Megan Hart - Switch

pushing back in his roling chair. Vivian didn't move. Her

mug rested with familiarity on the edge of Paul's desk.

I hadn't brought him coffee but he stil sipped from a venti

Starbucks cup, so I figured he was al right. I took the

chair in front of the desk but kept it back far enough that

my knees didn't come close to the wood. I crossed my

legs, watching her, not him, and she gave me a level stare

in return.

"So. Paige." Vivian's smile didn't warm me any more than

it ever had, though I thought she'd put more effort into it.

She tucked a short blond curl behind her ear with French-

tipped fingers and didn't say anything else.

I smiled, too.

Paul cleared his throat after a few seconds and leaned his

elbows on the desk. "Paige, Vivian's been working with

the marketing department to create some entry-level

positions. The idea is to get expansion going on, starting

from the ground up. They're looking to hire in-house,

from the ground up. They're looking to hire in-house,

people they feel wil be an asset to the department."

"And you feel I'd be an asset to your department?" I

watched her face carefuly as she answered.

Her gaze flicked so briefly toward Paul and back to me I

was supposed to miss it. She might not even have known

she looked at him first, that's how fast it was. But I didn't

miss it.

"Oh, yes," Vivian said. "Absolutely. Paul's spoken so winningly of you."

Seriously, what the fuck? Aside from the fact I was pretty

sure she hadn't used it correctly, who ever says

"winningly"? Except, of course, a woman who's trying to

find something flattering to say to a woman she doesn't

realy like.

And then I understood it.

Paul and Vivian were fucking. They were very good about

hiding it, more discreet than a lot of interoffice couples I'd

come across. But there it was, the truth slapped down on

the desk between al of us like a gauntlet. They were

lovers and her dislike for me had nothing to do with

lovers and her dislike for me had nothing to do with

anything as simple as my clothes or education. It was al

about my blond hair and blue eyes and the size of my tits

and ass. She thought I had her on the run.

"I haven't seen the jobs posted on the board," I said

without bursting into sudden laughter.

Vivian looked at her gigantic mug but resisted drinking

from it. "They're not going up for open applications until

after we've interviewed the people we have already

prescreened. We'd realy like you to consider an

interview."

I didn't know much about how human resources works, or

the hoops anyone's required to jump through in the name

of being politicaly correct, but that didn't sound quite right

to me. At any rate, I nodded as though it made perfect

sense. Paul smiled and looked back and forth between us.

I couldn't look at him. Not because I'd figured out Vivian

thought he and I might be having a fling but because I was

convinced they had. And it wasn't any swinging of my

moral compass toward judgment, either, but more about

the fact I didn't want to believe he had such bad taste.

"Can I ask you why you prescreened me? Aside from

Paul's recommendation." I knew my smile for him had to

be a sliver in her skin, but I didn't care. "I don't have any

background in marketing. I have a business-school degree

from Harrisburg Area Community Colege."

"There's a certain amount of on-the-job training we're

expecting to provide."

I'd spent enough time around people who couldn't stand

silence to understand how powerful it can be. I nodded

instead of speaking, even to murmur what could be

construed as consent. Vivian looked at Paul, but he and I

had already established our lack of need for speech to

communicate.

She cleared her throat to draw his attention and then

drank, at last, from her mug. "Paul has spoken so highly of

you, Paige, and your background can only help you. This

is a great opportunity."

"Could you explain why?"

Her lips parted, and she drank again instead of answering

me right away. When she put the mug down on Paul's

desk the sloshing from inside had lessened considerably.

She looked at him again with her brow furrowed. Clearly,

the fact I wasn't jumping up and down for joy to leave

behind my dreary life as a secretary for the bright, shiny

world of junior whatever-thefuck confused her.

"You'd be salaried, not hourly," she said. "And of course, there'd be more responsibility."

I kept my eyes on Paul. "I have plenty of responsibility."

We al laughed, though she didn't sound amused. She

drank again and her mug rattled with the unmistakable

sound of emptiness. She put the cup down with a final-

sounding thud.

"This would be different," she said flatly.

The men I knew were more often insensitive rather than

purposefuly cruel, obtuse rather than inattentive. Paul was

more in tune than most and, smile fading, he turned to her.

I wondered if he'd only just now figured out her real

reasons for wanting me out of his office.

The silence went on long enough to make it officialy

awkward. Then Vivian stood. "Excuse me a minute."

awkward. Then Vivian stood. "Excuse me a minute."

I was surprised she'd lasted as long as she had. My

kidneys would have been floating. Neither of us said

anything as she went into Paul's bathroom and closed the

door firmly behind her.

He turned to stare at me. "Paige."

"Let me just get something straight, Paul. This isn't even an

interview for the new position. I'm interviewing for an

interview for a job I've been preselected for, right?" I leaned forward and caught his gaze with mine.

Paul hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

Back straight, chin lifted, I sat back in my chair and

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