Egomaniac

“You are such an asshole!”

“Steve, let me call you back. I think there’s an argument that needs refereeing in the conference room next to me.” I hung up the phone just as Emerie marched into my office to continue her rant. “That type of stuff might be funny with your all-male clients who hire people to dig in their wives’ garbage, but it’s not to mine!”

“What the hell is up your ass?” She looked seriously pissed. But…she also had those glasses on while she was yelling at me. Something about those damn glasses. And I hadn’t noticed it this morning, but that skirt was a bit on the tight side. Red looked good on her.

She tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

“What? What am I doing?”

“You’re checking me out. I just watched you do it. I came in here to yell at you for being an asshole, and you’re checking me out.” She threw her hands up in the air.

“I was admiring your outfit. That’s different than checking you out.”

“Oh, really?” Her hands went to her hips. “How is it different?”

“How is it different?”

“Don’t repeat the question so you can stall for time to make up an answer. How are admiring my outfit and checking me out different?”

There was only one way out of this. “I like you in your glasses.”

“My glasses?”

“Yeah. Your glasses. Are they just for reading?”

She was quiet while she assessed my level of bullshit. Eventually she shook her head. “You think you can diffuse what you’ve done with a compliment, don’t you?”

I’m hoping. “I think you’re a little crazy.”

“I’m crazy?” Her voice rose.

I sat back in my chair, amused. She was fun to play with. Took my mind off other things. “I didn’t think redheads could pull off wearing red.”

She looked down at her skirt and back to me, momentarily perplexed, but then she squinted. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Trying to soften me by saying nice things.”

“You don’t like compliments?”

“When they’re real, yes. I like them. But when they’re bullshit to distract me? No, I don’t like them at all.”

“I don’t give out bullshit compliments.”

She gave me a face that said she wasn’t buying it. “So you really like my reading glasses?”

“Gives you that sexy librarian look.”

She shook her head. “And my red skirt?”

“To be honest, I don’t give a shit about the color. But it’s tight. And hugs all the right places.”

Emerie’s cheeks started to pink. It made me wonder how her creamy skin would look after I sucked on it a bit.

“Don’t play with my whiteboard! My clients read it. I’m lucky they’re in a good place, or they would be doubting my professionalism after your little stunt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I lifted two fingers to my forehead in a mock salute.

“Thank you.”

She turned to walk out. I couldn’t resist. “Bet the guy gets a blowjob tonight.”

“That would make one of you then.”

For a change, I was leaving the office at six o’clock. “Want to join me and Roman for a beer over at Fat Cat’s?”

Emerie sat at her desk looking in a small mirror as she lined her lips in a bright red that matched her skirt. Following her hand as it curved into the bow of her top lip, it dawned on me that against the backdrop of the stark white office walls, she looked liked a splat of colorful living art on a canvas.

What the fuck, Jagger? Living art?

“Thanks, but I have plans tonight.”

“Hot date?”

“Baldwin is taking me to a French restaurant.”

Tension mixed with a healthy dose of unexpected jealousy rumbled in my stomach. “French food, huh? Not much of a fan.”

“Me either. But Baldwin loves escargot.”

“Snails,” I scoffed, then mumbled “Figures.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” What I really wanted to say was that snails reminded me of slugs. And eating that shit would be cannibalism for Mr. Bowtie. The guy was a slug. But instead, I went with, “You have a good night.”