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Natasha laughs. “You’re cute. I can see why he likes you.”

Before I can ask who “he” is, she grabs my chin and kisses me.

On themouth.

Her lips are soft and warm and taste like strawberries. The kiss lasts maybe two seconds before she pulls back and smiles again. There’s a wicked gleam to it this time.

“Good luck if you do choose to stay, though,” she says carelessly. “You’ll need it.’

She pirouettes and sashays away. The elevator doors open and close, taking her with them.

I’m left sitting at my desk, more confused than ever, with the taste of another woman’s strawberry lipstick on my mouth.

16

RAE

AMERICAN EXPRESS CENTURION

Application Approved

Cardholder Name: RAE EVERETT

Account Number: [REDACTED FOR SECURITY—ULTRA HIGH NET WORTH CLIENT]

Credit Limit: N/A

I touch my fingers to my lips. They come away smeared with the blood-red tint of Natasha’s lipstick. I grab a tissue and wipe it off, but the tingling sensation lingers.

This isn’t a game you should be playing.

What game? I’m not playing any game. I’m just trying to do my job and not get fired.

But even as I think it, I know it’s not true. Not completely. There’s something happening here, something I don’t understand. Something that involves naked women andmysterious phone calls and a boss who knows far more than he should.

I ball up the tissue and toss it in the trash. I wish I could do the same with my thoughts. If I could just pluck them out of my head, crumple them up, and dunk them away, I’d be able to breathe easier.

As it is, I’m stuck with them in my head.

Natasha kissed me. A woman kissed me. On the mouth. At work.

That’s enough to fill several therapy sessions, if that’s something I’m ever able to afford.

And then there’s the other bit.

You’re cute. I can see why he likes you.

Helikes me? Who ishe? Lukas?!

I shake my head. That can’t be right. Lukas doesn’tlikeme. He just threatened to fire me for crying in a stairwell.

None of this makes sense, really. Why was she even in there in the first place? Naked, no less?! This is a place of business, not a sex club!

I mean, I may still be the less-than-proud owner of my V-card, but I’m not an idiot.I know what it means when a woman sprawls herselfau naturelon a man’s couch. She didn’t come over to play Connect Four.

But if it was some sort of midday booty call, why were they talking about me while they did the deed?

I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know what’s real. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m awake or dreaming.