I get back to my office and pull the sex survey from my back pocket and toss it on my desk, the Post-It note along with it. I grin as I take a seat. This survey is ridiculous, eighties teen movie ridiculous. I flip the paper over and look at the original meeting survey that’s printed on the front. I told Sawyer we needed to take the temperature, so to speak, on these quarterly meetings, understand what was useful and what wasn’t. Most of the meeting has become unuseful, in my opinion—and whoever has written Shut the fuck up as an answer to one of the questions must agree with me. It makes me laugh. Maybe I should be offended, but fuck that. I wanted honest feedback about the meeting, and I got it. And… now that I’m looking at it more closely, this is Preston’s handwriting. And Sandra was sitting next to him during the meeting.

 I spend a few minutes sorting through the rest of the surveys. I find one that must have been completed by Sandra, the answers detailed and thoughtful, examples listed in bullet-point format. It matches the writing on the Post-It note.

 I find the handwritten sex survey again for comparison. I don’t have much to go on. 5, Gabe Laurent, All, Maybe, No. I focus on the capital letters, comparing it to her survey, and I believe I have a match.

 Sweet Sandra wants to do dirty things with me.

Three

 Sandra

 I hope you get everything you want. I’ve replayed those words over and over in my memory a hundred times, mortification flooding my system each time. I might as well have told him to take off his pants. I could not have been any more obvious. As if the thirty-five-year-old co-owner of a huge corporation would be interested in a twenty-six-year-old administrative assistant. In me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 And that sex quiz. I can’t stop thinking about Gabe folding it up and placing it in his pocket. That memory is downright cringeworthy. I mean—I thought about moving during the Christmas break, I really did. While I was home on Christmas Day, I thought about staying there indefinitely. But then I saw Amanda’s car parked in the driveway next door and returning to Philadelphia seemed like the less humiliating of my options.

 My name wasn’t on that paper.

 My name wasn’t on that paper.

 My name wasn’t on that paper.

 Yes, I’ve reminded myself of that a few times. A few hundred times. But… he must know it was mine. It may have only been a few words written in my handwriting, but it was enough. Then he asked me to handwrite that address. He has to know.

 I wonder if he told my boss, Sawyer? The thought is incomprehensible. Sawyer’s been so good to me, offering me the job in Philadelphia without interviewing me, without even meeting me. Our dads were fraternity brothers together back in the day, that’s how I got the job. I needed a fresh start, a fresh town. And Sawyer gave me that, no questions asked. He’s given me so much more since, making me a part of a team, making me feel useful, needed. And I’ve repaid him by behaving unprofessionally during a meeting. Like a besotted high-school student with an inappropriate crush on a teacher. I wonder if I’ll get fired? I deserve it, I think with a sad sigh.

 Tonight is New Year’s Eve, the night my boss throws the annual holiday party for employees of Clemens Corporation. Thus my week of avoidance is over. I wrinkle my nose at the reflection in the mirror. My hair is being impossible so I’ve pulled it into a low pony. It’s blonde, my hair. I’ve always found it ironic, blondes having more fun and all that. I don’t think I’m a fun girl.

 I affix dangly party earrings to my ears and take extra time on my makeup, then slip into my heels. I love these heels. They’re tall and sexy as hell, but I’m not really a sexy girl so I’m wearing them with a black pant suit so they’re mostly hidden.

 Twenty minutes later I’m at the Ritz-Carlton. I check in with the party planner running tonight’s event, then wander around saying hello to my co-workers and their dates. What if Gabe brings a date? I will die of embarrassment if I see him with a date. Last year he brought a model. I want to think disparaging things about her but the truth is she was great and everyone loved her.

 Sawyer arrives with his girlfriend Everly. I really like her, and Sawyer is head over heels in love with her. Not that he’s told me that, but I can tell. I’ve never seen him this happy. It’s not like he was miserable before she came along—he wasn’t; he’s always been a happy guy. He’s just different now. He had me give her the keys to his apartment like a week after they met. He’s never asked me to make keys for a woman before her. And the look in his eyes when Everly shows up unannounced at the office? He’s a goner.

 “Sandra, I forgot my lipstick back at Sawyer’s. Walk with me to get it?” The words are out of Everly’s mouth a second after ‘hello.’

 Sawyer mutters something about finding a drink as Everly loops her arm in mine and drags me towards the elevators. I know Sawyer lives in the residential tower attached to this hotel so his apartment isn’t far.

 “Have you seen Gabe yet?” Everly asks.

 “Mr. Laurent?” I ask, surprised she’s asking about him. “No, he’s not here yet. Did Sawyer need him for something?”

 The elevator doors open in the hotel lobby before she can answer and then she’s calling out a greeting to a girl named Chloe, who it turns out is her roommate at Penn. The three of us go to Sawyer’s apartment together and I realize the moment I’m standing on the threshold of his bedroom door that I should not be there.

 “I don’t think it’s appropriate that I’m in Mr. Camden’s bedroom,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the floor. I do not need to know what my boss’ bedroom looks like.

 “Relax, we just have normal sex in there,” Everly says from the bathroom. “It’s not like we’re making sex tapes or anything,” she adds in what I suspect she thinks is a reassuring tone. She finds her lipstick and I think we’re headed for the door when Everly stops dead in front of the walk-in closet, squealing for everyone to wait.

 “You should try this on!” she says, holding up a black sequined miniskirt.

 “Um…” I start to protest, but she’s already pushed the skirt into my hands and turned me towards the bathroom. And, well, I am curious to see what it would look like on.