It was two in the morning by the time I made it to my condo. I worked on the stain in my shirt and tie and left them to soak. Everything else, with the exception of my suit, went into the laundry basket. I would do a dry-cleaning run sometime this weekend.
By mid-afternoon on Saturday, I’d had plenty of rest, cleaned my condo, taken care of groceries, laundry, and dry-cleaning, and was ready to catch up on my shows when my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Van, of all people.
Can we talk?
I kept my reply simple. I’ll see you in the office on Monday.
Coward, was his response.
Manwhore, was my immediate retort.
Then I smacked my head. Why was I even having a conversation with this overgrown, oversexed maniac?
My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it, turning it off after another fi
