“And didn’t do anything about it.”
“I’ve been trying to ask her out, but she’s been busy,” he said. “Besides, I kissed her first.”
“I kissed her better!” I shot back, pointing at my mouth. “With tongue! DidyouFrench Ginny? No? Then I win.” I slapped my palm on the counter.
Rather than argue with me, Michael frowned at the TV in thought.
“What?” I asked.
“You made a joke about not knowing it wasthatkind of party,” he said slowly. “And then, after you two kissed, there was a moment where she looked at both of us.”
“She looked like she wanted to rip our clothes off,” I agreed. “I remember.”
“You don’t think…” Michael glanced over at me. “Did she think we…”
I realized what he meant. “Fuck. No. She probably didn’t.” I shook my head emphatically. “Right?”
“Probably not,” he agreed.
There was a long moment of silence.
“I’m going to head home,” Michael said.
“Yeah, I’m not in the mood for the rest of the movie.”
After he was gone, I grabbed the leash and took Bernie down to the little fenced in dog park on the first floor of the building. When I got home, I did what most guys would do in this situation: I jacked off. I found a redheaded porn star that vaguely reminded me of Ginny, and that got the job done. But it didn’t satisfy me as much as I had hoped. As I quivered and moaned with release, it was the redheaded coworker that ran through my thoughts, and not the one on the computer screen.
I got to work early the next day so that I wouldn’t have to run into Ginny. I settled into my office with the intention of catching up on some phone calls with our bigger donors, along with the various other meetings that were on my schedule. One of which was bright and early with the CEO, my father. The meeting description said,personnel discussion.
“She’s still here,” he said as soon as I sat down in his office.
“So are you, apparently,” I shot back. “Feels like you’ve only come into the office once or twice in the last month. Special occasion? Decided to get an hour of work done before playing golf?”
As usual, he ignored my sarcasm. “I’m getting pressure about William.”
“The Duke of Cambridge? He’s got enough pressure. Especially now that Lizzy’s gone and he’s officially second-in-line for the throne.”
“Are you ever serious?” my father said, as sharp as a knife.
“Which William are you referring to?”
“William Ambrose. The son of Alexander Ambrose, one of my golfing partners.”
“Oh,Bill.” I shook my head in confusion. “Why are we still talking about him? That was, like, weeks ago. Shouldn’t his daddy have gotten him another high-paying, low-skill job by now?”
“We need to find a position for Bill,” Dad reiterated as if I hadn’t spoken. “Can’t you find a reason to fire that trollop in the skirt?”
An image of Ginny flashed into my mind. She was wearing a pencil skirt—the black one that really showed off the curve of her ass. I imagined bending her over the counter in my kitchen and grinding against that ass…
I shook it off and said, “Trollop? Who talks like that?”
“Find space for Bill,” he repeated. “Or perhaps I will have to talk to someone else about it.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Anything else you need? A private office for your golf caddy? Broadway tickets for the cart girl?”
“Never serious,” Dad said, turning to his computer screen. “That’s why you’ll never make it in this world.”
The insult was so casual, so resigned, that it stung more than if he had shouted it at the top of his lungs. I walked back to my office in a shittier mood than before. Fortunately, I had plenty of work to do. Real work, not the kind of bullshit my dad pretended to do all day as CEO.