Chapter Five

I've been randomly staring atthe number since what happened at The Plaza, wondering if I'll ever find the courage to text it again. I haven't renamed him—his caller ID is still Ladder Guy.

It would be completely insane to go through with my original plan. I want to get better at sex and prove that Edward's wrong about me, but I'm not that desperate to do it. This isn't me, which means I'll probably end up deleting Mr. Clarke's number without ever contacting him again.

I don't know why I didn't do that as soon as I exited The Plaza. Maybe because that kiss has been haunting me ever since. I'm not used to men being so domineeringly in charge, so his boldness frightened me. But the sensations it unleashed are even more worrying than that. How can a kiss be the most sexually loaded experience of my life? How is it possible that I felt more aroused by his expert lips devouring mine than I ever was during intercourse?

After all, maybe Hana was right, and saving intimacy for long-term partners is nothing like doing it with perfect strangers. That's probably why I reacted so strongly to the ruggedly handsome Mr. Clarke. The forbidden aspect of our encounter had my body in a frenzy.

For the third time this Tuesday morning, I look away from my work and grab my phone. Rather than face the vast space of my corner office, I spin my desk chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a stunning view over Manhattan's skyscrapers. Once my screen is unlocked, I open my messages with Edward.

Still nothing, even though today marks the tenth day of our separation. I'll give it two weeks, and then I'll reach out to ask if he's settled at Frank's and doing alright. I'm not sure yet if I want to salvage things with Eddie or move on. And if I decide on the latter course of action, is this the way? Sex with a stranger?

Before I know it, my thumb takes me to my exchanges with Ladder Guy. At this point, I know the few texts by heart.

Three knocks on my door shake me out of my thoughts. "Yes?" I call, turning my chair back in place. The door opens and Daisy, my assistant, enters my office holding a tall pile of carefully arranged folders.

"I'm done with it," she says, setting the papers on the corner of my desk. Before I can straighten them myself, she does it, used to my orderly ways. "They said to contact them if you want to implement more changes."

"Thank you, Daisy."

"Oh, and your lunch meeting just called to see if you'd be alright with moving it back by an hour."

I check my watch, do some calculations, and nod. "Call the restaurant to let them know."

"Alright." She then exits my office, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

My hand reaches out to the first folder on the pile, but I reconsider. I slept too little for this, and even though Daisy used sticky tabs to mark the edited paragraphs, it'll take me hours to review it all. I need coffee.

As I make my way to the breakroom, it feels like everyone's eyes are on me, but I blame it on fatigue-induced paranoia. Ever since the breakup, I've been perceiving every whisper as gossip about me, which is ridiculous. Nothing has changed regarding my professional life, so it's all in my head. I'm still hard-working, still in designer clothes, and still running my department with a hand of steel.

It's hard to keep believing it's all a fabrication when I enter the spacious breakroom, and silence falls at once. Some people skedaddle back to the open floor as if I caught them slacking off, and the few that remain look away.

Eager to escape this oppressive space, I quickly pour myself a tall cup of coffee, grab stevia and creamer, and head back toward the door. Upon seeing Isabel though, I'm reminded of a matter I've meant to talk to her about.

"Isabel, are you done laying out the protocol for the new instruction manual's format?"

Her eyes go round, betraying the fact that she forgot despite my reminding her several times. "I'm still working on that, sorry."

"It's a one-week task, Isabel. Which I gave to you three weeks ago. A lot of peoples' work depends on it. Please, have it on my desk by tomorrow evening."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

Glad to have sorted this out, I resume my journey back to my office. I'm only a few steps from the breakroom when I decide on a chocolate muffin. My lunch is delayed, and I skipped breakfast.

"One week for her, maybe," Isabel is muttering when I reach the door. "Frigid bitch."

"Can you believe Eddie stayed with her for five years?"

The room suddenly spins around me as if the world decided to invert its rotational axis and flip everything, including my guts.

"I don't know how he did it," a feminine voice continues.

"For real. Even her parents' money isn't enough to make up for it."

What must be bile gathers in the back of my throat, its acrid taste coating my tongue. So, it wasn't paranoia after all. They are talking about me behind my back, insulting me, covering me in shame.

"Must feel like a block of ice with a hole in it," Larry says.

The others laugh, and each passing second feels like a stab in my chest. I always knew I wasn't very popular, but I had no idea it was so bad.

I need to move. I want to, but my feet are glued to the blue carpet below my red soles, uncooperative. I don't need that muffin anymore. Hell, I don't even think I can drink the coffee currently burning my palm. I want to leave, go home, and never see the people in there again. But it's not just them, is it? It's everyone on this floor, and maybe a few on the other ones. They despise me, and my recent breakup has given them ammunition to humiliate me.

But I'm the only one who can give them that satisfaction. I'm the one who can break and bend at their offenses. And there's no way I'll let them win. For the first time in a decade, I'm thankful for my lack of tears because it allows me to straighten up and act as if I'm not deeply hurt by their baseless insults.

"Can you imagine the—" Isabel stops whatever she was about to sneer as soon as I enter the room.

Holding myself straight and staring ahead, I walk up to the pastry stand to pick up a muffin I already know I won't eat. They all remain silent now that I am in their presence.

On my way out again, I halt my steps. "Don't you have work to do, Isabel?"

With her cup of tea in hand, she swiftly makes her way out of the break room.

"And Larry?" I call out next.

"Yes, Miss Kensington?"

"I'm nothing like a block of ice, but you'll never be lucky enough to find out for yourself."

The words feel like razor blades coming out of my throat because I know they are a lie. I'm terrible in bed, and I hope to God Larry never finds out. The way their jaws drop makes it all worth it, and I offer them a faked, amiable smile before continuing on my way back to my office.

Once I'm safely behind closed doors, I curse the glass walls that separate me from the open floor, wishing I could crumble into a pile of mashed Gen. But I maintain my composure, settle the snack and searing cup on my desk, and return to the glass wall to pull the privacy curtain closed. Only when I'm finally isolated do I take deep and long breaths, struggling to soothe myself.

My life is on a rapid descent to hell, and I have no idea how to stop it from happening.

Frigid bitch…

As much as I want to deny it, I can't help but wonder. Is it just my leading style that compelled the insult, or are people aware of my lack of bedroom skills? Did Edward say something? The idea that anyone else might know is chilling, and I shudder at the thought. Especially since I'm supposed to have authority over them. How are they meant to respect me now?

When my breathing has returned to a semblance of normalcy, I straighten my blouse, skirt, and hair before walking up to my door. As I go to the elevator lobby, I avoid everyone's gaze, worried I might crumble if I catch even one nasty side glare. Since only a few floors are above mine, I'm alone when I enter the elevator. On my way down though, a couple of people join the ride, and we stand in utter silence. Then, I'm out again, walking through the familiar hallways leading to Eddie's office. It's been months since my last visit there, an unpleasant reminder of how poorly our relationship evolved.

I knock on his door, staring at the golden letters of his nameplate, and wait for his "Come in!"

The office is familiar since we used to have lunch together here. It's smaller than mine, but I have faith that he'll one day become the company's chief accountant, given his skills.

He's crunching numbers on his calculator, his thin-rimmed glasses low on his straight nose. When he looks up, surprise strikes him. He stops what he's doing, hastily taking off his glasses.

"Gen! Hi."

"Hello, Edward."

The awkward tension prevents us from saying anything else, both uncertain about how to proceed. "How have you been doing?" I ask first.

"Uh, alright. Frank's apartment is big, so we're not in each other's faces too much."

"Good. Good, good," I say with a nod, fidgeting with the seam of my blazer.

"And you?"

"I've been fine, thank you." Weirdly enough, I have been fine. A little lonely, which I didn't expect, but definitely fine for someone who was just dumped after five years.

"Good."

Just like that, silence fills the space again. For heaven's sake, we've dated for half a decade. We should have more to say to one another. He tries to act relaxed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, but I know him too well to be fooled. This is as awkward for him as it is for me.

This time, he's the one breaking the tense stillness. "You need something?"

"Yes, I have… a question."

"Shoot."

"Did you tell anyone about what happened?"

"My parents know. And a few friends."

"I meant here. At work."

"Oh… Well, we went out for drinks after work last week, and I think I mentioned it, yes."

"What did you mention exactly?"

"That we're not together anymore. Why, what's going on?"

"Nothing, I just—I heard things."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk, his expression one of concern. "What kind of things?"

For several seconds, I hesitate to tell him, reluctant to discuss my lack of sex skills. It would be an admission, and I'm not ready for that. "Actually, forget it," I say, waving a dismissive hand. "It's probably all in my head."

I take a couple of steps toward the door, but he gets up and joins me before I can open it. "Gen, are you sure you're alright?" he insists, his coppery eyes fixed on mine.

"Yes, I am. Sorry, I'm just a little tired today, and it got the best of me."

"You know you can talk to me, right? We're not together anymore, but I'll always care for you."

This should feel comforting, but it doesn't. If only he could care slightly more, we wouldn't be in this situation. "Likewise, Eddie."

Something passes between us, some kind of agreement that we're really over and we'll never be more than this. Friendly.

"I have a lunch meeting I need to prepare for," I say, only partially lying.

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you around, Gen."

I smile as a reply and leave his office without another word. For some reason, I expected seeing him again to hurt more, but I can't deny the indisputable truth as I walk back to the elevators. Our relationship died a long time ago, not on that Saturday. And I fear there's nothing salvageable.

My steps toward my office lack their usual determination because doubts occupy my mind. As Hana put it, I will need to start over and find myself a replacement for Eddie. While I don't necessarily need a man in my life for it to be complete, I have goals and aspirations for a family, and I need a man for that. As a very last resort, I'll do it all alone. But I would rather have someone to share it with.

All these thoughts are running through my head for the next few hours, making it impossible to focus on my business lunch. Thankfully, or maybe not, my boss has decided to tag along for the meeting, which means he handles most of it while I distractedly sit there.

That stupid list won't leave my mind, and the phone in my pocket weighs a ton.

The issue is that entering into another relationship right now would probably end as badly as the last. Men like sex, and my mediocre skills aren't enough, so my next partner is bound to cheat or leave.

When the luncheon ends, my boss hops in a luxurious hired car, not offering to share it even though I'm also returning to NexaCorp's headquarters. But it's fine, because it gives me some time alone as I ride in my own taxi. I have fifteen to twenty minutes to myself.

The solution to my problem is relatively simple, isn't it? First, get better at sex, try all those things I never did, and become a sex goddess. Then, find myself a nice, decent man to spend the rest of my life with.

Clear, concise, and straightforward. I can't mess this up, can I? And I'm sure I can have some fun crossing out those fifty questions, too. But that's all it must be—fun. I'm definitely not ready for anything serious again, not so soon after Eddie. But I also must ensure I don't get attached to anyone. And the most basic way to do so is by not seeing too much of whomever I'll experiment with.

One man per item on my list. Unless I can do more things in a single encounter, which would be rather efficient, wouldn't it? This is my one rule, then. No seeing anyone twice. That's easy. And I have the perfect candidate to start my quest—a certain pierced man.

One who manages to rob me of my attention despite barely knowing him.

Invigorated by what must be adrenaline, I pull out my phone from my pocket and make my way to Ladder Guy's number. Before I can give myself time to change my mind, I type a quick message and hit send in the same go.

Me

Are you still interested?

By the time his answer arrives, I've returned to my office and am already hard at work.

Ladder Guy

I am. But just as a reminder, I don't do dates.

I should give myself more time to think about this, but all it will do is make me change my mind. Staying in my comfort zone clearly didn't serve me well. This is something I need to do if I want the life I've been working so hard for.

So, after a deep breath, I ignore my trembling thumbs and send another text.

Me

This won't be a date. You got the job, Mr. Clarke.

My heart is racing in my chest, and I can't help but wonder if I'm making a terrible mistake. But what's the worst that can happen? Ladder Guy turns out to be awful in bed? That would be a waste of my precious time, but nothing critical.

Just to ensure that nothing bad can actually happen, I send another text to remind him of my ground rules.

Me

I'll need a copy of your STI test results. We'll meet at The Plaza again on Friday, same time. Don't be late.

Missing after-work drinks with my colleagues again should be alright, and I'd much rather cross out this item. At this pace, it would take me two years to go over all fifty questions, so I need to swallow back my worries and woman up.

Ladder Guy

I can't wait to fuck this bossy attitude out of you, red. Though, I must admit it turns me on.

His reply is so bold that I feel my face heat up. I'm pretty sure this doesn't qualify as sexting, but I've never sexted before, so it feels very close to it. Something tells me he isn't even aiming for that effect.

I'm practically squirming on my chair as I type a reply.

Me

You can definitely try, but I'm afraid it's a default setting.

Ladder Guy

I'll try and succeed, even if it takes me the whole night. Can't boss anyone around if you've been fucked so good you can barely remember your name, can you?

Something pulses low inside me, and I cross my knees under my desk. Alright, I'll be sorely disappointed if he turns out to be all talk. But then, he wouldn't be the first man to over-promise and under-deliver. If there's some justice in this world, Ladder Guy will be good enough for me to enjoy some of it, if not most of it.

But ultimately, that doesn't matter. I'm in this to make that bucket list my bitch, and prove to Edward and Larry they are wrong about me.

I'm not a block of ice with a hole in it.