It's Only Temporary

Chapter 5: Indiscretions

It should have galled him. Honestly, a lot of the crap she pulled should have irritated the hell out of him. But something about her whole attitude just cracked him up.

He'd chuckled to himself as he tapped out his reply: "There's this thing called a cocktail party. It's what the grown-ups do for fun."

He'd sat there for a moment, squinting at the words, but something had stopped him from sending it. Too snide? She had it coming, but still.... Anyway, it wasn't true. Cocktail parties were what the grown-ups did, but there wasn't that much 'fun' involved.

It was the scotch that did him in, of course. He'd downed his whole glass in one long gulp and poured himself another as he sat there staring at his phone.

"I know a lightweight when I see one," she'd teased him earlier at work. Smartass. He probably should have listened. Not wise, drinking on an empty stomach. Tended to lead to trouble. Tended to lead to turning up in Brooklyn, unannounced and uninvited... Rubbing shoulders with a room full of 22-year-olds, drinking top-shelf liquor out of plastic cups. Rubbing shoulders...

David bit his lower lip as he remembered.

Rubbing shoulders with 22-year-olds with long blonde hair. And low-cut blouses. And smartass mouths that still hadn't thanked him properly. Smartass mouths that just laughed at him and asked if he wanted to sleep over.

Of course, he'd been so drunk that night, he didn't even remember how he ended up back home, passed out on his living room couch. It had come as a complete surprise when he checked Gmail the next day and found her one-line reply:

me, Penelope (2)               cnan't sleep - See, I knew you were a sappy drunk.

Another girl might have blown the whole thing out of proportion. Forwarded that email of his to Human Resources - or worse yet, to her nearest employment lawyer, and won herself a healthy six-figure settlement for sexual harassment. But not Penny. No hysterics. No theatrics. Not from his Penny. Just that single sweet-tart line in reply: "See, I knew you were a sappy drunk." He could just picture the glib little smile she must have had on her face as she'd sat hunched over her keyboard, typing it out.   

She hadn't brought it up at all in the office on Monday, either. He thought she might say something when she knocked on his office door at the end of the day, but she only poked her head inside to say goodnight. He'd let her walk away five paces before he'd finally called after her, "Hey, Penny!"

She'd turned and met his eyes, and he shot her the most adorable forgive-me grin he could muster. "Thanks," he'd said.

"For what?"

"You know. The email thing."

And that had been the end of it.

Or so he thought at the time. He knew now, looking back, that hadn't been the end of anything. Just the opposite, in fact. That email was the first of many. It had become a running gag between them. How many times had he fired up his Gmail in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, only to find some typo-filled nonsense sitting in his inbox? Or in his outbox, from him to her? It had become a game between them at some point - their ever-elongating chain of drunken declarations - sometimes outrageous, sometimes sweet, never really meaning what they said. Just the drink talking, of course.

And he had been awfully drunk. The first time....

He'd resolved a hundred times to stop. He knew he was playing with fire. Rules were rules for a reason. Wasn't that his motto? No exceptions. No excuses. Discipline.

But here he was, once again, logging into Gmail after midnight on a Friday night.  He was already composing a new message in his head when he saw that she had beaten him to the punch. He broke into an involuntary grin the moment his eyes landed on the thread, and he saw that she had added a new message.

me, Penelope (79)               cnan't sleep - Dear Mr. Powers: Please accept this email

Mr. Powers? His grin gave way to a smirk. This one ought to be good. He clicked to see the rest of the message, and his forehead furrowed in momentary puzzlement as he read what she had written.

***************************************************************

Penelope Stewart <pstewart@dhath.com>

to me, David Powers

Dear Mr. Powers:

Please accept this email as formal notice of my resignation, effective immediately. I am unable to continue my position with your company.

Sincerely,

Penelope Stewart

***************************************************************

He might have read it differently if he'd been entirely sober. As it was, he still had enough booze left in his system that he merely laughed at the formal tone. Resignation letter? From a temp? He chuckled under his breath as he typed out his reply:

Very funny, my love. No points for originality. See you Monday.

With that, he hit Send. Then David shut down his computer and went to bed.

Dear Readers: If you're enjoying the story, please don't forget to VOTE, COMMENT, and ADD it to your reading lists. Thank you! ❤️