she nor Einstein was capable of forgetting Chris.
On Wednesday she sat in front of her terminal at work and reflected on her dismal situation. Even her appearance had suffered. She had rolled out of bed at the last possible moment, throwing on the simplest outfit she owned and giving her hair only a cursory brush before heading for her car. Worry about Einstein was keeping her up at night. Worry, and other things.
Last night she’d dreamed about Chris, a particularly vivid dream that caused her to wake in a tangle of sweat-dampened sheets. The harder she tried to forget about it, the more often it came back to her, playing over and over in her mind like a movie on perpetual rewind. The graphic scenes, and her reaction to them, sent her logical mind into a tailspin. Even the antiseptic atmosphere of Sheffield’s data-entry department couldn’t drive those images from her head.
“Chris Sheffield …”
Lord, Melanie thought glumly, now I’m even
hearing
his name.
“That’s right. Chris Sheffield.”
She
had
heard his name. For one horrible moment she imagined someone had read her incriminating thoughts. But it was only Shelley Perkins, two desks over, relating the latest gossip.
“I heard he’s come in late every day this week, looking like something the cat dragged in. Bill—you know my friend Bill in finance?—well, he said when Chris came in yesterday morning he hadn’t even shaved.”
Her neighbor Rhonda Macauley tapped her plump, manicured fingers against her chin. “Really? And he’s usually so immaculate,” she said. “What do you suppose he’s been up to?”
“Doesn’t take much imagination. Some new conquest, no doubt. Or several. Who knows?”
Melanie’s hands stilled above the keyboard, and despite her better judgment, she found herself straining to overhear their conversation.
Rhonda spoke. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he’s been out with a different woman every night of the week. He has no scruples, none whatsoever,” she finished, her voice thrilling with innuendo.
“That’s not true.”
Two sets of eyes swung toward Melanie.
Damn
, she thought,
why’d I say that
?
Shelley and Rhonda’s surprised expressions told her that they were wondering the same thing. Shelley spoke first, peering at Melanie through her glasses. “Did you say something, Melanie?”
Keep quiet
, Melanie’s inner voice warned. Yet how could she sit idly by and not defend the man who’d spent most of his free time getting spare parts for Einstein? “I said that’s not true. About Chris, I mean.”
“Is that so?”
Melanie squared her shoulders. “Yes. I mean, you have to think about it scientifically. Chris may behandsome, and popular, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s a … a …”
“Casanova?” Shelley supplied.
“Well, yes,” Melanie agreed, pleased Shelley was following her discussion. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so badly after all. “Consider the evidence. You haven’t actually seen him out with all these women, have you?”
Shelley looked at Melanie over the rim of her glasses. “No, I haven’t.”
“In addition, no one you know has seen him out with these women, have they?”
“Well, no, I guess they haven’t,” Shelley answered.
“Then, logically, you can’t conclude that he’s gone out with these alleged women, or even that he’s gone out with anyone at all.”
Rhonda shook her head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Melanie had a crush on Chris herself.”
“That’s not true,” Melanie stated. “I was only pointing out the logical—”
“Now, now,” Shelley interrupted. “Having a crush on Chris Sheffield is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But I don’t—”
“Of course you don’t,” Rhonda intoned, patting her arm. “And don’t you worry. We know what it’s like to be young and in love. Your secret is safe with us.”
Melanie turned away, her cheeks burning. She tried to cover her embarrassment by concentrating
On Wednesday she sat in front of her terminal at work and reflected on her dismal situation. Even her appearance had suffered. She had rolled out of bed at the last possible moment, throwing on the simplest outfit she owned and giving her hair only a cursory brush before heading for her car. Worry about Einstein was keeping her up at night. Worry, and other things.
Last night she’d dreamed about Chris, a particularly vivid dream that caused her to wake in a tangle of sweat-dampened sheets. The harder she tried to forget about it, the more often it came back to her, playing over and over in her mind like a movie on perpetual rewind. The graphic scenes, and her reaction to them, sent her logical mind into a tailspin. Even the antiseptic atmosphere of Sheffield’s data-entry department couldn’t drive those images from her head.
“Chris Sheffield …”
Lord, Melanie thought glumly, now I’m even
hearing
his name.
“That’s right. Chris Sheffield.”
She
had
heard his name. For one horrible moment she imagined someone had read her incriminating thoughts. But it was only Shelley Perkins, two desks over, relating the latest gossip.
“I heard he’s come in late every day this week, looking like something the cat dragged in. Bill—you know my friend Bill in finance?—well, he said when Chris came in yesterday morning he hadn’t even shaved.”
Her neighbor Rhonda Macauley tapped her plump, manicured fingers against her chin. “Really? And he’s usually so immaculate,” she said. “What do you suppose he’s been up to?”
“Doesn’t take much imagination. Some new conquest, no doubt. Or several. Who knows?”
Melanie’s hands stilled above the keyboard, and despite her better judgment, she found herself straining to overhear their conversation.
Rhonda spoke. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he’s been out with a different woman every night of the week. He has no scruples, none whatsoever,” she finished, her voice thrilling with innuendo.
“That’s not true.”
Two sets of eyes swung toward Melanie.
Damn
, she thought,
why’d I say that
?
Shelley and Rhonda’s surprised expressions told her that they were wondering the same thing. Shelley spoke first, peering at Melanie through her glasses. “Did you say something, Melanie?”
Keep quiet
, Melanie’s inner voice warned. Yet how could she sit idly by and not defend the man who’d spent most of his free time getting spare parts for Einstein? “I said that’s not true. About Chris, I mean.”
“Is that so?”
Melanie squared her shoulders. “Yes. I mean, you have to think about it scientifically. Chris may behandsome, and popular, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’s a … a …”
“Casanova?” Shelley supplied.
“Well, yes,” Melanie agreed, pleased Shelley was following her discussion. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so badly after all. “Consider the evidence. You haven’t actually seen him out with all these women, have you?”
Shelley looked at Melanie over the rim of her glasses. “No, I haven’t.”
“In addition, no one you know has seen him out with these women, have they?”
“Well, no, I guess they haven’t,” Shelley answered.
“Then, logically, you can’t conclude that he’s gone out with these alleged women, or even that he’s gone out with anyone at all.”
Rhonda shook her head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Melanie had a crush on Chris herself.”
“That’s not true,” Melanie stated. “I was only pointing out the logical—”
“Now, now,” Shelley interrupted. “Having a crush on Chris Sheffield is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But I don’t—”
“Of course you don’t,” Rhonda intoned, patting her arm. “And don’t you worry. We know what it’s like to be young and in love. Your secret is safe with us.”
Melanie turned away, her cheeks burning. She tried to cover her embarrassment by concentrating
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