Symptoms of what, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what else to call them, and I refused to believe that I was having a bad day. I had bad days often ...nough that it didn’t bother me anymore. Humans gotta human after all. Shit happened, and life moved on. But this could not be a bad day. My bad days could not start getting this bad, otherwise, I’d have to start calling them worse days.Leaning back in my swivel chair, I closed down the internet and sighed, doubting very much that, at twenty-eight, I. Finally though, I let him come up for air.I was pleased to discover that no matter how contrived the embrace was that my body was having an effect on his. I could tell that from his slightly glazed eyes and even more so from the erection that was mashed against my thigh. Still, business before pleasure and all that. His whisper drove any thoughts of sex away. Well, immediate sex anyway."Bridget, Mister Emerson sent me." That set off alarm bells. Jorge Emerson was the Assistant Economic Attache.. More

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