Here? Now?

This, Barrow could do. From inside is jacket, he pulled a Parliament Light. When she looked at him, mystified, he shrugged. "Kaitlyn told me where to find you."

Abby took the offered cigarette, and reached for Kaitlyn's borrowed lighter.

"Though, you really should start thinking about your cardio..."

She scowled at him. "I've got a couple more minutes of freedom."

"You know there's no smoking in the building, right? And this may be your last time outside for a while."

On top of everything else, she'd be a prisoner here at Park Place. She took a puff of the cigarette. "Then I better enjoy the fresh air while I can."

She was resigned. This was not the full-throated confrontation she'd had with Metkovich, nor the bitter back-and-forth she'd had with Mailgirl Number Three yesterday. Abby was licked, and she knew it. Her conversation with Barrow was not an angry one, or a threatening one. Rather, they talked like colleagues, joking as if discussing the fate of Marie Partee, and not Abby Wagner Williams.

As if to drive this point home, Barrow asked bluntly, "When was the last time you got laid?"

Abby stared out across the parking lot.

"I mean, with someone else," he added.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "Valentine's Day, maybe? So, seven months or so?"

"Ouch," Barrow winced.

"Yeah, it wasn't great." She didn't know why she was being this honest. "Why? Are we at this point in the onboarding?"

She ran through the litany of answers she'd be expected to give. "Five-foot-six. A hundred-and-twenty-five. --Ish. Red. Green. May 11th. Thirty-four, twenty-five, thirty-five. Eight. C. Straight. Sixteen. Oral, yes. Anal, no. Never been with a woman..."

"No, no," Barrow said, throwing up his hands. He stopped, and then added, "We'll get there. And I've got some follow-ups. But, just with the 24/7 thing, and the rules against fraternizing with non-mailgirls..."

"...I'm going to grow my virginity back?" she joked. She stared him down, and asked, "Why? Are you offering?"

Barrow smirked. He may have been fucking her metaphorically, but he wasn't going to do so literally. "Talk to me in two years."

"It's a date," she said. She added, "Maybe it's for the best. It might be good to take a break from men for a little."

Abby had meant only that it might be good to be single for a little while. Barrow, however, interpreted it a different way. "I hear Number Two has had some practice," he offered helpfully. "With Number Seven. Or maybe Ten? I don't know, I can't keep the numbers straight sometimes. The blonde one, from Legal, with the nose. Michelle Mayer?"

"'Sir, per Human Capital, she is to be called by her mail room number.'"

"So we're starting with the 'sir' already?"

"I don't know, sir," she said, half-mockingly. "Do you want me to, sir?"

"It can wait a little longer," he said, brushing off the fact that she was making fun of it. But then he turned to her, looked her in the eyes, and asked, "Why? Do want to start now?"

He wasn't asking for her permission to institute the practice, and insist she start calling him "sir" at that very moment. Instead, he seemed to be asking her if calling him "sir" turned her on?

She bit her lip. It did. God help her, it did.

She didn't answer. And he took her non-answer as answer enough. He looked away, and joked, "Too bad about Kristen Metkovich, though."

"Too bad about Kristen Metkovich," Abby parroted back, meaning it on any number of levels. To the point that Barrow had intended to make, though: yes, if she were going to start sleeping women here as a mailgirl, it might have been nice to have someone with a little more practice. She added, "Sir."

That last "sir" hung in the air uncomfortably, it was clear that the mood had shifted. She was bitter, in her way. She might have been volunteering. She might have drawn up the contract herself, and signed it before Barrow even made the offer. And she might have been turned on by all of this, inside and out. But she likely hadn't had as much freedom to choose this life as any of those things might have implied; the videos on Barrow's phone made that clear. If it hadn't been now, it would have been October, or November, or some other point. As wet as she might have been, she wasn't looking forward to what lay ahead.

They sat in silence for another minute or so, until Abby finished her cigarette and put it out with the bottom of her shoe.

"Do we want to go find Mistress Rei?" Abby finally asked. Unsure of herself, she repeated, "Do we want to go find Mistress Rei, sir?"

"Do we need Mistress Rei?"

Abby swallowed. No, of course not. Abby knew the drill. She didn't need the Japanese woman pulling her hair or slapping her around. Not yet, at least. "No, sir" she finally answered.

Abby stood, and turned for the door, but Barrow stopped her. "We can stay here. We can do it here," he offered. It was classic Barrow -- he'd strip her and humiliate her here, out behind the building by the loading docks, and make it sound as if he were doing her a favor. Surely this was better than doing so in the locker room, he seemed to be implying.

"Here? Now?"