Hurry up back to work

You dress quickly. Donna, still basking in her afterglow, watches you from the loveseat. She demands a last, reluctant kiss, before smacking you on your ass and sending you on your way. You feel like you are drenched in her smell. You feel like everyone in the office knows what transpired in Donna's locked office. Haley passes you and seems to wrinkle her little pug nose. Can she smell the sex on you? You're sure the next person to walk into Donna's office will get a noseful.

It's a relief to be back in your office. You crack open a Diet Coke and get back to work.

Not a moment too soon. Your long lunch has Mr. Perry looking for you. He pops into your office just as you open your spreadsheet software. The boss does not resemble his portrait in the lobby. Maybe twenty years ago, but now he's all gray and balding up top and he has gained about seventy pounds with a big pot belly. He sidles up to your desk and leans over, looking at the spreadsheets, breathing the smell of his last cigar on you, looking at your screen, looking down your top, looking back at your screen.

"Is it going to be done?" He demands.

"Absolutely," you say, although you are not sure that's true. It's going to take every free moment.

He gives you a thumbs up.

"I know I can count on you." The thumbs up disappears along with his smile.

"And if I can't, then I'll find someone I can count on. Like Haley."

Haley? Her? She's the worst accountant in the department. Her mistakes are half the reason this is taking so long. If anybody is fired it should be her. Mr.

Perry blusters out of your office to menace someone else. Normally you like him, he's a bit of a flirt and not at all your type, but you always put up with it for the general friendliness and good salary. Something has changed over the past few weeks. He is hostile more often than not and has been picking weird fights, particularly with the women like you in positions with some authority.

You put Mr. Perry out of your thoughts and dive back into your work. You make good headway into the afternoon. By four o'clock you think you might be able to have it by staying just a little late. Then events conspire to throw you off track. First, Wendy, the receptionist, pops into your office carrying a huge bouquet of roses.

"Who brought these?" you ask.

"Delivery boy," she says and deposits them on your desk.

There is a card attached. FROM: YOUR SECRET ADMIRER, ONE ROSE FOR EACH TIME WE'LL MAKE LOVE THIS WEEKEND

Could Donna have somehow got these to you already? The thought makes you squirm. You never agreed to be her girlfriend. No, that would be too fast and too brazen. Maybe somebody else at the office. You peer surreptitiously through the blinds covering your office window. You don't see anyone walking around or glancing at your office. There is nobody in the cubicles gopher-ing. You're about to look up the florist to try to call them and wring the truth out of them, when the phone rings. It's Wendy.

"Someone is at the reception desk to see you," she says.

"Who is it?" your heart pounds in your chest. Rhonda? Your secret admirer?

"It's your husband."

Your heart flip-flops. Your husband? He never visits you at work! Of course, the one day you finally decided to cheat on him, and you're swamped with work, and you've got a secret admirer filling your office with flowers.

"What do you want me to tell him?" demands Wendy.