I couldn't handle it.I called Rachel, who answered quickly. "If you haven't eaten, my other girl friends want to meet you. Would you like to come for Pizza?" My God, you are such a sick bastard. How could I come over there and disturb your harem?" She laughed, "I'm glad you called. Nothing in my house to eat. See you shortly."Get this. Rachel came in, wearing her brief shorts and skimpy T-shirt. Not exactly a role model for the young girls. Within minutes, they were in the kitchen chatting away and making stuff to go with the Pizza. They were seriously making things happen.Cathy came over to me and said, "Would you like a martini?" Remember how?" I have the recipe."A minute later, she placed my martini in exactly the same place. It was perfect."Brianna grinned and put little crackers in my mouth as she prepared the salad. I saw her wash each individual lettuce leaf and dry it with a towel. I almost wept as I remembered my wife's doing the same thing for years.Rachel said, "You may. Before then my resume sparkled with puffed up work experience from Hot Dog on a Stick, Go-Go Service Station and a couple of Dickens' worthy fables that passed as references. Judge me accordingly. A month in, Matt and I were assigned to the same team at one of those corporate charities, photo ops where everyone turns up wearing overalls and pretends to build a house while the local media shoots footage. Unsurprisingly, Matt spoke a total of three sentences to me and I swear two weren’t even English. You see, Matt’s a true professional, whereas I turn off the industry lingo the second the clock strikes five. I’m a reformed social misfit turn pint sized mocha princess. I’m not one of the tight sweater wearing types who fawned over him, but these women didn’t seem to be his type either. He ignored them. Hell, after lasik surgery, ten years of carb restriction, and an orthodontist bill large enough to kill a horse, my chances of scoring a mercy glance were looking good….or so I told.
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