was a very good chance that Marshall would call the police. His friend was loyal, he supposed; but, he was also an upstanding member of New York's upper crust. Besides, with the way they'd spoken more and more seldom as the years had passed, David wasn't quite sure where their friendship stood at this particular juncture.
How on earth would he ever be able to explain how he felt about Charlotte without being irreversibly judged?
Just then, his phone buzzed.
He glanced down to see Charlotte's name scrolling across the screen, and a vice clenched over his heart. For a moment, he just watched the device ring. When he finally picked it up, it was an effort to steady his voice enough to speak. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you still in the office?” Her voice was breathless, as if she'd just exerted herself. Instantly, David pictured her spread out over her bed, naked, and writhing in pleasure beneath him. His stomach tightened, and his cock swelled, forcing him to swallow a groan of want.
“Yeah....there are a few things I have to take care of. I'm looking over someone else’s designs.”
“I see. Well, do you want to have a late dinner with me? I know this great restaurant up by my apartment. And after...”
God, she was trying to kill him.
He shouldn't. Things between them had already gone too far. He was trying to figure out a way to break things off with her even as he contemplated new ways they could hide their growing affections from his coworkers and Adeline, who seemed to be growing more suspicious by the day. “Sounds great.” He uttered the words without thinking. “I've, uh, got about fifteen more minutes of work here, but then I'll meet you. Where is it?”
“Ninety-eight and Eighth.” She sounded positively ecstatic. “See you soon.”
“See you.”
As soon as he'd hung up, David dropped the phone to the desk in front of him. He glanced down at the USB in his hand for a moment before sliding it in his pocket. Who said he had to rush? He had what he needed now, so he could take his time. Wouldn't it be sweeter if he worked on more faulty material for the tech department? If Charlotte fell just a little more for him?
His excuses sounded idiotic, even in his own head.
However, for the moment, David let them be. Standing, he switched off his office light and left the room. He looked briefly into the lab, making sure that none of the cameras he'd been planted on the devices were broken. Then, he swiped out of the tech department.
In the taxi on the way uptown, he thought about his mother. He had recently begun taking her to see a psychiatrist in midtown, and the man had only revealed to him what he already knew. Miranda Marscomb was profoundly depressed. A disorder like hers, the doctor had warned, would be very difficult to treat. She had been so sick for so long that it would take time and care to draw her from the dark place into which she had receded. So far, she had continued to remain silent during the sessions. David had given the doctor the picture from his living room, hoping that perhaps he would find some way to get his mother to say something about it .
He was pouring Mathers money into her care—more money, indeed, than into anything else. They still had several outstanding debts that dated back to his father's time, and he hadn't even begun to think about moving into a new apartment. Neither he nor she had medical insurance, and while they waited for their application to go through, he had no choice but to pour hundreds of dollars into her
How on earth would he ever be able to explain how he felt about Charlotte without being irreversibly judged?
Just then, his phone buzzed.
He glanced down to see Charlotte's name scrolling across the screen, and a vice clenched over his heart. For a moment, he just watched the device ring. When he finally picked it up, it was an effort to steady his voice enough to speak. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you still in the office?” Her voice was breathless, as if she'd just exerted herself. Instantly, David pictured her spread out over her bed, naked, and writhing in pleasure beneath him. His stomach tightened, and his cock swelled, forcing him to swallow a groan of want.
“Yeah....there are a few things I have to take care of. I'm looking over someone else’s designs.”
“I see. Well, do you want to have a late dinner with me? I know this great restaurant up by my apartment. And after...”
God, she was trying to kill him.
He shouldn't. Things between them had already gone too far. He was trying to figure out a way to break things off with her even as he contemplated new ways they could hide their growing affections from his coworkers and Adeline, who seemed to be growing more suspicious by the day. “Sounds great.” He uttered the words without thinking. “I've, uh, got about fifteen more minutes of work here, but then I'll meet you. Where is it?”
“Ninety-eight and Eighth.” She sounded positively ecstatic. “See you soon.”
“See you.”
As soon as he'd hung up, David dropped the phone to the desk in front of him. He glanced down at the USB in his hand for a moment before sliding it in his pocket. Who said he had to rush? He had what he needed now, so he could take his time. Wouldn't it be sweeter if he worked on more faulty material for the tech department? If Charlotte fell just a little more for him?
His excuses sounded idiotic, even in his own head.
However, for the moment, David let them be. Standing, he switched off his office light and left the room. He looked briefly into the lab, making sure that none of the cameras he'd been planted on the devices were broken. Then, he swiped out of the tech department.
In the taxi on the way uptown, he thought about his mother. He had recently begun taking her to see a psychiatrist in midtown, and the man had only revealed to him what he already knew. Miranda Marscomb was profoundly depressed. A disorder like hers, the doctor had warned, would be very difficult to treat. She had been so sick for so long that it would take time and care to draw her from the dark place into which she had receded. So far, she had continued to remain silent during the sessions. David had given the doctor the picture from his living room, hoping that perhaps he would find some way to get his mother to say something about it .
He was pouring Mathers money into her care—more money, indeed, than into anything else. They still had several outstanding debts that dated back to his father's time, and he hadn't even begun to think about moving into a new apartment. Neither he nor she had medical insurance, and while they waited for their application to go through, he had no choice but to pour hundreds of dollars into her
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