June 2014 (Present Day)
David made his way into his apartment and stumbled blindly toward the living room couch. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed in a sprawling heap. His head was pounding. The buzz from the alcohol had started to wear off half an hour ago, and he'd taken it as his cue to say goodnight to his work associates.
He'd stayed long enough to shut down the filthy talk about Penny, though. He'd be damned before he let her name get tossed around like that. Probably shouldn't have let it go on as long as he did, but they'd caught him off guard for a moment there. He needed to find out just how much of the story they actually knew.
"Rules my ass. We all know you're getting it on the side from that little secretary of yours."
It was just idle gossip. Pure speculation. Penny was a beautiful girl, and he supposed he had a certain reputation. Still, he'd felt compelled to make a show of hitting on that redhead. Let them all stand around and watch as he tapped his number into her hot-pink bedazzled phone, just to emphasize the point: David Powers didn't need to dip his pen in the company ink.
But the rumor about Penny must have started somewhere. Someone must've picked up on a vibe. He needed to dial back the flirting. Keep things strictly professional within the confines of the office. That could be corrected easily enough. Just as long as no one knew about their occasional electronic indiscretion, after hours.
And they were only electronic indiscretions. For the most part....
David fired up his laptop and clicked onto his Gmail, knowing what he would find at the top of his inbox. The email chain marked:
me, Penelope (78)
Seventy-eight messages had passed back and forth between them. Had it really been two whole years since he'd sent her that first one? Even now, just the thought of it sent a little shiver down his spine. Talk about a near miss. That one little email could have easily blown his whole career to hell. He'd only known her a few weeks at the time - practically a stranger. Only by sheer blind luck had he dodged the proverbial bullet and walked away unscathed.
At least he had, that time....
He'd pretty much shot the whole rulebook to hell that night. To this day, he wasn't quite sure what got into him. It had all started as a whim - changing up her liquor order. Just a friendly helping hand from a seasoned veteran, welcoming the rookie to life after college.
He never really had any intention of going to the party. He had plans of his own that evening, although the details now escaped him, looking back. Probably some charity dinner. Some $500-a-plate affair. That's right. He'd stopped on the way home from the office to pick up his tux from the cleaners. He'd had a date lined up and everything - an auburn-haired architect he'd picked up in the gluten-free aisle at Whole Foods. That must've been before he made the rule against dating women who didn't eat bread.
In any case, he'd had an hour to kill at home before he needed to get ready. He'd poured himself a glass of scotch and sipped it as he stretched out on his couch. He must have closed his eyes for a minute or two. His Blackberry had startled him awake. He'd looked down at it, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and saw not one text message, but two.
The first was from the architect: "So sorry! Stuck at work. Raincheck?"
The second was from Penny: "Thanks for the booze. WTF?"
He'd laughed out loud when he saw it. WTF, indeed. He'd just donated five hundred bucks worth of liquor out of the goodness of his heart, and that was the message she sent? At least the New York Historical Society gave him a tax write-off for his charitable contribution - she just gave him a "WTF?"
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.
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