As a result, I decided to take a stroll around the office. Why not? My dad promised to return to the conference room after dropping off his briefcase, but he had clearly been waylaid. After ten minutes of waiting, I slipped out into the hallway and began walking around like I belonged here.
Smoothing my hair back, I put a vague smile on my face and strolled down the halls. My outfit was appropriate, with a blouse and a corduroy skirt, as well as mid-heel shoes. I passed two printers, an empty conference room, and what looked like a pool of secretaries. No one even looked up as I walked past.
Then, I saw a sign that said “Supplies.” Of course, I wasn’t looking for free supplies, not really. It’s just that Amazon was out of stock of my favorite blue ballpoint pen, and perhaps here at Lancaster, they had a store of them. As a result, I peered around to see if anyone was watching, and when the coast was clear, I tried to open the door. Unfortunately, the knob was stuck and I gripped it harder, trying to turn. But then, the door opened inwards on its own, and I fell headfirst into the supply closet before landing in a heap on my hands and knees.
That would be bad enough on its own. My pantyhose probably had a run and my hair was definitely messed up. But even worse, the contents of my purse spilled onto the shiny cement floor of the supply closet, and there under the bright light was the unmistakable huge, pink shaft of my dildo!
I screamed. I must have let out a high-pitched shriek due to the horrifying situation. The toy stood out like a beacon, almost pulsing with life, and then to my added horror, it started vibrating on its own. The on switch must have been hit when it landed on the floor, and it began buzzing with a loud, insistent noise.
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
But bad luck comes in threes because behind me was a handsome man looking just as shocked as I was. Plus, he wasn’t just any handsome stranger: it was Patrick Lancaster himself. He was tall and intimidating. His shoulders were so broad that they almost touched each side of the supply closet, and his head literally brushed the ceiling where he stood.
I screamed again, trying to catch the dildo as it vibrated by itself on the floor. But that drat thing has a mind of its own, and I was so humiliated that I scrabbled for what felt like minutes, trying to get my hands on that thing. Patrick, of course, seemed completely at ease. After taking in the situation, he leaned forward and swooped up the toy with one graceful gesture.
“Is this yours?” he asked, those blue eyes sparkling.
I almost died. I couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Um yes,” I said, swiping it ungratefully from his hand and stuffing it into my purse, along with the tampon, maxi-pad, and other feminine hygiene products that had come spilling out. “Thanks so much for your help. I’ll just be going now.”
But Patrick shut and locked the door before I could even reach the doorknob.
“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” he said in a smooth voice. “I’m Patrick Lancaster.”
I bit my lip. This is not how I imagined meeting Prince Charming. I thought that we’d maybe shake hands in a greeting line, and that he would be so overcome with my grace and beauty that he would inquire who that lovely young woman was. Instead, I’ve met the man of my dreams while on my hands and knees trying to retrieve a wayward dildo. Why won’t the world swallow me up right about now? My humiliation was complete.
Looking down, I manage to stammer a reply.
“I’m Penny,” I say in a hoarse voice, and then clear my throat with a half-cough, half-gargle. “Nice to meet you,” I state in a louder tone before looking up into his blue eyes. I might as well try and own what just happened.
But Patrick’s gaze stops me in my tracks because this man is out-of-this world gorgeous. His eyes are so dark that they’re almost navy, and his skin is bronzed, like he spends his summers in the Caribbean. Wavy black hair is swept off his forehead, and he has a strong nose and firm, square jawline with an adorable cleft in it.
Unfortunately, I’ve just humiliated myself in front of him and there’s no chance of romance now.
“I’ll be going,” I mumble while staring the floor. “Thanks again.”
But he stops me with a hand on my arm. The touch seems to burn through my sleeve and electricity sparkles in the air.
“Not so fast, honey,” he says in a deep, smooth voice like a golden-brown cognac. “I think we need a better introduction than that, wouldn’t you say? After all, these are … ahem, interesting circumstances.”