Heating Up the Help Desk, a novella

Chapter Nine

*Reese

The office lights were blinding in neon blue. Reese's eyes adjusted painfully, and she paused to give them a moment. Knowing that a long day of cold, hard numbers waited for her rounded her shoulders.

Reese wended her way to her desk, five minutes late (but who was counting?) and aching after a restless, broken sleep. It was amazing how an extra three thousand dollars in her drawer made her ecstatic, really fired up to get her advice blog rolling, and it also made her feel like a steaming pile of hypocritical, craptastic, imposter shit for kissing a client. She had also taken advantage of Kenneth's poor dancing skills to press her cheek against his, and cop a feel of his chest and arms, but he didn't know it.

She wasn't fit to be a life coach: the only thing she dreamed of doing for half a decade. Reese was little better than a predator.

Nothing would make this right, except apologizing again for her behavior and making him the Don Juan of seduction, an irresistible bachelor, a figure of manliness.

Or, at the very least, give him tips on how to get laid pronto.

"Hey, Reese's Pieces!"

"Oh, my darlin' Clementine," Reese said, blinking in adoration at her friend's cheerful face.

"You look like death reheated in the microwave."

"Sounds about right. Bring me coffee?"

"Sure, anything for you. I also wanted to ask you something," Clem said. She leaned against the wobbly partition. "I was wondering...are you doing unusual after hours? When you aren't at work?"

What the..."Unusual? No. Nothing unusual going on here. Why?"

"It occurred to me that you hurry home every day, and you're so quiet about your evenings. I don't know."

"I'm about as boring as they get. I crunch numbers and write reports during the day, go home to my Beta fish and watch Netflix until I pass out on the sofa. That's me." Reese forced a short laugh. The laugh might have been too much.

Clem nodded and backed away with a relieved smile. Five minutes later she came bearing a steamy cup of coffee.

"Bless you, O fruity coworker," Reese said as she took the cup.

"You are the candy in my trick-or-treat bag. Always."

Reese's computer struggled to life about as slowly as she did.

Emails. Check the emails first.

There was the same old, same old in the inbox, and she began the tedious task of sorting and prioritizing, shooting out short answers whenever possible. Then came the usual stream of reports and numbers. Her soul withered and dried a little bit more each day she was stuck here.

She had thought Kenneth was crazy for voluntarily creating graphs to help him find the love of his life. Graphs were right up there with balancing budgets: nothing romantic or fun about them.

Emotions were what mattered. What did your gut instinct tell you? What made your heart soar? Listening to the whispers from your inner self. That was how you made decisions. Reese should know. Her heart had yanked her in the opposite direction when her mind convinced her to take the business classes in college because she was afraid of failing if she chose a liberal arts program.

A box popped up in the corner of her screen.

Kenneth: I apologize again for the mix-up last night.

Reese's heart pinched. He was sorry. She was sorry, too, for a million reasons. Nervous fingers flitted over her keyboard.

Reese: It was all my fault. Don't forget to fill out the self-reflection survey.