Chapter 23

"Good morning, this is Shauna speaking. How may I direct your call?"

A rough male voice intoned, "Could I speak with Rick Mazzetti, please?"

"I'll check to see if he's in," Shauna replied. "Let me put you on hold for a minute."

Rick Mazzetti was the director of chemistry; Shauna knew it was very likely that at this early hour, he had not yet arrived at work. But just to make sure, she put in a call to Stephanie Cohen, Rick's secretary.

"Morning, Stephanie. This is Shauna. Is Rick in yet? I have someone on the line who wants to speak with him."

"Talk about an early bird," Stephanie laughed. "It's not even eight yet. Rick probably won't be here for another hour. I just got in myself. Did the caller say who he was?"

"No, he didn't. This guy sounds like he's still half awake. Should I put him through to you?"

"Yes, go right ahead. I'll handle it from here."

Once off the phone, Shauna brought up her daily calendar, shaking her head at the busy day that lay ahead of her, fresh off a relaxing Memorial Day weekend. She had driven down to Baltimore to visit her aunt, along with her mother and the two youngest boys. At Ruby's suggestion, Shauna had shared with her aunt the details of the situation with Mark. Her aunt, more outspoken by nature than Ruby, had not minced words, and had given ample reinforcement to the notion that Shauna needed to put a stop to the affair. Still, this had its intended effect on her; Shauna was more certain than ever of the proper course of action.

In general, Shauna's frame of mind was much improved from a week ago. She'd watched five workdays fly past in the absence of early-morning love encounters. Early in the week, she felt disoriented and lonely. But by the time Friday rolled around, things were different. The routine had been broken, and she was well into the process of creating a different routine. She was beginning to enjoy sleeping in a little later, taking her time in getting to work, and settling into the workday in a manner that was devoid of the craziness she'd been experiencing on a nonstop basis for the past several months.

Since it was Mark's first day back at work after his trip, Shauna had arrived that morning with the expectation of telling Mark that they would have to cool it. She had a speech composed and committed to memory. But Mark's behavior had taken her by surprise, and the opportunity had been lost, at least for today.

They had met in the nursing room. Mark had said very little. Instead, he'd forced her down onto the sofa, hurriedly removed her clothes, and physically ravished her like never before. He'd been assertive, aggressive, even demanding. And yet, at the same time, his demeanor was business-like, almost robotic. Shauna didn't know what to make of the switch, but it was apparent to her that something within Mark had changed over the past week. In spite of herself, she had to allow that she found it exciting. Sometimes, she enjoyed having a man take total control. Even now, seated at her desk thirty minutes later, her flesh was still tingling. Overwhelmed with sensation, she'd been unable to have her long-overdue talk with Mark. And prolonging matters for at least one more day was now unavoidable. Her focus was now on tomorrow. She hoped he'd give her the chance to say what was on her mind, and that she'd be able to avoid giving in to temptation.

A little smile materialized across Shauna's lips as she dwelt further upon this morning's frolic. But she quickly forced it off her face, chiding herself, Don't lose sight of the big picture.

Shauna was not a procrastinator; the progress she'd made in life had largely been the result of doing things when they needed to be done. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, I'll tell him.

A shuffling sound caused her to glance upward from her seat. Moving past her through the lobby was an enormous, untidy hulk of a human being. As he typically did two or three times each workday, Bonz was making his way through the vicinity, and Shauna knew it was for the sole purpose of ogling her. She studiously avoided making any sort of eye contact with him, but she could feel his eyes burning holes in her attire.

That man gives me the creeps, Shauna thought as she began to tackle the day.

Mark unlocked the door to his office, fresh off another whirlwind lovemaking session with Shauna, which he'd already put behind him. He knew that after a week away from the office and the lab, his plate would be full. All he wanted was to throw himself into his work, and let everything that had occurred in the interim lie dormant in his mind until he felt ready to process it with the required degree of perspective. But no sooner had he flipped on the light when a breathless Bonz appeared, practically foaming at the mouth. "How was it? Were the girls hot?"

Drawing a deep breath, Mark counted out a few seconds before answering. He squelched the urge to curtly dismiss Bonz without further dialogue. He realized then how true his earlier words were; there truly was no one else in reasonable proximity with whom he could share his Tijuana adventures.

"It was exactly like Gary described it. It was definitely a week I'll never forget. Anything beyond that," Mark hesitated, peering out the door and down the hallway, "will have to wait. I've got a lot to do this morning, and this is neither the time nor the place."

"But those caramel-colored pussies..."

Mark couldn't help but laugh out loud at the singularity of Bonz's mental focus. "Look, Bonz. I'll tell you everything. But later. Why don't you come back right before quitting time? That way, I can do the story justice."

"Okay," the ever-compliant Bonz replied, shuffling his feet. "I'll come back." As ignorant of social conventions as he was, all it took was a mild figurative slap on the wrist to get Bonz to fall into place. "But you'll tell me everything then, won't you?"

"I'll tell you everything you'd want to know, I promise."

Having escaped Bonz's profane interrogation, at least for now, Mark settled down into his chair and turned to professional concerns. He checked his email and found well over a hundred new messages. He negotiated through them fairly rapidly; most were deleted upon sight. He brought up his calendar. It showed a week that was relatively free of meetings; this sat well with him. Getting up for a moment, he took a quick jaunt out into the lab, and spoke with his two associates. Both had managed their affairs quite well in his absence. Mark was relieved that they had managed to not blow up the lab.

Next on his agenda was the managing of his trip expenses. Anything work-related, of course, would be paid by the company. He had a corporate Amex card which he used to pay for lodging and meals. He'd eaten a few meals in Tijuana, however, and of course, he paid for those out of his own pocket. "I wonder if they'll complain about having to pay for less than the usual meal allowance," he mused.

To document his expenses, he needed to produce receipts. He'd filed them away in an envelope in his briefcase. He brought them out, looked them over, and tallied them up. There was a paper documentation form that needed to be filed along with the receipts; Rick Mazzetti, who happened to be Mark's boss, would need to sign off on it. It had been awhile since Mark had traveled on business, and he didn't have any documentation forms handy. He picked up the phone, figuring that Stephanie, Rick's secretary, would have a ready supply of the paperwork.

"Hiya, Steph," Mark greeted her cheerily in his typical informal manner.

"Hi, yourself," Stephanie replied. "How was San Diego? Bring back a nice tan?"

"Hardly," Mark laughed. "They didn't have sun lamps in the convention center, you know."

"Yeah, right. I'm sure you managed to sneak away from the convention center more often than you'll admit. And speaking of suntans ... did you get an invitation to the Andersons' pool party?" Mark had a secondary, away-from-work connection with Stephanie; her husband, Brian, was the nephew of Beth Anderson, Julie's best friend.

"We did get one. We'll probably be there," Mark offered, trying to sound at least a little enthusiastic about the prospect of attending a party he was already dreading. "What about you?"

"We're definitely going. Remember the party last year? The pool volleyball game? I thought you and Brian were gonna spike each other to death."

"I remember," Mark recalled with a laugh. "Listen ... here's why I called. Do you have any of those expense documentation forms? I seem to be all out of them."

"You mean you didn't call just to say hi to your favorite secretary?" Mark chuckled upon hearing her reply; this was as flirtatious as this very married woman ever got.

"You're in luck," Stephanie went on. "I've got a bundle of them. In fact, I'm headed down your way. I need to pick up a few supplies in the copy room. Want me to bring you a few?"

"That would be great," Mark replied appreciatively. He liked Stephanie, and testing the limits of her flirtatiousness was a long-running endeavor of his. Of course, she was his boss's secretary. And she was related by marriage to his wife's best friend. And she was, by all accounts, very happily married. As a result, she was as off-limits as a woman could possibly be. Given Mark's recent pursuits, the very concept of an attractive woman being off-limits was foreign, and a little unsettling, to him. And make no mistake about it ... Stephanie Cohen was a very attractive woman.

In her late twenties, she could have passed for a few years younger. She was tall and slender; only a little bit shorter than Mark, perhaps five-ten or so. She had fair skin and delicate facial features which surrounded lush brown eyes. Her most striking feature was her hair. Waist-length, and the darkest brown imaginable without actually being black, it was usually kept straight, unadorned and unconfined, its sheer volume generating enough attention without excessive accentuation. Her attire, while never revealing, often skirted the outer boundaries of business-appropriate. However, as she peeked into Mark's office, paperwork in hand, she was wearing simple black pants which highlighted her stately long legs. A white ruffled blouse surrounded an ample bust.

"Here ya go," she said, placing the forms on his desk. "That should last you for a good long while."

"Thanks, Steph," he smiled.

"By the way," Stephanie said as she moved away toward the door of his office, "some guy was trying to reach Rick on the phone this morning, and he asked if you work here."

Mark looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Who was he? What did he want to know?"

"I have no idea. He called the front desk first. Shauna put him through to me. He asked if Rick was in. I said he wasn't. Then, he asked me if Mark Baxter works here. Of course, I said yes. He didn't say much more, and I connected him to Rick's voice mail."

"I wish I could tap in to Rick's voice mail right about now."

"I wouldn't worry about it. He's probably a headhunter, or some wacky salesperson. Rick will just blow him off."

Mark watched Stephanie's tush bouncing up and down as she headed away down the hall. Paranoia was becoming more and more pervasive within Mark's mind. What the hell was that phone call about, he wondered uneasily.