Page 66 of Saved By the CEO

“Okay? Tell me something I don’t know.”

I grab one of the throw pillows and make it live up to its name. It hits her directly in the face.

“What the hell?” She grabs the pillow, hair mussed and eyes wide. “What was that for?”

“I sucked my boss’s peen in New York.”

Annie freezes. The sitcom audience laughs at something in the background as her eyes widen. “Shut the fuck up.”

“And now Josh is spreading rumors about me at work.”

She sits up so fast that she almost knocks over the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Oh, we are going to need wine for this.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“It’s an emergency.” She starts slapping the cushion beside her. “Sit. Start from the beginning. And do not skip the peen.”

So I sit.

And I talk.

I tell her about New York. About Josh calling even though we had agreed to talk after the trip. About ending things with him over the phone while sitting in a hotel room, waiting for Andrew to knock on my door. I tell her about the late night, about Andrew falling asleep in my bed, about waking up wrapped around him. And then I tell her about the morning. Not in detail, despite her protests, because I am still a woman of dignity and grace.

Mostly.

Annie listens with her wine glass halfway to her mouth, her eyes growing wider and wider.

When I get to the “life-altering” part, she lowers the glass and looks me straight in the eyes. “You asked him that? You actually asked him, post-orgasm, if he found itlife-altering?”

I ignore her and continue my tale.

I tell her about how people acted when I returned to the office and about the rumors Josh is spreading about me and Andrew. By the time I’m done, Annie isn’t smiling anymore.

“Josh is a disgusting little gremlin who deserves nothing in this world,” she says.

I snort. “Yeah.”

Annie studies me for a moment, then her expression softens. “Josh isn’t the only thing freaking you out, is he?”

I look down at my glass. The sitcom keeps playing in the background, loud and cheerful and completely wrong for the moment.

“You’re catching feelings,” she guesses.

“I don’t know,” I say, even though it sounds weak even to me. “But it doesn’t matter. What happened in New York was a one-off, and it won’t happen again. I’m putting a stop to it.”

Annie doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Then she nods. “Okay.”

I look at her. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“No speech?”

She takes a sip of wine. “This situation is so medically, professionally, sexually, and emotionally fucked that I don’t think I should be giving orders.”

Despite everything, a laugh slips out of me.