Show and Tell (12 page)

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Authors: Jasmine Haynes

Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #Fiction

BOOK: Show and Tell
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6
 
 
WOW. Tuesday was a whole new day, and Trinity was a whole new woman.
 
 
That fantasy. She couldn’t get over it. Scott made it so real, she could feel his hands all over her in the dark. She
wanted
his hands all over her. In the dark. In the light. Anywhere. For real. Her desire was sort of scary while at that same time exciting. She almost wished she’d let him touch her that night in the hotel.
 
 
Altogether, she felt much better about Harper and Inga and the job and all that stuff. Because of good phone sex? Well . . . yeah! For work, she’d chosen a nice sweater—okay, it showed her breasts to advantage—paired with a short, flared skirt and black stockings. She’d gotten the stocking idea from Scott last night. Not that anyone at Green would know what was under her skirt, but
she
knew. And she’d brought a philodendron for her office cubicle. The drab gray blue needed some greenery.
 
 
An office would have been better. She could close her door and call Scott. Instead, Christina Lee’s voice melted through the partition wall on her left, as did the AP girl’s sitting on the other side of the divider right in front of Trinity, all of which meant that Trinity’s voice melted right back to them. She couldn’t check e-mail because while working at her computer, her back was to the cubicle opening. What if someone soft-shoed up behind her and saw a naughty Scotty e-mail? Good Lord.
 
 
A shadow flickered over her computer monitor.
 
 
Bam!
The whole cubicle rattled, and two fifty-pound binders almost crushed Trinity’s fingers.
 
 
“Excuse me?” She knew the scowl looked terrible on her forehead, but really.
 
 
“Read that.” Today Inga had outfitted herself in jeans so tight the rivets along the seams were in danger of blowing out. In a sweater more form-fitting than Trinity’s, her breasts were cone-shaped, like those old brassieres the women wore in classic movies from the 1940s.
 
 
Inga hadn’t
guessed
Trinity’s insecurity, had she? Trinity’s face flamed at the thought that perhaps yesterday she’d accidentally
stared
at Inga’s breasts. No, no, she hadn’t.
 
 
Rather than show fear, Trinity attacked. “What is
that
?” She slapped a binder.
 
 
“That one”—Inga pointed at the smaller of the two books with a red-tipped nail—“is the wire transfer book.” Then she singsonged, “Your job now. Instructions are in the front flap. And this”—she tapped the fatter binder—“is everything you need to know about the system.” Inga grinned. It wasn’t pretty.
 
 
“It was my understanding that you were assigned to show me.”
 
 
“I don’t have
time
to show you.”
You idiot.
Yes, that comment was tacked on even if Inga didn’t say it.
 
 
“It shouldn’t take very long,” Trinity said patiently, “I’m a fast learner.”
 
 
Inga covered her mouth, but Trinity recognized the snort of laughter.
 
 
She would
not
let this woman get the better of her. Rising from her secretarial chair, Trinity pushed it toward Inga. “Please”—one should always be polite with subordinates—“have a seat and sign us onto the system.” She might never have had a
real
job but she had oodles of organizational experience working on charity funds.
 
 
“You better take quick notes,” the snide
b
-
i
-
t
-
c
-
h
said.
 
 
Trinity pulled over the guest chair. She
would
manage this woman. Even if it killed her. Crossing her legs, she propped a yellow pad on her knee, pencil poised. “Fire away.”
 
 
And Inga fired.
 
 
“It’s a Web-based enterprise system, and our sign-on is your last and first name,” Inga rattled off, “so is your password, until you change it.” The blonde’s fingers flew over the keys, and screens flickered across the monitor so fast Trinity couldn’t follow. She hadn’t gotten past first and last name. Or was that last and first name?
 
 
“We have to change it right now. What do you want?” Inga sat, hands poised.
 
 
Trinity couldn’t think beyond not wanting Inga to know her password. “Faith.” She’d change it as soon as she got a chance.
 
 
Inga tipped her head and punctuated a look with a puff of breath.
 
 
Trinity wasn’t about to explain her choice had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with her best friend.
 
 
Inga typed that in. “Now we’ve got your AP and AR screens.” She tapped the monitor with her nail. “This icon is a shortcut to all the past-due receivables.” She flashed Trinity a raised-brow glance. “You’ll have to call all the deadbeats and get them to pay up.” She hit a key and pointed once more. “And here’s your shortcut to the past-due payables. You have to call them all, make nice, bend over and take it—” Inga stopped, gave Trinity that little smile akin to a Nazi concentration camp commandant. “Got all that?”
 
 
Trinity wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to the main accounts receivable and payable screens. She wasn’t about to admit it, though. “Why are there so many past-due payables? I thought you were lead and taking care of all that.” Trinity emphasized her retort with her own commandant smile.
 
 
Inga growled low in her throat like an angry feline. “Every single one of my accounts is in order. I might be lead, but I’m not a babysitter.” Then she fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve been here the longest, have the most knowledge, and everyone comes to
me
”— she tapped her chest—“with all their questions.”
 
 
Well, whoop-de-doo. Trinity thought perhaps Inga had a habit of calling attention to her breasts, reminding all the men in their sphere that they were there.
 
 
“Inga?” The cry flew through the divider right by the computer monitor. Trinity couldn’t put the name and the voice with the right AP clerk face.
 
 
“Yes?” Inga ever so sweetly answered.
 
 
“I can’t figure out this metals consignment thingie for Handle and Harbin. Will you help me?”
 
 
“Of course, sweetie, I’ll be right there.”
 
 
Sweetie?
 
 
Inga stood, dwarfing Trinity in her chair. “That’s enough to get you started.” She smirked. “I’ve got
other
”—
much more important
—“things to do.” She waltzed out of Trinity’s cube.
 
 
Men liked a woman that sashayed, but one had to have nice hips with which to do it. Trinity realized she didn’t have hips anymore than she had breasts.
Ooh, would you stop?
 
 
She sat in the vacated chair in front of her computer. Her fingers itched to check her e-mail, not the company stuff but her special Scott address. He was beginning to become an addiction, as in, when she was feeling out of sorts, she needed a Scott fix. She decided caffeine was healthier and retrieved a fresh cup from the break room. It was funny how the sounds, voices, computer keys, an air-conditioning hum, the
chunk-chunk
of the copy machine, a printer
whir
as it spat out pages, all seemed to fade into background noise. She passed hard-at-work Boyd in his cube, then Christina Lee, who was once again speaking a foreign language— foreign customers, hopefully, whittling down that past-due receivable amount.
 
 
In her own cubicle once again, she tingled all over to check for a Scott mail. Too much stress. But she was
working
. After a deep breath, she sipped her coffee. All right. She had a system to learn. She surfed the Web all the time, making her way through a maze of screens to buy what she needed. Maybe if she applied the same logic to a Web-based enterprise system . . . it couldn’t hurt, and she might avoid having to ask Inga for help.
 
 
She logged off so that she could write down all the steps to get back in. By following the Internet history, she was able to see the process Inga had used to get to the system sign-on. Typing her user ID, she followed that with
faith
. Reject. She snorted out a breath. Okay, so maybe she’d typed too fast and messed up a key. She tried two more times, then got a message that the system had locked her out for ten minutes due to a password violation. Shoving the keyboard aside, she laid her head on the desk and did a little more deep breathing. At this rate, she’d get light-headed.
 
 
She narrowed her eyes. Her nemesis had done it on purpose. Another deep breath, then Trinity stared at the divider as if she could see right through it, and sucked it up. “Inga?”
 
 
“Yes,” said through the cloth partition with a note of glee.
 
 
Oh yeah, Inga had messed with her password on purpose. Trinity was used to encountering a backstabber. You didn’t survive in her social set without knowing how to deal with it.
 
 
What she didn’t have a lot of experience with was how to keep the backstabber on your side once you slammed them down. It was a fine line to walk. She needed Inga to show her the ropes, to back her up, be a team. Inga could make or break her.
 
 
“When you have a moment,” Trinity said, sweet as apple pie à la mode, “if you could help me sign on to the enterprise system again, I’d appreciate the help.” Barf-barf. Yet she would not let Inga get her down.
 
 
A long-suffering sigh, then, “Fine, let me finish over here,” followed by whispers and tittering. Trinity had been whispered about before, she would be again.
 
 
She keyed into her e-mail, she couldn’t help it. Yes, yes, yes! An unopened message in her inbox. Her finger poised over her mouse, she was one click away from . . .
 
 
Stomp-stomp.
High-heeled shoes around the cubicle perimeter announced Inga’s route. Trinity wondered how she could possibly have missed the woman’s imminent arrival with the binders.
 
 
Dammit. Emailus interruptus. She shut down immediately. No way was she giving Inga any
more
ammunition.
 
 
Jamming her hands on her hips, Inga hung over Trinity’s shoulder. “
What
did you do?”
 
 
“I typed in the password I told
you
and it didn’t work.”
 
 
“You typed it
wrong
three times, and now you’re locked out.”
 
 
“I typed in
faith
, which was
not
wrong.”
 
 
“That’s five letters. The password has to be six, so there’s a number one on the end.”
 
 
“You didn’t tell me that.”
 
 
“You saw me type it in.”
 
 
Between checking e-mail and arguing, the ten-minute lockout period ended. Trinity typed, the system worked, and the opening screen flowed across her monitor. “Thank you so much for your help. I’ll play around with the menus you showed me earlier.”
 
 
She wanted to scream, “Get out.” Which made her think of Harper on his knees in her perfect little courtyard last night.
 
 
Inga backed away. “Don’t mess anything up.”
 
 
“I’m only going to look.” With the binder open. Following its instructions carefully. Maybe there was a class she could go to instead of dealing with Inga. She was a good student. She’d graduated from college. She’d raised over a million dollars for charity. She could
do
this.
 
 
Maybe she should have swatted Inga down for insubordination, but that would put them at war before she’d even started.
 
 
The rest of the day went downhill from there.
 
 
SCOTT held up a hand as he picked up the receiver. “I need to take this call.”

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