He had his Mercedes parked next to the Porsche. He slid behind the wheel and drove away without looking back.
I almost collapsed on the spot. I put a hand to the Porsche to steady myself, and then immediately yanked my hand away, afraid I'd left prints. Dang!
I ran inside and looked around for Randy Briggs. His laptop was on the coffee table, but his jacket was gone. I toyed with the idea of packing all his things into the two suitcases, moving them into
the hall, and locking my door, but gave it up as futile.
I cracked open a beer and called Mary Lou. “Help!” I said.
“What help?”
“He gave me a car. And he touched me twice!” I looked at my neck in the hall mirror to see if I was branded where his hand had rested.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Ranger!”
“Omigod. He gave you a car?”
“He said it was an investment in our working relationship. What does that mean?”
“What kind of car is it?”
“A new Porsche.”
“That's at least oral sex.”
“Be serious!” I said.
“Okay, the truth is . . . it's beyond oral sex. It could be, you know, butt stuff.”
“I'll return the car.”
“Stephanie, this is a Porsche!”
“And I think he's flirting with me, but I'm not sure.”
“What does he do?”
“He's gotten sort of physical.”
“How physical?”
“Touchy.”
“Omigod, what did he touch?”
“My neck.”
“Is that all?”
“My hair.”
“Hmmm,” Mary Lou said. “Was it sexy touching?”
“It felt sexy to me.”
“And he gave you a Porsche,” Mary Lou said. “A Porsche!”