His Temporary Assistant

Another text appeared.

Unknown: I realize you’ve been in a drought—or is that a lie too?

Finally, the mad texter had revealed herself. La-la-Luna. It had to be.

I quickly responded.

PMS: What do you mean too, as if there is more than one lie? You don’t know that I’ve lied. How did you get this number?

Unknown: How do you think I got it? I borrowed Ryan’s phone when she was drunk dozing.

My frown deepened. When had Ryan been drunk? Obviously, in the recent past, since she’d only had my number for a matter of days.

I quickly added her to my contacts and tapped out an irritated response.

PMS: And you accuse me of lying when you are a thief?

Luna: Hello, I am her best friend. All her stuff is mine & vice versa.

PMS: Thank you for educating me. Now if you’ll excuse me from this inane conversation, I have work to do.

My client was now dramatically reclining on the sofa while Ryan slid a pillow under her head and cooed softly to her. I didn’t know how we could possibly have a meeting while she was prone. This was not a therapist’s couch. I didn’t deal with people who weren’t upright for the conversation.

But thank God Ryan was here. She was handling all…that. I’d had a few crying clients in the past—and screaming, swearing, and occasionally physically violent ones, though usually at their soon-to-be ex-spouse, not me. But Stacey Franklin seemed particularly full of woe.

“It was just yesterday that he told me about Bimini. I was so excited. Then I came to pick him up after work because his car was in the shop, and his penis was in her mouth!”

I shut my eyes. Was it too late for me to consider a new career? Right now, anything sounded good.

And la-la-Luna was still texting.

Luna: You know what’s inane? Claiming to be so righteous then dropping drawers in like, a sec.

She had a point, even if I’d not claimed righteousness nor stripped down. But I could agree my message had been inconsistent with my behavior. I didn’t accept all the blame, however. Some could be laid at the green-tipped toes of one Ryan G. Moon.

But Luna had more to add.

Luna: Also, I didn’t accuse you. I asked if you’d lied. I do not tolerate the XY chromosome messing with my best friend.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked.

I put my phone in my pocket rather than telling Ryan her best bish was interrogating me. Luna’s behavior was actually admirable. She was stepping up to make sure I had honorable intentions toward Ryan.

How many people were willing to put themselves out there for a friend? My closest friend Bishop would go to bat for me, but he was rare.

As was la-la-Luna. I didn’t want to get her in trouble for being annoyingly decent.

Emphasis on annoying.

“Nothing.” I swiveled my chair to face Ryan, and then just as quickly turned again to make sure Stacey was no longer in the waiting room. “What did you do with her?”

“She booked it to the ladies’ room. Texting, huh?”

“No.”

Ryan placed her hands on the arms of the chair and loomed over me, putting her ample cleavage entirely too close to my face. “You should be thanking me.”

In a feat of Herculean proportions, I kept my gaze on her face. Mostly. I wasn’t a saint. She had a purple wand necklace dangling between her breasts. I wanted to pull it between my teeth as arousal flared in her eyes then work my way under her dress to see what sort of lingerie she wore.