Talk to Sophie

Sophie's face is blotchy from crying, but she still looks pretty angry.

Well, you're angry too.

“Look, Sophie, I want to know what you do in there. Christ, I mean, you were in IVR for ten full days. All I'm looking for is a reasonable, plausible explanation.”

She glares at you. “I work hard. Isn't that fucking reasonable? You want to date somebody talentless, go ahead, but you know I take my work seriously.”

“But you never reply to any IMs or IVR messages - hell, you're in a black hole in there. Are you saying you can't answer messages?”

“I'm saying I take my work seriously,” she repeats stubbornly.

You both stand there awkwardly, not speaking.

“I want access,” you say finally. “I want full access to your fucking IVR logs. I want to see what you've been fucking doing in there, or this is over.”

Sophie sighs, mutters something under her breath, and fishes out a cigarette.

“Fuck you, Gerald,” she says. “Fine then. It's over. I'm going for a walk. When I come back I want you gone.”

She lights up as she walks out the door before you can protest.

Well, you think to yourself, I managed to fuck that up about as much as is humanly possible. You should just get up and leave.

But there's that niggling doubt. What has she been doing in IVR?