Every time I thought about Jason Burke I got a hot flash that started way "down under" and worked its way straight up to my curling iron. He was undeniably hot, but he was so insufferable. I couldn't stand the man. Still, I couldn't get him out of my mind either. The way he stroked his chin while dictating memos...it used to just paralyze me. I guess he probably figured I was just lousy at taking dictation. Still, he had kept me on, and that was what really made me wonder about Jason Burke. There was hardly one fucking middle management type left in this damn city who still gave dictation for Christ's sake, but Jason did. And to me. Why didn't he just type short, badly-spelled emails with no proper punctuation, like the rest of them did. Why dictate letters? And why to me? Was it because he was a perfectionist or because he was simply old-fashioned? He didn't strike me as the old-fashioned type. A guy who handles conference calls to businessmen in four different cities while playing squash and swallowing live sardines is not what I would call old-fashioned.

There was one possibility that I could not resist considering. Maybe I was the reason Jason Burke dictated those letters. It was an intriguing notion, and one that I meant to get to the bottom of by hook or by crook, by fair means or foul. I checked my lip gloss one more time. Not bad. Lock and load, baby...

* I hesitate to sign this as LH. Just call me "Violet Haize" instead.