were stimulating and enriching—and Pratt-Summers was known for providing their creative staff with plenty of stimulation. The coffee lounge offered more choices than Starbucks. It also had an oxygen bar, a tea bar and a gourmet snack bar, featuring exotic dark chocolate from around the world that was said to be as potent as prescription mood elevators. Anything to keep the ideas coming.
Tess had worked straight through lunch on the Faustini account, and this was her first break of the afternoon. All she wanted to do was pee and get back to her desk. But it looked like she was going to have to take herself apart like a model airplane and start over.
The adjacent door opened and banged shut.
Tess hesitated, listening. She could hear him washing his hands and chatting with Mitzi, the mysterious washroom attendant, who seemed to be on a first-name basis with everyone at the agency. Apparently she was as much a fixture as the bathroom’s fancy gold faucets. Tess had heard through office scuttlebutt that Mitzi had been with the agency through every management shake-up, of which Tess was just the latest. She not only guarded the bathroom and the adjoining lounge, she ran an aromatherapy concession, did reflexology and was rumored to be a licensed acupuncturist.
Tess gave up on the jumpsuit. Let it flap. She might flash a few people, but her white cotton sports bra wouldn’t give anyone much of a thrill.
She rolled her neck, aware of clicking noises. A massage would be wonderful, except that Mitzi made her nervous. The washroom attendant looked to be in her mid-forties, attractive in a strange way. She had severely cropped hair, an olive complexion and dark, expressive eyes. She was also short-waisted and pear-shaped, with the lowest center of gravity Tess had ever seen, which probably made her a powerhouse masseuse. And to her credit, she kept a beautiful bathroom. There were orchids everywhere, plush rolled towels, pearlescent hand lotions and the place smelled luscious. Today, it was essence of an English rose garden. But on Tess’s first day at the agency, she’d smelled something she couldn’t identify, and Mitzi had explained that she’d been using oil of hemp for a massage.
Hemp? Could Mitzi add drug dealer to her list of specialties?
Tess had given her a wide berth after that, but she seemed to be the only one who was concerned. As far as Tess could tell, Mitzi was widely revered for her advice on everything from health to dating and relationships. She got more respect than the CEO. Right now, she and the unidentified man were discussing his blood pressure and she was recommending that he burn candles during his power nap.
“Lavender, geranium or neroli,” Mitzi suggested. “Lavender is good for dandruff, too. Makes a wonderful tonic for the hair, and if you put the buds in a dream pillow, it will help you sleep. But be careful, you might see ghosts. And, by the way, I have plenty of that ylang-ylang soap you like. You know, the libido-booster bar with just a touch of nutmeg.”
The man’s embarrassed chuckle made Tess wonder if Mitzi had winked at him. Libido booster? Dream pillows and ghosts? No wonder he had hypertension.
Tess had decided to wait until the transaction was over. She couldn’t be sure the man wasn’t Danny Gabriel, and she didn’t want another awkward encounter with him now. Their dinner tonight would be plenty soon enough.
The moment she heard the man leave, Tess let herself out of the stall and went to the long bank of sinks to wash her hands. Mitzi, keeper of the towels, was seated on her stool at the end of the long counter, her many products displayed on wall racks behind her. She watched Tess intently, ready to hand her a towel when she was done.
Tess thanked her and grabbed some paper towels instead. “In a rush,” she said, taking a moment to scrutinize herself in the mirror.
Good girl? Her? What had Gabriel been thinking?
She pulled on a tight curl, trying to get it to relax and dangle in a provocative way. How did she get stuck with yellow bedsprings for hair? She’d always wanted to be one of those fey beauties whose hair went flying every time she gave it a little shake. The kind who gave men whiplash when she strolled by. She sighed. Not in this lifetime.
Still, she hadn’t had that much difficulty attracting men, especially back in college. She’d gone through a wild-child phase when hormones and adrenaline had uncorked inside her like a magnum of champagne. Reserved as she’d been, she’d gotten bold enough to flirt, and that was all the encouragement certain boys had needed. Suddenly, she was wildly popular. Not for any of the right reasons, of course, but the boys’ reactions had taught her that being sexy was about much more than one’s appearance.
Too bad she’d been riddled with guilt the whole time. Being “bad” had only been fleetingly good. Mostly, the experience had left her confused about her sexuality and her urgent need for male attention. And years later, when she’d finally figured it out, the answers hadn’t been pretty.
The bathroom door swung open behind her, and a small pack of women burst into the spacious room, laughing and talking, probably on a break.
Tess thought she recognized them from the Research Division but couldn’t be sure. She’d been introduced around by a Human Resources person, but she’d met too many people that week. It was all a blur.
“Last night was a Rolling Thunderclap,” one of the women said as the three of them entered separate stalls. “It was loud and fast, and there were reports of smoke coming from my ears.”
“Reports? How many people were there?” the second woman asked from her stall.
“Just me and my boyfriend, but he gave me updates on the half second.”
“Sounds more like a Shake, Rattle and Roll to me,” the second woman said. “Were there coital quivers? I’m a Mountain Fountain girl, myself.”
“And I fall somewhere between Napping Kitten and Arctic Silence,” the third said. “Therapy was suggested.”
Mountain Fountain was a Qigong position, but Tess was pretty sure they weren’t discussing martial arts. She moved aside as the women emerged all at once, not unlike synchronized swimmers. They washed their hands, thanked Mitzi for the towels and disappeared into the adjoining lounge.
Tess glanced at Mitzi, who shrugged. “This month’s Cosmo has a Name Your Orgasm quiz,” she explained. “Apparently, orgasms can reveal hidden aspects of your personality. If you’re limited to one kind, it means you’re not expressing yourself fully as a human being.”
“Ah.” Tess nodded. ’Nuff said. She gave her hair another tweak and frowned. A giant sigh escaped her. Limited to one kind? She should be so lucky. What was an orgasm? She couldn’t remember. Most of hers had been pretty forgettable anyway, if she was being honest. No Rolling Thunderclaps. Even all the heavy breathing in college had been only briefly exciting—and definitely not worth the self-recrimination afterward.
Mitzi was watching Tess with a knitted brow and enough concern to send Tess running. She reached for the Faustini bag the designer had given her, along with a pair of their gorgeous new stiletto boots. Each of the team members had received some Faustini launch products as gifts, and to better help them sell the line. Pride of ownership was a prime motivating factor, and old man Faustini, as everyone called the sixty-two-year-old founder of the company, was smart enough to know that.
“Gotta go,” Tess said. “Work to do.” She gave Mitzi a reassuring nod, but it didn’t seem to register. Mitzi’s health-o-meter was engaged.
“Female trouble?” Mitzi said. “Let me guess. PMS, right?”
Tess
