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but he was intent on scoring another sushi roll off my thigh.
    “I’ve been trying to crack the Japanese market for two years with no luck,” I heard Mr. Briggs say to the stud from the copy room. “What guarantee can you give me your company can do better?”
    “We have experience in the Asian market, Mr. Briggs,” he said, choosing his words and his sushi with care as he plucked a sliver of toro off my leg.
    I winced and my mouth dropped open. Experience? He had experience all right. He knew how to fuck. So what was he doing here with Mr. Briggs?
    “A Japanese manager won’t research new software on his own,” he continued, “but ask a colleague for a recommendation.”
    “And your company can provide me with such recommendations?” Mr. Briggs asked, curious.
    “Yes. Our strategy is to partner with Japanese insiders familiar with what we call ‘the hidden market.’ My company prides itself on having a strong network of well-informed personal contacts familiar with Japanese business strategies.”
    Listen to that bullshit he was feeding Mr. Briggs. Where did he get off acting like a big shot?
    I’d grant him one thing, though. Up close and personal fit him. The burning in my belly reminded me how personal.
    “It will take more than lunch in a Japanese restaurant to convince me you’ve got these contacts,” Mr. Briggs said, picking up his chopsticks and grabbing a wiggly piece of octopus off my stomach. Yuk. “Though I admit using the body of a beautiful woman to please the eye is innovative.”
    “ Very beautiful,” the stud said, surprising me.
    Beautiful? Me?
    Nah. He didn’t mean it. He was cozying up to Mr. Briggs. That was all.
    They chattered on for endless minutes. Another businessman sat down at our table and ordered a beer. I paid him no mind. I was waiting for the right moment to get Mr. Briggs’s attention. My sixty-minute gig was almost over. Another model would be here soon to replace me.
    Finally, the moment came when I saw the stud from the copy room turn around to order drinks from the kimono-clad waitress.
    “Hey, Mr. Briggs,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth. “It’s me.”
    “Who?” he asked, choking on the octopus.
    “Pepper O’Malley. I used to work for you.” I rushed my words. “I’m a software programmer. Video games, commercials. I’m the whiz kid who rewrote all the codes for the Dragon Beware game after the last guy screwed them up.”
    “I—I have no idea what you’re talking about, young lady.” My ex-boss looked flustered, pulling at his collar, his walruslike double chin tripling in size. “I don’t know you.”
    “Yes, you do. Your office manager fired me after this bozo sitting next to you cornered me in the copy room—”
    Mr. Briggs glared at the customer dribbling soy sauce on my thigh.
    “No, not him ,” I sputtered, giving the jerk a dirty look when he smeared the salty mixture on my leg. “The guy ordering drinks.”
    “How did you know I was here?” Mr. Briggs whispered, the angry look in his eyes telling me he did recognize me.
    “That’s not important. I want my job back—” I clammed up when the stud turned back around and handed Mr. Briggs an Echigo beer.
    “Imported from Japan,” the stud said.
    I rolled my eyes. Mr. Briggs was not a Miller-time kind of guy. Expensive champagne was more his style, according to the accounts I saw on his computer. Very expensive. And here I thought he was a cheapskate. The company was doing better than I imagined.
    Not Mr. Briggs. He looked like he was about to throw up. I wasn’t sure if he looked sick because of what I’d said to him or the ice-cold beer staring him in the face.
    “How come the model can flirt with you and not with me?” said the jealous customer, sticking his chopsticks straight up in his rice bowl. Bad manners in a Japanese restaurant.
    “She’s not flirting with me.” Mr. Briggs put down the beer and wiped the sweat off his face with his monogrammed napkin.