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There were many things I knew about my boss, some I'd

  known from the start and others I'd learned only over time.

  When it al came down to it, though, I liked Paul very

  much. Whatever had his garters snapping, it was going to

  make it impossible for him to get some work done until it

  was resolved.

  "Go get yourself a mug of coffee," I told him. "I'l send off these reports and see you in ten minutes."

  I hadn't given him permission, and it was nothing he

  couldn't have decided for himself, but the relief in his eyes

  at my suggestion made me glad I'd made it. I flipped

  through the reports while he poured his coffee and made

  some notes about what needed to be sent where, then

  ducked down the hal to visit the restroom then make

  some copies so I could be back in time to meet with him.

  He sat in a familiar slouch at his desk when I pushed open

  He sat in a familiar slouch at his desk when I pushed open

  his door, but he turned his attention immediately to me.

  "Paige, hi. Would you sit down, please?"

  I did, and watched his gaze flicker over my bared knees as

  I crossed my legs. "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Nothing's wrong. I just…wanted to talk to you."

  I waited. Paul drew in a breath and pushed back in his

  chair to run a hand over the top of his head. He'd taken off

  his suit jacket, but his tie was as snug to his throat as if it

  had grown there. He cleared his throat, and I waited

  another ten seconds for him to speak.

  "It's about your performance."

  I sat up a little straighter. "Yes?"

  "It's past time for your first review."

  I understood that. Kely Printing, like most companies,

  gave annual reviews, but they also had an introductory

  probation period for al new employees. They'd told me

  about it when they hired me. Six months into the new job,

  you could be out on your ass if you didn't live up to

  expectations. It was hard to believe I'd been here that

  long. It felt more like forever, actualy.

  Again, I waited for him to speak. That was the thing with

  Paul. He took his time with talk. I thought it was because

  each word that came from him had to mean something,

  like he had to weigh their worth before he said them.

  Unlike writing, you can't scratch out speech. Once it's

  said, there's nothing you can do to erase it.

  "I just wanted you to know I'l be giving you the highest

  ratings, that's al. And recommending you for advanced

  training."

  My pleased smile sat oddly on my face, which had been

  expecting to frown. "Realy? Great. Thanks, Paul."

  He seemed a little more at ease once he'd told me, though

  his fingers stil toyed nervously with his pen. He roled it

  onto the edge of the blotter, then off. It hit the desk with a

  sharp click.

  "You're welcome. I've been very pleased with your work."

  "I've enjoyed working with you."

  He nodded a bit and focused his attention on the pen.

  "There are some opportunities available in-house. A good

  recommendation could…um…lead the way to some of

  them."

  This was interesting news I wasn't sure how to process.

  "Like what?"

  "Promotion opportunities."

  I read the buletin boards in the hal by the office mail every

  day. I saw the internal-job postings along with the memos

  on company policy and announcements about the holiday

  parties and picnics. Nothing there had caught my eye or

  sent me into spasms of excitement. I'd never considered

  applying for any of them. I stil intended to get my MBA

  when they'd chip in to pay for it.

  "Such as?" I leaned forward.

  "They're looking for someone to start in a new entry-level

  marketing position in Vivian Darcy's department."

  "And if I don't want to work for Vivian?"

  For a moment, Paul looked pleased before he smoothed

  For a moment, Paul looked pleased before he smoothed

  his features into studied neutrality. "It's something to think

  about. You can't be an assistant forever, Paige."

  That was certainly true, and I was touched he cared

  enough to think so. "I don't plan to be."

  "This could be a good chance for you," he said.

  And that was true, too. So why did we both look so sad?

  I knew from Eric's schedule that he'd be home around

  eight o'clock today. I gave him half an hour for dinner,

  another fifteen minutes for a shower. If he was as eager as

  I was to folow the instructions I'd left him, it wouldn't be

  more than that.

  The black trench coat I wore wasn't meant to make me

  look like a pervert, though that's what I felt like as I

  entered the parking garage. I'd picked it to help

  camouflage me in the shadows, but I had toyed with the

  idea of going naked beneath it. I ended up putting on black

  jogging pants and a black T-shirt instead, not bold enough

  to go bare. I might have had I had a note teling me to do

  it, I thought with a smile as I climbed the second flight of

  stairs.

  stairs.

  I came out onto a nearly empty level. At this time of night

  the spots taken up by daytime commuters would be

  vacant. But from this level I had a clear view across the

  street and into Eric's first-floor apartment.

  The concrete wal hit me chest high, but I could lean on it

  to look across the street. At 9:00 p.m., night had already

  falen. The orange lights of the parking garage lit the door

  to the stairs and hit every other pilar, but none was above

  my head and so I had no glare to distract me. The

  streetlights, too, were placed far enough apart they didn't

  interfere with my voyeurism.

  I hadn't brought a pair of binoculars, but realy didn't need

  them. The street between the buildings was one-way and

  narrow. I could have spit and hit his window. Inside his

  apartment, the lights went on.

  My ears rang, and I let out the breath I'd been keeping

  prisoner in my lungs. He was there. This was realy going

  to happen.

  Everyone peeks. We do it al the time when we drive past

  houses at night with the lights on, in hotel rooms we can

  see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-

  see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-

  closed office door. I'd never set out to spy in hopes of

  catching someone doing something naughty. I couldn't

  decide if the tension in my gut and tingling in my fingertips

  were from ilicit arousal or self-loathing.

  The former, I thought as the curtains in Eric's bedroom

  twitched and the light came on in there, too. I was more of

  a pervert than I'd ever imagined. Voyeurism had never

  melted my butter before, but knowing this would get him

  off, that this was a trigger for him, got my nipples hard and

  built an ache between my thighs I knew I'd have to

  aleviate with my own hand before the night was through.

  He stood at the window for a minute or two, looking out

  for so long I wondered if he could see me. With the light