I walk back out of the bathroom to find Mr. GQ standing at his desk—at least I think it’s his desk. He looks like he belongs here. Realising I’m staring at him again, I look back down at my phone. “I’m just going to call for an Uber and be on my way. Thanks for whatever it is you did for me last night.” “No,” he says, staring straight at me. I swear he can see right into my soul; his stare is penetrating… mmm, penetrating. Damn it, now I’m thinking of him penetrating in other ways. Shaking my head, I question him, “No? What do you mean, no?” “Exactly that. No, you won’t be getting an Uber
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