The ride to work is weirdly quiet. I mean, this morning has been a little weird, but the blowjob did the trick. We are back to just being fuck buddies.

Or whatever the hell it is that we are. We haven’t exactly had a discussion about the status of our relationship, for fuck’s sake. I’m happy with where we are, and even if it weirded me out to find myself in Apollo’s bed this morning—I’m sorry, I cannot call him Mr. Kane, not after what we did last night—I got over it. A nice round of sucking cock will do that to me.

But now…he’s in his power suit and I’m in a totally new set of clothes myself, down to the sexiest pair of red lace panties and bra I’ve ever laid eyes on, and there’s this…gap between us. In his house, we can fuck and laugh and we’re equal.

At work, though, we’re not. He’s my boss and I’m his employee and he’s busy trying to fire me.

Or not. I didn’t ask him last night or this morning. I just didn’t want to. We were so happy, in our little bubble, you know?

But that bubble is burst, and I’m covered in the soapy residue.

The limo pulls up to the curb and I scramble out, not waiting for the driver or Apollo to help me out. I am my own woman. I can get out of the vehicle without help…

No matter how nice that help is.

I push that thought away and hurry in the front doors. Maybe if I put enough distance between Apollo and myself, no one will notice how I got to work.

Natalie rushes over, ten minutes early to work. Of fucking course. The worst joke someone could play on Natalie would be to delete her complex set of alarms and calendar notifications that rule her world.

“You…him…you spent the night?” she hisses.

I ignore her question. “What’s going on?” I ask, looking around the open room. It doesn’t look like anyone is working this morning anymore than they were working yesterday morning. Two days of non-productivity is…not a good thing.

At this rate, we’re not going to have a magazine to put out this month, no matter what Apollo and the board decides to do.

“C’mon, everyone else is over here,” she says, and tugs on my hand. I follow her to the group of staff writers, all milling around together, gossiping.

I look up to find Apollo’s eyes pinned on me. He’s standing over with the managers and…

There’s hurt in his eyes, just for a moment, just long enough that I think that maybe I really see it and then it’s gone and I think maybe I was just imagining it.

But no matter what I was or was not imagining, this gulf between us?

I’m not imagining that.

A manager—I think he’s a part of the photography department? I’m not sure—steps forward and claps his hands together to get everyone’s attention. Everyone is so tense, it’s like setting off fireworks; he has everyone’s total attention instantly. “Let’s get to work,” he says in a no-nonsense tone of voice. “We’ve all got shit to do.”

With a grumble, the crowds disperse and everyone heads to their desks. I want info as much as anyone else, so I’ll admit it, my voice is added to the chorus. Fuck ‘em. They need to be upfront with us.

Even Apollo.

I push the thought away. I do have shit to do, and it’s about time I do it.

It’s afternoon and I’m drearily working my way through my third article on lipstick colors in the past two months—sometimes, even I get sick of talking about how to pick out lipstick—when Natalie pops her head over my cubicle divider. “Ready for a break?” she asks.

I spring up so quickly, my heel catches and I crash to the ground, my chair spinning away and crashing into Fredrick. Just what he needs—encouragement. I awkwardly pull myself to my feet, Natalie absolutely no help to me whatsoever as she laughs so hard, she’s doubled over, and retrieve my chair, giving Fredrick a brief grimace as an apology as I go.

“Coffee?” Natalie says perkily. I glare. She grins.

I grin.

I can’t help myself.

“Alright,” I grumble, trying to hide my grin but it doesn’t do me any good. Natalie sees it.

We head down to the staff break room, when I see Apollo head toward me. Well, not toward me, per se, just down the hallway that I’m in, heading the opposite direction as me. He’s probably not heading right at me, right?

I try to quell my internal blathering and instead shoot Natalie an oversized smile. “So how’s your article on skirt lengths going?” I ask with way too much enthusiasm. She doesn’t even attempt to hide the roll of her eyes but she answers my banal question anyway as Apollo passes me so closely, I can smell his cologne and despite myself, I inhale deeply, even as I’m staring straight at Natalie. My skin is crackling with sexual energy and I can’t breathe but I don’t care. I'm not looking at Apollo.

Not.

Looking.

He’s finally passed me and I can breathe normally again. Natalie, god bless her soul, continues her blathering until we make it to the staff break room, and then shuts the door behind us.

“Tell me all. Now,” she demands. “If I have to wait one more minute to hear what happened, I just might explode.”

As she starts the coffee pot with our special blend of shade-grown, organic coffee that we hide in the back of the freezer, away from the editorial department’s prying eyes, I wander around the break room, picking up old copies of Blush and putting them back down again without seeing any of it.

“Sex,” I finally blurt out. “Lots and lots and lots and oh god amazing sex. Never, in the history of sex, has anyone had better sex than the sex I had last night.”

Natalie shoves my favorite mug into my hand, filled with dark, rich coffee, and demands, “More. Tell me more. Tell me all. Speak, oh sex goddess of Manhattan. I need something to imagine while fucking myself with my dildo tonight.” At my look, she shrugs. “What? You know I do it. You know you do it. It’s human nature, girlfriend.”

True dat.

So I tell her all the gory deets. I mean, all of them. No, I don’t hold back even on that part. What are best friends for, if not to brag about the absolute best night of sex known to humanity? As I’m telling her, I begin squirming with excitement, my panties growing wetter by the moment. God, I really want to replay that scene in the hallway with Apollo, except this time, I tackle him to the ground and fuck him right there.

Okay, maybe drag him into a broom closet and fuck him there. I don’t want all the girls to know how big his dick is or I’ll have to start using the brooms to beat them all off.

His dick is mine. And his tongue. And his pecs. And his glorious thighs.

But most especially his dick.

Finally, I can’t think of another amazeballs detail to add, and my coffee has grown cold and I don’t even care because I’m high on sex and fucking and Apollo’s magic 12-inch cock and so I dump it down the drain and we head back to our cubicles. Natalie’s telling me in great detail about everything that she was going to have to do with a cucumber that night when we realize that the open work area is quiet.

Way, way, way quiet.

I look up and everyone is staring, although thank god not at me.

John and Vicky are walking out of the conference—yes, the conference room—and there’s tears streaming down their faces as they go.

It hits me like a ton of bricks and all happiness is gone. My bubble has popped, again, and the soapy residue covering me is starting to get fucking old.

As they head to their desks to pack up their knickknacks and shit, Apollo walks out of the conference room, along with some other suits, and they head down the hall and he never looks over at me. He never looks at me and he’s walking away and my heart is breaking into a million little pieces.