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She might appreciate the position a little more if a) she could remember anything about her life before she started working at Ubiquity, b) the damn voice in her head would just shut up already, and c) her boss wasn't a complete dickhead.
As she searches for solutions to the first two issues, and hopes the third will work itself out in performance reviews, she uncovers more petty backstabbing than an episode of Real Housewives, and a conspiracy as old as Lucifer's descent from heaven. On top of all that, if she forgets the cover sheet on her TPS report one more time, she's absolutely going on final written warning.
Now Ronnie’s struggling to keep her sanity and job, while stopping the voice in her head from stealing her life. She almost misses the boredom of data analysis at Ubiquity. Almost.
We must have sat there, me on the couch, and Michael on the floor, for at least half an hour, not saying anything else.
I finally broke the silence. “You need your rest.” I would have rather kept him there, but I couldn’t ask him to sit on the floor by me all night.
“Do you want a real bed to sleep in?” He stood and offered me his hand.
He didn’t mean…? No, he couldn’t. Maybe his bed? Light anticipation fluttered in my chest, rising above the horrors of the night. “I wouldn’t complain.”
“You can stay in the guest room.” He helped me to my feet.
I couldn’t ignore my disappointment, but I also wasn’t about to turn down the offer. I followed him to one of the doors, and he nudged it open. “You stay here as long as you need. Not just tonight, but until you find a new place. If you want to wash some of the dust off, there are clean towels in the bathroom, and you can snag something to wear from the drawers or closet.”
I glanced up at him, not able to talk myself out of wanting him. I forced the question out before I could take it back. “Will you help me?”
He furrowed his brow. “With…?”
I stepped closer, thumbs hooked in my belt loops, tugging down the waistband of my jeans. “Washing the dust off.”
I watched him through my eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction. He hadn’t said yes, but he also hadn’t said no, turned me away, or left. With any luck I wasn’t about to humiliate myself.
About the Author: Loralie Hall is a full time corporate geek and a fuller time writer. Her spouse is her muse and their cats are very much their children. When they’re not spending way too much time gaming, they’re making the world more good by vanquishing one fictional evil at a time.
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