Megan Hart - Switch

the lists. Why had he bothered? Why had he wasted his

mistress's time? Because there was no doubt in my mind

any longer the sender of the notes had been a woman al

along.

Men weren't so eloquent. Men weren't so perfectly cold in

dispensing their instructions even as they drew forth an

emotional response. Only women could dig so deep and

pul out so much.

I typed faster, making mistakes and going back to fix them

because I'd be damned if I turned in faulty work and gave

Paul a reason to judge me. From behind his half-closed

door I heard the music swel, but he didn't change the

station. The lights didn't come on, either. I concentrated on

my tasks, but today they gave me no satisfaction.

Fuck!

I sat back in my chair, muttering. Nothing satisfied me, and

I understood why. It wasn't only because the notes were

going to end, it was because I'd solved at least half the

mystery. I knew who the notes were for, if not who was

sending them. And knowing, I couldn't stop thinking about

it.

If I hadn't found out it was Eric, a man. If that hadn't

changed my perception of what it meant to be on the

receiving end of the lists. If. If. If!

"Paige?" Paul caled. "Can I see you in here for a minute?"

He certainly could, though I doubted he'd be as thriled

with quiet, subservient little Paige as he'd been. I pushed

back from my desk and stood tal in my expensive shoes.

The list had told me to buy these shoes. This blouse and

skirt. My armor, what I put on when I wanted the world to

see me as who I wanted to be and not who they might

think I was.

"Yes, Paul."

For the first time in many weeks, I didn't sit to talk to him.

He had to tilt his chair back a little to look up at me. I

noticed the difference, and I thought he did, too, because

when he spoke he sounded a little uncertain.

"Thank you for setting up my office."

"You're welcome."

I thought he would say more, but Paul just turned his

attention back to his computer and dismissed me with his

silence. I had time to think of what it meant when I went

back to my own desk, but I didn't care enough to bother.

When my cel rang just before noon, I almost didn't

answer. I didn't want to talk to Austin, but it was my dad,

an even greater surprise. I flipped open the phone and

pressed it to my ear, though it wasn't my habit to take

personal cals at work.

"Dad. Hi."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I have caler ID, Dad. I have your number programmed

into my phone." Not that I used it much.

He loved gadgets but wasn't particularly tech savvy. "Can't

pul anything over on you, huh? What are you doing for

lunch?"

"I brought a sandwich."

"How about I take you out for lunch? I have to be up your

way today for a meeting. Stela's off shopping or

something. It'l just be you and me."

My dad had taken an early retirement a year before, but

though he'd suggested it a few times, this was the first time

he'd actualy invited me to lunch. We made plans to meet

he'd actualy invited me to lunch. We made plans to meet

at a chain restaurant not too far from my office. I knocked

on Paul's door to tel him I'd be leaving. He'd been

concentrating hard on his work, and I had to knock twice

before he looked up. He was going to get a headache that

way, even without the overhead lights on.

"Paul. I'm going to lunch with my dad. I'd like to take an

extra hour today. I can stay later, if you need me to."

He shook his head. "No, Paige. That's fine. Go enjoy

yourself."

"Want me to bring you back anything?"

"No." He sighed and waved a hand at the monitor. "I need to get this done before I leave for Kansas next week."

"You have my cel number if you need me," I told him.

"Cal if you want me to stop on my way back."

Paul has a very nice smile he doesn't use half as often as he

should. It doesn't make him into a movie star by any

means, but it was easy enough to see why his wife had

agreed to become Mrs. Johnson.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone to lunch with my

dad. He usualy managed to remember my birthday, if not

the day at least the month, and major holidays seemed to

trigger his memory, too, but with nothing on the calendar it

was a bit unusual for him to ask me. He greeted me with

the same hug and kiss as he always did, the one that left

me feeling slightly strange though he never seemed to think

so.

We both ordered the same thing, soup and salad. "Stela's

got me on some sort of diet," he explained. "Says we both

need to drop a few pounds. You look like you've slimmed

down a bit."

"I've been working out." Leave it to my dad to compliment

me while making me feel bad at the same time.

"We just got an eliptical trainer and a Bowflex. You can

come over and use it if you want." My dad thickly buttered

a rol already glistening with grease.

"There's a gym in my apartment building, but thanks." I

didn't even take a rol, thinking of the word discipline and

what it meant to me. I didn't point out how little sense it

made for me to drive al the way to my dad's house to

work out.

work out.

"You could stop by anyway some time this week. Check it

out."

In the past I'd have given him an awkward laugh and

shrugged off the invitation knowing that though he meant

the offer, he wouldn't notice if I didn't take him up on it.

Real invitations, the ones I was expected to take, came

from Stela and always had. Now, though, something in the

way he said it sounded different.

"Sure, I guess I could."

"Your brother's been giving us a bit of a rough time," my

dad said.

Interrupted by the waitress bringing our soup, I didn't

answer at first. My dad, as was typical of him, ignored the

server, spiling his guts in front of a stranger when I'd have

preferred the decency of a few minutes' wait. Ah, wel, it

wasn't my secret.

"Jeremy," he added. "He's been acting up in school, getting into trouble at home. Won't listen to a damn thing we tel

him."

him."

I didn't think pointing out giving in to your child's every

whim was bound to catch up to you would be appropriate,

so I made some sympathetic murmurs and wondered why

my dad was sharing.

"He's been realy mouthy to me."

"Kids go through stages, don't they?"

My dad gave me a fond smile. "You never have."

Choices. We al make them, sometimes more than once.

Sometimes it's the choices we make over and over that

define us, but more often it's the ones we don't.

"Kids who feel confident in their parents' affections can

take the risk of acting out," I said calmly. "I gave my mom a heluva hard time growing up."

My dad's not a stupid man, though he is deliberately blind

to certain things. He sighed. "Paige. I know I haven't

always been there for you."

I lifted my spoon to give my hands something to do, but it

clattered against the bowl and I didn't want to risk spiling

clattered against the bowl and I didn't want to risk spiling

the soup, so I put the spoon down. Of al the awkward

moments we'd ever shared, this had to rank right up there

with the top ten. Worse even than the year he'd noticed I'd

started wearing a bra and announced it at one of Stela's

parties.

Knowing he wanted me to say it didn't matter only made it

harder for me to answer. I stared into my soup for a long,

hard minute and felt his gaze weighting me. I wanted to