Megan Hart - Switch

recrossed my legs. From the bathroom I heard the sound

of running water. I kept my expression neutral, though I

had no doubt he could tel my mood even through the

steady monotone of my voice.

"Then I deserve to know exactly why I've been selected

and why I should consider it," I told him. "You can't

expect me just to jump up and down for joy because

someone's offering to take me away from al this."

Paul opened his mouth but before he could speak, I

added, "I happen to like the job I have, Paul. Very much."

"I'm glad," he said quietly, and before he could say more, Vivian came out of the bathroom.

I took petty pleasure in seeing that she'd splashed water

on her skirt and silk shirt. She'd run a damp hand through

her haircut, too, to settle it into place, and I could see the

edges of her makeup had run a little bit along her cheeks.

She didn't know I didn't want the man who wasn't even

hers, but the fact she was worried he might want me

settled the power between us, and I was on top. We both

knew it.

"If you could describe the job to me, that might be helpful,"

I told her. "And we could set up a time for an interview."

The conversation had turned upside down and Vivian

didn't like it, but it would have been difficult for her to

react without looking like a bitch, or worse, stupid. We

gave each other a matched pair of fake smiles with Paul

the prize between us. I stood and looked down on them

both.

"I'l get back to work, Paul."

He nodded. I left. Behind me I heard her soft exhale and

the murmur of their discussion, but I couldn't tel if she was

castigating me or if he was defending me. I didn't realy

care, either way.

Vivian Darcy didn't intimidate me anymore.

Chapter 27

My heart skipped al kinds of beats when I saw the note in

my mailbox, but I didn't have to read the signature to

know it wasn't from Eric's original anonymous mistress. I

didn't have to know who she was to know she'd never

have sent a note on anything less than the finest, and this

was a piece of blue-lined, loose-leaf paper, the sort you

can buy three packs for a buck during the back-to-school

sales. I gave it a surreptitious sniff anyway, and caught a

hint of cologne under the scent of cheap ink.

Eric had a doctor's stereotypical scrawl. I hope you like

the flowers . His signature was mostly unrecognizable but

for the E at the front. I folded the note and tucked it into

my bag, then headed up to my apartment where I unfolded

it and laid it on the kitchen table so it could stare at me

while I made my dinner.

I had a few options. I could ignore the note, and the

flowers, which I'd brought home and finaly put in water. I

could send him a text or leave him a note commanding him

to pursue me…or ignore me. As I made my simple meal of

pasta with olive oil and garlic and a tossed salad, I kept

sight of the note and the flowers, and by the time I'd eaten

sight of the note and the flowers, and by the time I'd eaten

and cleared away the dishes, there seemed only one real

choice of action.

I knocked on his door ten minutes later. I'd brushed my

hair and slid gloss along my lips, had changed from my

work clothes into a pair of jeans and a cute T-shirt with a

fitted sweatshirt. I'd brushed my teeth, too, just in case.

When he opened the door I didn't want the first thing he

noticed to be a wave of garlic breath.

"Paige!" He sounded pleased and only a little

apprehensive. "Hi."

"I came to thank you for the flowers," I said without

making a move toward the door.

I hadn't yet decided where I wanted this to go, but I was

sure I knew how I wanted it to happen. I didn't want this

to be forced by an unseen hand. I didn't want to wonder if

I was competing against myself.

"You're welcome. I hope you liked them."

"They were beautiful. Nobody's ever given me roses

before," I said, and Eric looked surprised.

before," I said, and Eric looked surprised.

"You're kidding."

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Wel, that's just not right." He laughed a little and stepped aside, subtly, without making it seem as though he was

inviting me in.

I'd learned the benefits of silence, but I also knew when it

was time to speak. "Can I come in?"

I saw his hesitation, as subtle as the not-invitation had

been, but then he stepped farther aside with a smile.

"Sure."

He brought me a glass of iced tea and we sat on his couch

facing each other from either side. I could've stretched out

my arm and stil not been able to touch him. He'd brought

a glass of tea for himself, but he set it on the coffee table

and didn't drink it while I sipped without quite tasting.

"About the other night," I said. "I just wanted to tel you, Eric…you don't have to apologize."

"No, I was out of line," he began, but I cut him off with a

"No, I was out of line," he began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

"No. It was fine. I was surprised, that's al." I sipped tea and then put my glass down, too. It settled onto the table

with a clink.

"Paige," Eric said softly. "I was surprised, too."

I believed him, though it meant I was no longer on solid

ground. I studied my hands, clasped loosely in my lap,

before I looked at him. Tension bloomed between us and I

wanted to lean toward it, and him, but I held myself stil so

as not to give myself away.

"Would you let me take you to dinner?" Eric did lean, just a little.

I had hooked up, hung out, made out and had a few

unmemorable one-night stands. I'd been married and

divorced and both purposefuly and unintentionaly

celibate. But, like the roses, being asked out on a date was

a first.

My phone, which I'd shoved into my pocket, buzzed. I

didn't miss the way Eric's eyes lit up or how he reached

automaticaly for the iPhone on the table behind him, or the

automaticaly for the iPhone on the table behind him, or the

faint look of disappointment when he realized it wasn't a

message for him.

I'd have let it go but Eric looked expectant, so I puled it

out and flipped it open.

Where you @?

The sigh came out before I could stop it. I deleted the

message. Eric didn't ask, but I offered, anyway.

"From my ex," I explained. "He likes to keep in touch."

"Do you like him keeping in touch?"

I'd have asked the same question if it had been him getting

the cal, but I'm not sure I'd have been as good at keeping

any hint of jealousy out of my voice.

"I've known him since high school. It's sort of a habit."

"Ah." Eric sat back a little.

When my phone rang a moment later, I ignored it in my

palm and didn't answer it. I looked at him, instead. "I'd

love to go to dinner with you, Eric."

love to go to dinner with you, Eric."

It should have been enough, the promise of that date, but it

wasn't. Along with the other myriad lists commanding he

relate to me just about everything in his life, I left him a pair

of my panties, worn, tucked into an envelope and a note

detailing exactly what he was supposed to do with them.

And I wanted pictures. They were waiting in my in-box

when I got home from work that night. A series of shots

taken in close-up of his prick, his fist, the soft cotton of my

panties clutched tight around the shaft.

I was halfway in love.

I could've found a thousand pictures just like them on any