remotely this evening.
I figure the expression working remotely is ambiguous enough that I could be at the courthouse library buried under a pile of statutes and case law. I hold my breath in the marble stall and nervously click on his reply:
I’m going over the American Bank prospectus and need your help with the capital requirements section. You’re the pro on this, not me.
No problem, just send me the draft. I’ll be happy to look at it once I polish off what’s on my plate.
Proud of my smooth comeback, I relax and plant my feet against the stall door. Keep it up, Catherine. So far so good!
It sounds like you’re swamped, wherever you are.
Yes, totally inundated.
Do you need to be rescued?
God, do I ever. Please save me from the conspicuously shallow trio. I try to end our email exchange before Lisa sends the waiter after me and busts my cover.
I’ll manage, but thanks for the offer. I’ll pop by your office tomorrow morning to go over the requirements.
If it wasn’t so late, I’d suggest reviewing it over a glass of wine.
I’m surprised by the flirty tone of his response. If I wasn’t stuck making polite conversation with a bunch of navel-gazing divas, I would gladly accept the invitation. But these are Lisa’s friends, and I need to play nice.
That would be a welcome treat, but this is no time for temptations. I’ve got other fish to fry at the moment. Bonsoir, Antoine. X.
I can’t believe I just ended my email with a kiss! What if he thinks I’m a complete idiot? Or maybe he’ll just think of it as being a French custom. I scramble to find the recall feature on my BlackBerry when it vibrates a few seconds later. I hold my breath and nervously click on his reply:
Bonsoir, Catherine. X to you too!
Hmm. Not bad. I guess he’s not so square after all. Proud of having got him to play a little and of deflecting a potential outburst over my night out with the girls, I get back to our table for a final round of the over-the-top one-upwomanship contest.
My dining companions give me a strange look as I take my seat.
“So sorry, work.”
“Cat, look what our waiter brought over just for you!” Lisa exclaims.
A plate of delicate chocolate truffles is placed in front of my seat.
I now recognize the look on their faces: envy.
“I think he has a crush on you!” Lisa gushes. “How sweet.”
If that’s the case, that’s just fabulous news for my ego. I give the waiter a grateful smile. Despite Lisa’s questionable choice of friends, it hasn’t been a bad evening after all: I managed to leave the office at a decent hour, enjoy a cocktail fit for a queen as well as a fantastic dinner in one of the city’s most fabulous restaurants, and flirt like a bandit with not one but two men. Not bad, n’est-ce pas?
“I’ll have to excuse myself. I’m on my way to San Fran first thing in the morning for a business meeting over the weekend,” Amanda says as she gathers her all-Prada cell phone, keychain, and handbag.
“Bye, girls, see you next week at spinning class.”
Amanda leaves the table without offering to pay her share of the bill.
“Oh, she probably forgot; we’ll just cover for her. She’s so busy these days with work,” Beverley says, staring at the bill.
Busy with work? Nice excuse. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to pay for some obnoxious stranger’s expensive dinner. Especially not for someone who insulted me less than two hoursago. At almost $300 each, this hasn’t exactly been a Thursday-night snack with the girls.
After I air-kiss our waiter on my way out and thank him for his generous gesture, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, mademoiselle. I’m heading to Staten Island for Memorial Day.”
Chapter 12
A s mornings-after go, there are few combinations more deadly than a BlackBerry, too much alcohol, and flirting with a colleague—no matter how subtle. I wish I could channel my inner Edith Piaf and hum, “Non, je ne regrette rien,” but it just isn’t so. I
I figure the expression working remotely is ambiguous enough that I could be at the courthouse library buried under a pile of statutes and case law. I hold my breath in the marble stall and nervously click on his reply:
I’m going over the American Bank prospectus and need your help with the capital requirements section. You’re the pro on this, not me.
No problem, just send me the draft. I’ll be happy to look at it once I polish off what’s on my plate.
Proud of my smooth comeback, I relax and plant my feet against the stall door. Keep it up, Catherine. So far so good!
It sounds like you’re swamped, wherever you are.
Yes, totally inundated.
Do you need to be rescued?
God, do I ever. Please save me from the conspicuously shallow trio. I try to end our email exchange before Lisa sends the waiter after me and busts my cover.
I’ll manage, but thanks for the offer. I’ll pop by your office tomorrow morning to go over the requirements.
If it wasn’t so late, I’d suggest reviewing it over a glass of wine.
I’m surprised by the flirty tone of his response. If I wasn’t stuck making polite conversation with a bunch of navel-gazing divas, I would gladly accept the invitation. But these are Lisa’s friends, and I need to play nice.
That would be a welcome treat, but this is no time for temptations. I’ve got other fish to fry at the moment. Bonsoir, Antoine. X.
I can’t believe I just ended my email with a kiss! What if he thinks I’m a complete idiot? Or maybe he’ll just think of it as being a French custom. I scramble to find the recall feature on my BlackBerry when it vibrates a few seconds later. I hold my breath and nervously click on his reply:
Bonsoir, Catherine. X to you too!
Hmm. Not bad. I guess he’s not so square after all. Proud of having got him to play a little and of deflecting a potential outburst over my night out with the girls, I get back to our table for a final round of the over-the-top one-upwomanship contest.
My dining companions give me a strange look as I take my seat.
“So sorry, work.”
“Cat, look what our waiter brought over just for you!” Lisa exclaims.
A plate of delicate chocolate truffles is placed in front of my seat.
I now recognize the look on their faces: envy.
“I think he has a crush on you!” Lisa gushes. “How sweet.”
If that’s the case, that’s just fabulous news for my ego. I give the waiter a grateful smile. Despite Lisa’s questionable choice of friends, it hasn’t been a bad evening after all: I managed to leave the office at a decent hour, enjoy a cocktail fit for a queen as well as a fantastic dinner in one of the city’s most fabulous restaurants, and flirt like a bandit with not one but two men. Not bad, n’est-ce pas?
“I’ll have to excuse myself. I’m on my way to San Fran first thing in the morning for a business meeting over the weekend,” Amanda says as she gathers her all-Prada cell phone, keychain, and handbag.
“Bye, girls, see you next week at spinning class.”
Amanda leaves the table without offering to pay her share of the bill.
“Oh, she probably forgot; we’ll just cover for her. She’s so busy these days with work,” Beverley says, staring at the bill.
Busy with work? Nice excuse. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to pay for some obnoxious stranger’s expensive dinner. Especially not for someone who insulted me less than two hoursago. At almost $300 each, this hasn’t exactly been a Thursday-night snack with the girls.
After I air-kiss our waiter on my way out and thank him for his generous gesture, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, mademoiselle. I’m heading to Staten Island for Memorial Day.”
Chapter 12
A s mornings-after go, there are few combinations more deadly than a BlackBerry, too much alcohol, and flirting with a colleague—no matter how subtle. I wish I could channel my inner Edith Piaf and hum, “Non, je ne regrette rien,” but it just isn’t so. I
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