Page 3 of Arranged Addiction

The guy has a voicemail system. I’ve told him a dozen times that’s way more reliable than having me write them out by hand. But he keeps saying he doesn’t care, which means I do it his way or else. I gather up my notes, straighten my skirt out, and march myself into his office.

And freeze as cold horror spills down my spine.

Mr. Whelan’s frowning down at a plain brown box. His head’s tilted to the side curiously as he uses a knife to cut open the tape. “This was left for me,” he says, not looking over. “But it was addressed toEmployee. Why do you think that might be, Ms. Brennan?”

“I don’t know,” I squeak and have to clear my throat. I’m going to cry. Or maybe I’m just going to throw up on the floor.

No, that’s good. If I puke, he’ll be distracted and maybe he won’t look at what’s inside that box.

Because now I solved the mystery of where my Spicy Self-Care package went.

Instead of ending up on the desk of Mr. Whelan’s assistant, it ended up with the boss himself.

This is the end of the world. It’s the worst possible outcome imaginable. Not only is Mr. Whelan going to lose his mind, but he’s going to murder me. He’s going to do it right here and right now.

I’m going to get killed by a beautiful God.

In slow motion, he pulls back the box flaps. I make a strange, squealing noise, sort of a cross between a moan and a scream. He doesn’t glance up because he’s staring down at something I can’t see, and apparently, he’s transfixed.

Slowly, he lifts out a set of slutty lingerie. It’s pink, frilly, and doesn’t cover much.

His eyebrows raise. He puts the lingerie away and lifts out another set. This one’s black and sheer. The website described it assleek as sexy under the midnight sky, whatever that means.

“What is this?” he asks, sounding more bemused than angry.

More lingerie follows. Six full sets. And at the very bottom, he finds the most mortifying part of all.

He lifts it up and stares.

It’s sleek, around five inches, because I was afraid of anything bigger. It’s purple for some weird reason. The end is tapered and there’s a single button at the base. He taps it almost like he knew it was there and the whole dick-shaped thing begins to buzz.

Rechargeable battery. Obviously.

He stares at it. I stare at it. Neither of us moves.

“Ms. Brennan? I believe someone sent me a package of lingerie and sex toys.” His face tightens. I nearly pass out at the wordssex toyscoming from his perfect lips. He taps the vibrator and it turns off. “Who would be so stupid and crass? What insane idiot would have—” He reaches into the box one last time and takes out the receipt. He stares at it, jaw working, and he slowly places the vibrator back into the box.

Then he looks at me.

I know. Right then, I know he knows. I’m not sure how he figured it out so fast, but there’s no doubt in my mind. Something on that receipt gave it away. Was it the name? The address? No, that can’t be it. Maybe?—

The card I used.

He saw my payment information. I’ve used that card before for office supplies and had to submit receipts to get reimbursement. I’m betting Mr. Whelan knows the numbers of every single credit card in use by Mainline Logistics, and he probably recognizes the last four digits of mine.

The silence is horrifying.

“I only have one question,” he says, putting the receipt back into the box and slowly bending the flaps closed. But they won’t stay down and I can still see the purple vibrator staring out. I want to scream and light the whole thing on fire. “Was this some kind of sick joke, or was it an accident?”

“Accident,” I manage to say, which is a feat of pure self-control, because I’m right on the verge of gagging and dying.

“I see.” His lips press together. “And are you in the habit of buying adult items and having them delivered to your place of work?”

“No, I swear, Mr. Whelan. This was just a stupid misunderstanding. The mailroom intern?—”

“Don’t blame someone else for your mistake, Ms. Brennan.” His tone is icy and sharp like a whip.

I grit my teeth, grimacing. If he doesn’t murder me on the spot, he’s at least definitely going to fire me.