Free Pool Man by Sabrina York

had good staff who could manage them. Probably with more patience than I could scrape together.
    I yearned, longed, to work with grown-ups.
    There had to be some out there somewhere.
    “But we’re good?” he asked, whipping me into his arms one more time. I let him, but purely for old time’s sake.
    “We’re golden.” I removed his hands from my ass. “But no more of that.”
    His lip thrust out in a pout, but I could tell he was only playin’.
    Sandy stopped in the doorway just then, carrying a pile of folders, and caught us entwined; she shot us both a ferocious scowl, which was interesting, because I was her boss and one does not scowl at one’s boss unless one finds it expressly unavoidable.
    “Oh Sandy, there you are. Harlan and I were just talking about you,” I chirped.
    He winced and turned slowly. His posture deflated from that of a cock-of-the-walk to a recalcitrant boy. Yeah. Sandy might be just what Harlan needed.
    “You were?” She stepped into the room. Her gaze flicked from me to Harlan to me again.
    “We were discussing you permanently taking on Harlan’s account.”
    “We were?” I loved the squawk in his voice.
    “You were?” She gored Harlan with a gimlet gaze. “My way?” Yeah, Sandy was nothing if not Machiavellian.
    “Or the highway. What do you say, Harlan?”
    “I wanted you.” A wail.
    “I’m no longer an option.” Now that I’d said it, now that the words had come from my mouth, I knew they were true. I’d had it with playin’. I’d had it with disasters and elephants and people who needed freaking harnesses to do their job.
    We had tons of clients who didn’t self-destruct.
    Maybe I would focus on them for a while and hand the circus over to the younger crowd, my hungry associates who were willing to put up with the fan and all its concomitant crapola.
    “Well,” I said, gusting a sigh, feeling strangely relieved. It was the glorious sensation of dancing on air. “I think we’re done here.” I picked up a pile of folders, all the accounts that were giving me ulcers, and I handed them to Sandy. She flipped through them and grinned.
    “We are?” Harlan’s face lit up. Relief washed over him.
    Sandy whirled on him. “No. Not you. In my office. Now. We have some terms to discuss.”
    He paled. “Terms?”
    “Such as keep your paws off my ass.”
    I winced at her tone, but didn’t correct her. Because, after all, he should keep his paws off her ass. He should keep his paws off everybody’s ass.
    I loved that he didn’t talk back. He stared after her as she whirled and breezed from my office with every expectation that he would follow.
    He did, and it occurred to me in a flash…I really needed to add a Sandy to my book.
     
    Marlee caught up with me the next morning. Tracked me down, actually. Stalked me, probably.
    She marched into my office, her hands on her hips in tiny fists, and glowered at me. “You. Me. Coffee. Now,” she snapped, and then she whipped around, knowing I’d follow.
    She said nothing as we took the long ride down in the elevator to my favorite coffee shop on the ground floor. It was also the only coffee shop on the ground floor and the place we usually met. I would have said something, should have said something, but her scorching sideways looks in my direction froze my tongue.
    I’d been thinking about breaking down and calling her. But only because that terrible ache I got whenever I thought of Jimmy was becoming unbearable. When I wasn’t crying or barfing or sleeping, I was mooning over him. And sometimes, even then. I’d been thinking about calling her and beseeching her to give me his number. Even the sound of his voice would help. I was certain of it.
    We walked up to the counter and we waved our cards against the reader. The baristas were already working on our drinks. There was something to be said for continuity in one’s life, at least as far as it related to coffee preferences. Janine and Anthrax always had our drinks