“Be quiet,” Wrigley says and then the door to the showers opens.

Just a fraction of a second later, another door opens from the other side, and I’m wondering how inconspicuous a locked stall door is really going to be if someone walks through here looking for trespassers.

“Who’s there?” the woman’s voice comes, her voice reverberating against the tiled walls.

Wrigley and I hold our breath. The light turns on just as the door to the hallway closes. It sounds like everyone else got out, but Wrigley and I are stuck in here.

Right now, I’m not so worried about anyone else getting caught; I just want to get the hell out of here with Wrigley and not in handcuffs.

“Hello?” the woman calls.

I was really hoping she’d hear the other door close and figure whoever was in here had left, but she’s not giving up so easily. Her shadow is just on the other side of the stall door.

“Thank god,” Wrigley says.

“Who’s in there?”

“I had to use the bathroom and then the lights went off. I couldn’t see anything.”

“Who do you work for? Why are you in here so late?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Wrigley says.

“I’m Paula Owen, I run the company that owns this floor,” the woman answers. “Who are you and why are you in this bathroom so late?”

Wrigley turns and puts her feet on the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss Owen,” she says. “I didn’t know that was you. I’m Janet, one of the new assistants. This is kind of embarrassing, but I kind of have a thing about using public restrooms. It’s a privacy thing. I don’t like going where I think other people are going to, you know, hear anything.”

I really hope that works.

“Janet,” the woman repeats. “Whose assistant are you?”

I whisper, “Intern.”

“I’m sorry,” Wrigley says. “I meant intern.”

There’s a long pause.

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here after ten,” the woman chastises.

“I know,” Wrigley says, “I’m very sorry about that. I just get really uncomfortable if I think anyone’s going to hear me.”

There’s another long pause.

“Well, all right,” the woman says. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t, Miss Owen,” Wrigley answers. “I promise.”

With that, the woman turns and walks away. Neither Wrigley nor I move until we hear the door to the pool area open and close again.

“You’re going to have to move like nobody’s business,” she says. “Go and wait at the other door. I’ll see if I can distract her until you get on the elevator. Just wait for me outside and have a cab waiting for us, all right?”

“All right,” I answer, and with that, we move.

I wait at the door to the hallway until I hear the other door open and Wrigley thanking the woman again for being so understanding. I’m out the door and not looking back on my way down the hall.

I turn down the other hallway and make it to the elevators without incident. When I get to the bottom floor, though, the guards have a few of the people I hardly recognize with clothes stopped, questioning them.

I’d love to jump in and save them, but I have no idea what cover story they’re using and I’m pretty sure that I’d only make the situation worse for them, so I just try my luck walking past when I think they’re not looking.

“He was in the meeting, he’ll tell you,” some fucking idiot tells one of the security guards.

I stop walking. Sure, I might be able to get out those doors and outrun the guards, but that would put Wrigley in serious shit when she tried to come out.

“What’s going on?” I ask the guards.

“Why don’t you tell us?”

“We just finished up a meeting,” I say. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that Mrs. Owen came through here just a few minutes ago, saying that she heard there were some unauthorized people up on thirty-six and what do you know? A few minutes later, we’ve got a couple dozen people filing out of the elevator. Where’s Miss Bliley?”

“She had to make a pit stop,” I answer. “Look, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but we just finished up with our meeting, it’s late, I’m tired and I’m sure we’d all just like to go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah?” the shorter security guard asks. “What was the meeting about?”

The people the guards stopped obviously gave some specific answer to that question, putting me in an almost impossible position.

“I can’t tell you that,” I answer.

“What do you mean you can’t tell us that?” the taller security guard asks, resting his hand on his belt.

“Have either of you ever heard of proprietary information?” I ask. “Not only could I lose my job if I disclosed the nature of the meeting to anyone not authorized, I could also get sued. I’m really not willing to risk that just because Mrs. Owen is paranoid that she’s losing her grip on the company.”

Hell, if I’m going to make shit up, I may as well take it as far as I can.

The guards look at each other.

“She’s losing the company?” the shorter guard asks. “These people said the meeting was about profit margins.”

“I’m sure they did,” I say. Is a wink too much? Yeah, a wink is too much. “And I never said that she was losing her grip on the company. Anyway, I can’t discuss it. Can we go, or are you going to continue to waste everyone’s time?”

“Well, if it was just a meeting,” the taller security guard starts, “then why did most of the people who came down run when we asked them to stop?”

Fucking amateurs.

“Probably because they didn’t want you reporting who was here at the meeting. Look guys,” I say in my good-old-boy tone, “we don’t want to make this situation awkward for anyone, but I can’t have Mrs. Owen coming back on any of our people, either. That doesn’t seem fair, I mean these are just good, hardworking people trying to do their job—just like the two of you. So, what do you say we just keep names and faces out of it?”

The truth is that, unless everyone except for Wrigley is a complete dolt, names and faces aren’t going to mean jack shit to anyone in this building, but it’s a good line.

“You know,” I say, “after things get switched around upstairs, I’d really hate to see the boss have to bring on new staff.”

The guards look at each other and then at me.

“All right,” the tall one says.

“We’ve got your back, Mr. Dur—I mean, sir.”

The elevator dings, and I’m praying that it’s anyone but Mrs. Owen who walks out. To my temporary relief, it’s Wrigley.

That relief is temporary because she’s not up to speed on the bullshit I’ve been feeding these guys.

“Hey there, boss,” I say. “We had a little misunderstanding down here, but not to worry. Our friends here don’t know anything about the meeting.”

“That’s right, ma’am,” the tall one says.

“None of our business anyway,” the short one chimes in.

“Good to hear,” Wrigley says, doing a decent job of hiding her confusion.

“You ready to get out of here?” I ask her.

“Yeah,” she says. “Have a good night, guys.”

We keep straight faces long enough to get into a cab, but as soon as that car door is closed, we’re in hysterics.

*                    *                    *

Back at my apartment, and Wrigley’s asking if she can sleep on the couch. I don’t really have a problem with it, especially after the fucking insane night we’ve both had.

That’s not what happens, though.

Before I know it, we’re both sitting on the couch and she’s running her fingers through my hair, telling me that she can’t remember having such a fun night and I’m having trouble disagreeing with her.

Yeah, I’m thinking about Leila, but the shine is off the apple. She left without so much as a smile and a wave, and I’m done feeling like shit for wanting to stop feeling like shit.

Wrigley’s kissing me a minute later and I’m not telling her to stop. My arms are around her, and I’m wondering what I was so afraid of. Wrigley wanted to stick with me even while I was trying to figure things out with Leila and, while that’s not perfect and her motivations were hardly pure, I’m sick of not being able to sleep at night because the woman I cared so much for just took off while I was sitting alone in a bar waiting for one last night together.