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screen.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œYou slept with someone?” Alana’s high-pitched squeal ricocheted in Quinn’s head, making her flinch.
    â€œJesus, Alana. Can you not scream?” She shook her head, trying to clear the ringing in her ears. “And you say that with such amazement. I wasn’t a virgin, you know.”
    She stopped at the elevator and jabbed the call button repeatedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited. Hopefully, the early hour would mean she wouldn’t have to walk past many people in a dress that was barely decent for a cocktail party, let alone breakfast.
    â€œI know but it’s exciting. You’re getting past your...”
    â€œMental deformities?”
    Pause. “Trust concerns.”
    Quinn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that sounds a whole lot better.”
    â€œSo who is he?”
    â€œA designer for Ricochet Studios.” Quinn drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “Kind of cool that I slept with a guy who worked on ‘Slayer’s Faith.’”
    Alana snorted. “I could make so many jokes right now.”
    â€œDon’t. And, before you ask, no, I’m not going to see him again.”
    Alana sighed. “I get it. Baby steps. Where are you, anyway?”
    â€œI’m still at the hotel.”
    â€œMe, too.” A sly laugh came through the line. “You’re not the only dirty birdie here. I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes and then we can head to my place.”
    Alana’s was only a short walk away. She could shower and change and be at the office in forty-five minutes tops. “Any chance I can borrow something to wear to work?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Quinn stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. Mercifully, the doors closed and no one else had joined her. “See you in a minute.”
    Dropping the phone into her bag, she sagged against the elevator. Drained. Her whole body thrummed with satisfaction but a monster coffee was required to put her in good form. The new guy was starting today, and she would make damn sure her manager knew what a mistake he’d made not choosing her.
    Whoever this guy was, he would not show her up.

4
    â€œD AMN A LANA . D OES SHE not own a single pair of pants?” Quinn muttered under her breath as she walked into the Cobalt & Dane head office, tugging on the hem of another one of her friend’s dresses.
    Thankfully, this little black number covered her more comfortably, although the hem was still above her knees. She’d thrown on a pair of white high-top sneakers and a denim jacket in the hopes of dressing the outfit down. However, judging by the raised eyebrows aimed in her direction, she’d failed.
    â€œYou can’t sit here.” Owen Fletcher, her colleague and friendly office pain in the ass, dropped down into her chair before she had a chance to dump her satchel there. “This desk belongs to a grumpy pink-haired lady who never wears skirts.”
    Smirking, she sipped her giant latte. “That’s got to be the first time you’ve ever called me a lady.”
    â€œSeriously, what’s with the dress? It’s...weird.” He scrunched up his nose as if she’d walked into the office wearing a trash can.
    â€œCan’t I wear a dress without getting hassled?” She tugged on the hem again.
    The tight fit was already bugging her, not to mention the fact that she’d had to go commando because she hadn’t brought a fresh pair of underwear with her. How did women dress this way? Give her a baggy top and a pair of jeans any day.
    â€œPlease come to work in a ‘Space Invaders’ T-shirt tomorrow.” Owen got out of her seat and held it out so she could sit down. “You’re messing with my view of the world.”
    â€œYour view of the world?”
    â€œYes, the things I need to believe in order to know the universe is right. Taxi drivers are