your call, if it took the rest of his life.”
She sat back, a jumble of thoughts and emotions. It wasn’t Elliot’s fault his stepdad was a creep, or at least made terrible jokes. It wasn’t his fault she was shy about her body. The least she could do was talk to him. After all, how many guys actually wanted to hash things out?
“Is the conference room booked?”
Josh looked across the sea of cubicles and shook his head no.