I head back to my cubicle with purpose, a smile plastered over my cheeks. Gathering up my notes, I check my face in the little mirror beside my computer. I look tired but otherwise okay, and go directly to the conference room to set up.

I’ve got my PowerPoint ready by the time Mr. Stroker arrives. It’s already twenty to ten. The Darcys will be here soon. Stroker and I have been over the whole proposal already—not face-to-face, but through email—so I’m feeling okay about it.

This isn’t a social visit, so I’m less nervous than I would be at, say, a work function, or my own engagement party. Which the Darcys attended and witnessed my hives outbreak. It hasn’t deterred them so far, so I guess it couldn’t have been as bad as I’m remembering it.

I click through the slides and give Mr. Stroker a brief overview. I have three left to go when we get the call letting us know they’re here.

“It’s game time,” Mr. Stroker says.

I meet the Darcys in the waiting room. Bunny folds me into a tight hug. Her boobs are hard and unyielding. I’m now certain they’re not real. Or her bra is made of steel. I can feel her nose against my neck. When she pulls back, she gives me one of those sympathy smiles. It’s not really a smile, but it’s not really a frown. It’s more like a frile, or a smown. She’s definitely had some surgery on her face, as her eyebrows don’t move at all when her expression changes. It’s a little unnerving.

“How are you? How’s Alex?”

“He’s okay. The doctors have him resting, and you know how that is.” God, I sound like a wife. A hockey wife.

Bunny gives me a knowing smile and winks, but her eye only closes halfway. “These boys are so hard to keep down, aren’t they?”

“They sure are.”

I left him tenting the sheets this morning in his sleep. But I don’t think that’s what she means, or maybe it is.

I expect Mitch to shake my hand, but he comes in for a solid hug. “He’ll be fine; don’t you worry.”

I’ve heard that line enough times to make me want to dick-punch someone. Or multiple someones. I know it’s meant to be encouraging, but honestly, this isn’t a bounce-right-back kind of injury, so the fine part seems like it’s going to take a long-ass time to get to.

I redirect the conversation away from Alex, because talking about him makes me feel guilty for not being home.

The proposal is seamless until I get to the second-to-last slide. When I click to it, the screen fills with a picture of me and Alex from the night we met. We’re mouth-fucking—like, hardcore. The letters D-T-F spin onto the screen below my tongue sliding into his mouth. Mitch clears his throat. Bunny giggles.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. That isn’t part of my proposal. I mean, obviously watching me and Alex mouth-fuck has nothing to do with managing your financial portfolio. I don’t—” I choke on the words as I move to the next slide, hoping to get rid of the horribly inappropriate image. But another slide of Alex and me making out pops up. I hit the back button, revisiting the previous mouth-fuck before I finally get to one that isn’t embarrassing.

“I apologize,” Mr. Stroker says.

I can feel the tears. They’re so close to spilling over. I don’t want to look at him, because I can hear how angry he is. I’ve blown it. I don’t know how those pictures ended up in my proposal, but I’ve lost the account for sure now, and possibly my job. This is the worst week ever.

“Violet has some colleagues who like to play practical jokes. Unfortunately, their timing on this one is poor.” He hits the button on the phone beside him. Edna, his personal secretary, answers in a chipper voice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stroker?”

“Have Jimmy and Dean from accounting come to conference room B, please.”

“Of course.”

“What’re you doing?” I whisper—not like it matters, the Darcys can still hear me.

“They need to apologize.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But it’s not like everyone hasn’t already seen those pictures. They were everywhere for a while. And Alex and I have been caught doing worse.” I wish I could stop my mouth from opening and spewing out words.

“Like in the locker room.” Bunny winks at me. “Mitch told me all about that!”

Jesus. Could this get any more embarrassing?

Stroker’s eyebrows rise, wrinkling his forehead. I try not to react, but I can feel the heat in my face.

“We don’t need to see anything else, Violet,” Mitch says. “Bunny has done her research on you, and we know you’ll do an excellent job handling us.”

My mind is stuck somewhere in the gutter thanks to the mouth-fuck pictures because when Mitch says “handling us” I think he means his junk, not his financial portfolio. Thankfully, a knock on the door prevents me from saying something even more embarrassing.

Jimmy pops his head in the room. Dean’s right behind him, shoving him forward so he can get in, too. “Hey, Mr. St—” Jimmy stops when he sees the Darcys, and his perfectly shaped eyebrows shoot up toward his artfully styled hair.

“Oooohhhh…” Dean lifts his hand to his mouth.

I’m fairly certain we’re matching in our horror.

“I assume you know why you’re here.” Mr. Stroker has put on his angry face. It’s super convincing, maybe because he really is upset.