PrivateSector

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"I believe you called me,” I informed the very attractive young lady seated at the desk.

She appeared not to have heard me.

“Excuse me, Miss. Major Sean Drummond… the phone, you called, right?”

She replied, sounding annoyed, “Yes. I was ordered to.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not. You’re not worth getting mad about.”

“I honestly meant to call you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was tired of you anyway.”

She stared into her computer screen. And indeed, she was mad. It occurred to me that dating the boss’s secretary might not have been a good idea. But she was quite good-looking, as I mentioned, with smoldering dark eyes, bewitching lips, and, I recalled, beneath that desk, a pair of splendid legs. Actually, why hadn’t I called her?

I leaned across her desk. “Linda, I had a wonderful time.”

“Of course you did. I didn’t.”

“I’m truly sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Good. I’m not.”

I searched my mind for an appropriate sentiment and finally said, “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

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