The morning comes without me getting any further sleep, because I am scared out of my mind that I will have another dream. I can't keep doing this.
Maybe I will make an appointment with my doctor today, because this can't be normal. But if I admit—even to my doctor—that I'm having dreams like this, won't he think I'm crazy? What if he tries to have me committed or something for… perverted hallucinations? Is that a thing? I should have payed closer attention in my abnormal psychology class in college.
Maybe there is a DSM-5 at the library and I can swing by and pick one up on the way home from work. If I were to do that, it could easily just be attributed to a hobby—research into mental disorders. It is interesting. Lots of people delve into things on the side like that. My father is basically an armchair physicist in his retirement and for no other reason than that he finds it intriguing. And it adds more dimension to his character. I could totally use a side interest in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders to add dimension to mine.
I need a new doctor—a woman. Maybe a woman doctor will understand. But who has time to find a new doctor? I'm sure once I actually find someone with good reviews, it will take weeks to get in for a new patient consultation anyway. And if I keep having these dreams every single night, that is a long time to wait…
No, I can handle this. I have come this far in my life—I have worked this hard—there is no way that this strange phenomenon is going to get the best of me. I don't need a doctor. I don't need medication. I just need one good night's sleep.
Or maybe I really just need to get laid.
I blow out a breath and dry off from my shower, checking the mirror for bags under my eyes, which are obviously there. They have been there for days, but they're growing more obvious.
That's what it is. I just need to get laid. And I totally have time for that, don't I? What am I going to do? Just go waltzing into a bar and ask the first decent looking guy if he'd like to get lucky so that I can stop having wild sex dreams? That will sure help my professional ethos if anyone finds out.
Gods, this is why men hire prostitutes, isn't it? I groan and pull on my clothes for the day. Yeah, men hire prostitutes and get caught and lose their jobs—no not just their jobs, their careers. Because then there are scandalous news stories about it plastered all over the internet, ensuring that they will never hold another respectable position anywhere in their world. That's exactly the opposite of what I need to happen, because right now I'm only an intern who basically makes tea and coffee and files and fetches reports until I can prove myself. There can be no mistakes if I want something better. Möbius' background checks are extensive when it's time for promotion.
Maybe when Lawson takes me out this Friday, it will solve this problem. I don't exactly want to jump into bed with him right away, but there are certainly worse guys. He is handsome. He is successful—he's the son of Mr. Jansen Möbius himself! But I also don't want to seem like I'm easy when he is literally in a position to advance my career. Then it just seems like I'm using him. And I'm definitely not using him. I obviously don't want him thinking he can use me either.
No, if there is any chance that this thing with Lawson could develop into something serious, I can't just sleep with him right away. Maybe I can have my sister pick me a vibrator today instead and drop it by the apartment.
Like a vibrator will make that sexy presence from my dreams disappear… with his growl and his caress and the warm breath of him against my neck. I scoff to myself. How could a sex toy compare with that? But I suppose it's at least worth a shot. You can't fail a background check for owning a vibrator. It's not like they'll be going through the drawers in my apartment or anything.
After getting my makeup on and pulling my long blonde hair into a tasteful, elegant twist without one single hair out of place, I look myself over in the full length mirror one more time. Whoops… almost forgot my Nana's gold locket. I wear it everyday without fail, because it feels like she is always with me. I grab it from the dresser and secure it so that it falls perfectly against my chest in that V left open by my dress shirt with only one button left undone.
Tasteful. Classy. Perfect. With the exception of the bags under my eyes, that is, but thankfully I have an amazing concealer.
"Nana, help me get through this day," I whisper, touching the locket delicately as I glance in the mirror, grab my bag, keys, and phone, and run out the door.
———
As Chief of Operations at Möbius, we rarely see Lawson during the day unless he comes to ask for something personally—which is how I started to realize he was interested in me. He would stop my desk, lean on it, ask for me to bring him coffee at a certain time of day or ask for reports that he could have easily had someone else get for him. Instead, he was seeking me out. And all the others in the office started to notice, too.
"Here comes Lawson," Jay leans over the aisle to whisper, giving me those suggestive, wiggly brows.
Jay is a lot of fun. He has helped show me the ropes, so to speak, since I've only been here for a few months. He is kind and has a great sense of humor, which helps the day go by much more quickly.
I glance over my shoulder and see Lawson rounding the corner, but there is something very serious about his expression, and I know right away he isn't coming to ask for coffee or anything else. This is about business.
"I need all of the staff to join me in the main floor conference room in fifteen minutes. Find a stopping place in whatever job you are on. This is mandatory."
And then he is gone without so much as a glance my way, which makes my heart sink a little bit. I hadn't realized how much I rely on his attention. That's not good. I have to keep my interest in him in check. But that's going to be hard when he is now essentially the balance on the other side of the scale determining my insanity. He is quite possibly the only thing keeping me from losing my mind by falling head over heels for this other guy in my dreams. This fictional character!
So it's settled: I am stopping at the library today to pick up the DSM-5 and however many romance novels I can carry without looking like a total sex addict.