She was seen stepping out of John Heyson’s office. Ted felt jealous for a second, but the feeling passed since no one would screw that speck of shit. John was a merger MD who’d been slow for work—baggage from the other side. He was lucky to have a job at all after Kearn Davis had acquired CBR Assets. He’d made all sorts of promises about his important relationships. Right. He was a welfare case as far as Ted was concerned.
Delia walked to the elevator, seemingly indifferent to the attention. The sight of all the men ogling her, however, made Ted a little insane. He had made love to that fantasy body and had not stopped thinking of her for at least a few moments every day. You could see why men bragged after getting laid by some gorgeous girl. It was like having won Lotto—how could you not brag about your winnings? It had been nineteen months since they’d last had sex—Ted did the calculation in his head rapidly—and eight months since Ella had found out about the herpes. He had never contacted Delia about the herpes. She’s a slut, he reminded himself. Delia is a garden-variety slut who knows how to fuck better than any man could ever imagine a woman knowing how to; yes, that’s it, and I hate her, he thought.
Delia hadn’t seen him yet, so he was still able to observe her. Also, she didn’t know where his office was. They’d never met on his floor. In fact, he’d never met her intentionally anywhere at Kearn Davis. Any married man standing next to her would risk all sorts of gossip. But Delia had to pass by his office from John’s in order to get to the elevator. He had two choices: Stand there like a moron with his growing erection hidden by a door or close his door, return to his desk, and pretend he’d never seen her.
In her few steps, two MDs had already said their hellos to her. John Heyson, who’d walked her to his office door, was still standing where she’d left him, watching her rear sashay across the floor. Ted was furious, as if his private claims were being infringed upon. He strummed his fingers on the door frame, and when he put his hand on the knob to shut his door, there she was.
Delia saw him but said nothing.
“Hi,” Ted said. God, she was hot.
“Hello,” Delia said, a slip of a polite smile on her lips.
He could smell her scent again. He wanted to touch her. “How are you?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks.”
“What brings you—”
“John asked me to come down. About the transportation conference.”
“I bet.” Ted then remembered that Heyson was in charge of that ridiculous event.
“What the hell does that mean?” Delia crinkled her eyebrows, and her voice fell deep.
Ted noticed a few people looking at them. They were within hearing distance. “Do you want to come into my office?”
“Aren’t you afraid of the talk, Ted?” Delia kept her face blank, her blue eyes wide open without any judgment. In their brief relationship （though six weeks was a long stretch for Delia）， Ted’s excessive caution had made her feel cool toward him, when everything else about him had once made her excited. Ted was a wolf, she’d learned, but saw himself as a stand-up guy. He was that worst kind of married man to sleep with, because he was not going to be a man about anything, except for making sure that he got laid. To him, he was the innocent and she was the tramp. Whatever. What made Ted an asshole was that he completely believed his own lies about himself—that he was a great guy with all the right values. He had turned out to be like the others—full of crap. Delia wanted to hurt him with something heavy. She despised him.
“I can’t imagine that you’d want me to sit alone with you in your office when everyone can see you. How would you explain this, Ted? Aren’t you afraid—”
“Why would there be gossip?” he argued, knowing that was a lie. “There’s nothing going on.” He then felt pleased, because this was true, and he had no intention of sleeping with her again. “Everything is totally over between us.” He wanted to reject her, to not feel this desire for her anymore.
Delia moved away from his door. “I have to go.” He was a phenomenal bastard.
“Wait, Delia. I need to talk to you about something.”
“I bet.”
Ted smiled at her. She was so clever. He glanced at her neck, the triangle of skin from her neck down to her breasts. They were pink and caramel, he recalled—the color of her nipples. He hadn’t forgotten any of it.
“Please, Delia. For five minutes.”
Delia glanced at the elevator, then her watch. “Two minutes, Ted. You have two minutes.”