stood as Dr. Norden trailed off. “For us to do our jobs?” she asked. “I suppose so.”
“That’s not too much to ask,” Sandy said cheekily.
“Great,” Dr. Norden said, returning to his even keel.
I’m going to miss this place, thought as Dr. Norden disappeared and she and and Sandy made their way out of the lounge.
The doctor who had interviewed her online seemed nice enough, but she was sure that it was going to be hard to find a man as kind as Dr. Norden.
As she sat down at her desk, she glanced at the door. She remembered the feeling when Martin had first walked in, catching her completely off guard. The thought of him brought up more memories.
Memories of the way his lips felt against hers.
Memories of the feel of his body.
The way he moved.
The way he felt.
The way he made her feel.
She recalled the multiple times he’d brought her to the peak of pleasure. She remembered gripping the blankets beneath her, holding on for dear life as he—
The door opened, yanking her from her memories. But instead of Martin—the man she both wanted to see and didn’t want to see at the same time—she saw a little old woman who frequented the office.
“Hello Mrs. Jacobs,” said, greeting the patient.
“Hello dear,” Mrs. Jacobs returned. As brought up the woman’s files and paged Sandy, she couldn’t help but return to her fantasies. It seemed impossible not to think about the man who seemed to have turned her life upside down.
Several hours later, as the morning stretched into afternoon, she found herself glancing down at her phone for the hundredth time.
Why hasn’t he called? she wondered. At first, his lack of communication had not offended her. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, and she wondered if he was giving her space so that she could take care of the interview.
But as Sunday evening came around she started to resent his lack of communication. He could definitely find my number, she thought. He could ask Frank for it, for goodness sake. It doesn’t take a detective to figure that out.
He knows where I live. He could make an excuse to come over.
Was I rude when I kicked him out of the apartment?
Did he take it the wrong way?
Yet such an innocent and small social slight seemed entirely insignificant compared to the intimacy that they had enjoyed for hours upon hours the night before. We’re way past social slights, thought , recalling yet another flash image of their lovemaking.
At least, I would hope.
But do I know what he’s thinking? No.
She forced herself to give part of her attention to the tasks of the office, yet throughout the day her mind remained on Martin.
When her phone rang at three o’clock, she glanced at it eagerly. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw a number that she didn’t recognize.
It’s him! she thought, her palms suddenly sweaty.
Oh my god, oh my god, it’s really him!
Should I pick up?
She watched the phone ring two more times, and then realized that it would soon go to voicemail.
Will he leave a message? she wondered.
She didn’t want to chance it.
She picked up the phone with a trembling hand. Her voice came out high pitched as she answered, stepping away from the desk as she did so. “Hi!”
The line was quiet for a moment, and then a voice that sounded familiar spoke up.
“Hello, my I speak to Reynolds?”
The English accent triggered her memory more completely, and she swallowed. It was the doctor who had interviewed her on Saturday morning.
“Doctor Thomas,” she said. “This is .”
“Ah, good, ,” the doctor said. “Is now a good time to talk?”
“Um… yes,” said, feeling completely caught off guard. She walked away from the desk and into the back hallway, gripping the phone tightly and pressing it to her ear.
Did I get the job? she wondered.
*****
The meeting room at the Lion’s Den was almost empty, and it was easy for Martin to spot Jack at a table across the room. Jack sat back in his chair with a drink in hand, looking as relaxed as always as he watched Martin approach.
When Martin neared, Jack stood up.
“Cable, my man,” Jack said stepping forward with outstretched arms.
Jack Pittman was in his forties, Martin knew, but he looked like he was in his early thirties: fit, trim, and youthful. His characteristic goatee and mustache looked stylish and his finger-length hair that was slicked back with gel. He wore a suit to top off the sleek look.
Martin accepted the hug, slapping Jack on the back as Jack did the same, as was their tradition.