Free One Look At You by Sofie Hartwell

analogy is.
    “Melanie!” Jen shushes her.
    “She’s right. I was a complete slut, if I have to say so myself,” I say truthfully.
    “So you came out of your shell – big deal,” Melanie scoffs.
    “Melanie, you really aren’t listening. I just told you how I behaved so awfully and you call it ‘coming out of my shell’?” My voice is steadily rising.
    “Livie, you know what your problem is? You have this notion that good people only do boring things. Good people don’t drink. Good people only have sex missionary style. Good people don’t make out in public. Oh, just grow up!” Melanie sure doesn’t pull her punches.
    “It’s not that…. Okay, maybe, you’re partly right. But, I kind of draw the line at foreplay at a party. It’s disrespectful, and… yes, I don’t think it’s proper behavior. So, can I please torture myself about my bad behavior?”
    “Honey, I think what Melanie is trying to say in her usual tactless way,” Jen makes a moue at Melanie as she says this, “is that you’re too hard on yourself. It was a momentary lapse. You’re not yet a candidate for the second circle of hell.”
    Melanie looks a bit apologetic. “Two words: Let go. Or you’ll soon be a basket case.”
    “Maybe I already am. Thanks, guys. And I’m sorry too if I keep going on and on about this,” I touch both their hands as I say it.
    “Eh, that’s okay. Today you’re the drama queen. Tomorrow, Jen, you can have your crown back,” Melanie says.
    “Hardy-har-har!” Jen interjects and then laughs good-naturedly.
    “Can we order another calamari?” Jen asks.
    “Make that two. And another round of sangrias. We have time to kill before the movie starts,” Melanie declares.

CHAPTER 5
    This week hasn’t been bad, so far. I’m well on my way to completing the last batch of reports. Tony (yes, I’m quite at ease using his name now) has not said anything derogatory about my work. He just had one or two comments about a few of them, and I simply tweaked the reports to his liking.
    The topic of global warming bores me to tears (go ahead, hate me!), but I have to say that I’m becoming more and more convinced that Greenpeace is doing a good job of bringing awareness to the issue of renewable sources of energy. It’s still spring, but it feels like summer to me. We’re having record-breaking temperatures this week – in the nineties. The office still feels like an icebox, but when you step out of the building, you can feel the heat big-time.
    I just got lunch at the pizza place one block away, and even with the air conditioning, I am feeling hot and sweaty. I take off my blazer and unbutton the top portion of my blouse. Yes, I’m still wearing conservative professional attire to work. No need to blow my cover when I’m sure it won’t be long now before my boss finds a suitable assistant. Tony’s out for lunch, though, so I can somewhat relax for a few minutes.
    “Olivia!” I scramble to my feet at the sound of his voice. I nervously try to button the tiny pearl buttons of my blouse, but he calls me again and I give up.
    He’s standing by his doorway, looking at me impatiently, and I ask “I thought you were having lunch at the Hyatt with one of the directors?”
    “You thought wrong. Don’t you bother to check my calendar on Outlook?”
    What brought about this ill-humor? He was fine this morning when I left some reports on his desk.
    “Did you want something?”
    “No, I just like to call you to see how fast you can walk to my desk,” he says sarcastically. “Of course, I want something. Come into my office. I need to show you the document.”
    I follow him, but he doesn’t go behind his desk. Instead, he stands next to me and reaches for the report. He’s about a foot away, and I can smell his woody-citrusy cologne. I have this strange urge to touch his arm and feel his expensive lightweight wool suit. I look at him sideways and notice how focused he is on the paper in front of him. His