Andrew on top of me, grinding like it might be the last time he ever got any. I faked an orgasm for the first time in my life (and hopefully the last), extremely proud of my performance. Every throaty sound, my lustful moves, calling out his name one breathless time … I almost believed myself, I was so good.
He didn’t notice. He got his, and now I could pass out. Everybody was happy.
That first night of misery would copy itself daily for the rest of my first trimester. Nevertheless, there would be no sick days on my Outlook calendar. I was determined to fight each post-Zofran hangover like a champion.
As luck would have it, Jeff presented me with the “opportunity” to collaborate with Brooke at a convention. Her territory manager was on vacation, and she needed a second hand. Hiding my pregnancy-induced nausea and disdain of Collin was a full-time job without the “opportunity” to deal with Brooke.
I pulled up to the resort where the convention was to take place around three-thirty, hoping to squeeze in some much needed rest. Parking and rolling down the window, I leaned back and closed my eyes, breathing in the coconut-scented breeze feathering off the ocean. The perfect sunshine permeated my skin, luring me to sleep with its sensual warmth. Just as I started to slide into dreamland, Grace called.
“You’re working a convention with Brooke Bennett? How’s that whore doing, anyway? Who’s she screwing these days?” Grace was chewing gum.
“She’s still the bomb no one wants to set off.” I glanced up at the clear blue sky, wishing I was on the beach with a margarita in my hand. I missed margaritas. “I think she’s sleeping with my boss.”
Brooke’s name was on Jeff’s lips a little too often, and his eyes rested on her a little too long at local area meetings. Considering she was in a different division, there was no good reason for them to spend time together. Also, Brooke had been an associate longer than me … why hadn’t she applied for my position?
Grace guffawed. “Are you serious? That bitch is so deceptive. She comes across as composed and professional, doesn’t she?”
I shook my head. Brooke was the embodiment of the power of deception. “Definitely. Passive aggression at its worst.”
“Maybe you should try that,” Grace offered.
I rolled my eyes. “Not my style.”
“When am I going to see you?” she pouted. “I miss my best friend. Gavin is having another affair with his guitar, and I’m bored.”
“This weekend,” I replied. “I plan to have an affair with my art very soon.”
I daydreamed about my latest canvas on the way to my room. Much to my dismay, I literally tripped over Brooke’s designer suitcase in the hall. She was in the process of opening her room door, directly across from mine.
Without saying a word, I picked it up, set it in place, and dusted off my pants.
Her face transformed into a wide, fake smile.
“Hey, honey,” she said in her exaggerated Southern drawl. “Did you have a good day?” She casually flipped her tight curls over her shoulder.
“Yes, sure did.” I forced a smile back. “I’m looking forward to tonight. We’re going to have a blast!” I rustled through my purse for my room key, desperately wanting to vanish from her sight. I felt like vomiting, unsure if the urge resulted from Brooke’s presence or the extra estrogen.
“A lot of the guys want to go out tonight.” I could feel her evil eyes shooting darts into my back. “You up for it? If I remember correctly, you were quite the diva on the dance floor in college.”
The “guys” she referred to were the young, handsome surgeons, mostly looking for women, who attended every convention. Any invitation to get out of town for these was met with a “YES” RSVP. Normally, I was game for hanging out as long as they understood I was not hooking up. If I had too many drinks, I’d point out which one of their prospective conquests they had the best shot of
He didn’t notice. He got his, and now I could pass out. Everybody was happy.
That first night of misery would copy itself daily for the rest of my first trimester. Nevertheless, there would be no sick days on my Outlook calendar. I was determined to fight each post-Zofran hangover like a champion.
As luck would have it, Jeff presented me with the “opportunity” to collaborate with Brooke at a convention. Her territory manager was on vacation, and she needed a second hand. Hiding my pregnancy-induced nausea and disdain of Collin was a full-time job without the “opportunity” to deal with Brooke.
I pulled up to the resort where the convention was to take place around three-thirty, hoping to squeeze in some much needed rest. Parking and rolling down the window, I leaned back and closed my eyes, breathing in the coconut-scented breeze feathering off the ocean. The perfect sunshine permeated my skin, luring me to sleep with its sensual warmth. Just as I started to slide into dreamland, Grace called.
“You’re working a convention with Brooke Bennett? How’s that whore doing, anyway? Who’s she screwing these days?” Grace was chewing gum.
“She’s still the bomb no one wants to set off.” I glanced up at the clear blue sky, wishing I was on the beach with a margarita in my hand. I missed margaritas. “I think she’s sleeping with my boss.”
Brooke’s name was on Jeff’s lips a little too often, and his eyes rested on her a little too long at local area meetings. Considering she was in a different division, there was no good reason for them to spend time together. Also, Brooke had been an associate longer than me … why hadn’t she applied for my position?
Grace guffawed. “Are you serious? That bitch is so deceptive. She comes across as composed and professional, doesn’t she?”
I shook my head. Brooke was the embodiment of the power of deception. “Definitely. Passive aggression at its worst.”
“Maybe you should try that,” Grace offered.
I rolled my eyes. “Not my style.”
“When am I going to see you?” she pouted. “I miss my best friend. Gavin is having another affair with his guitar, and I’m bored.”
“This weekend,” I replied. “I plan to have an affair with my art very soon.”
I daydreamed about my latest canvas on the way to my room. Much to my dismay, I literally tripped over Brooke’s designer suitcase in the hall. She was in the process of opening her room door, directly across from mine.
Without saying a word, I picked it up, set it in place, and dusted off my pants.
Her face transformed into a wide, fake smile.
“Hey, honey,” she said in her exaggerated Southern drawl. “Did you have a good day?” She casually flipped her tight curls over her shoulder.
“Yes, sure did.” I forced a smile back. “I’m looking forward to tonight. We’re going to have a blast!” I rustled through my purse for my room key, desperately wanting to vanish from her sight. I felt like vomiting, unsure if the urge resulted from Brooke’s presence or the extra estrogen.
“A lot of the guys want to go out tonight.” I could feel her evil eyes shooting darts into my back. “You up for it? If I remember correctly, you were quite the diva on the dance floor in college.”
The “guys” she referred to were the young, handsome surgeons, mostly looking for women, who attended every convention. Any invitation to get out of town for these was met with a “YES” RSVP. Normally, I was game for hanging out as long as they understood I was not hooking up. If I had too many drinks, I’d point out which one of their prospective conquests they had the best shot of
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