The Washingtonienne by Jessica Cutler Read Free Book Online

you
entertaining
them in your cubicle.”
    What!
    “You should not encourage any of them to talk to you while you’re working,” she continued. “Look, I know how these guys are. They’ll stand there and talk to you all day if you let them. If you’re interested in any of the guys in the office, you should go for it, but I don’t want them interfering with your work.”
    Go for it?
    “Don’t worry, Kate,” I told her before returning to my desk. “I didn’t come here to meet guys.”
    Seriously, I didn’t.
    I was never tempted to date in the workplace, especially on the Hill. Not just for professional reasons, but because the guys here really weren’t my type. I always hated those obnoxious poli-sci majors in college, who ran for student government and tried to schmooze me to write up their fraternity’s charity work in the student newspaper.
    Take one of these bottom-feeders, put him through grad school, sell him a cheap suit, and you had your typical Capitol Hill male. According to April and Laura, these guys watched themselves on C-SPAN when they got home from work at night, bored their dates with anecdotes about the congressmen they worked for, and had framed pictures of themselves with people like Dan Quayle. They wore their BlackBerries
and
cell phones clipped to their belts, and some of them even wore
bow ties
. But worst of all, they made less than six figures, which was so not sexy.

Chapter 8
    I was looking forward to my lunch date with Fred if only because I hadn’t eaten a decent meal since New York. I was starving by the time Fred arrived at April’s on Thursday afternoon.
    He looked around the apartment, which was decorated in her taste: sky-blue walls and brightly colored Ikea furniture, with plenty of junk from Crate & Barrel thrown in. He sat on the red foam couch in the living room without saying a word.
    “I hope you didn’t expect me to cook anything,” I said, breaking the silence. “We can’t use the oven because I’m keeping my summer wardrobe stored in there.”
    I sat down next to him.
    “So where are you taking me?” I asked.
    “We can’t go out to lunch,” he told me.
    I waited for further explanation.
    “We have to be discreet, and I can’t risk being seen with someone like you.”
    Someone like me?
Part of me wanted to call his office and tell them that the people sitting at the conference table right now should know it was streaked with bodily fluids.
    What was he so afraid of? Didn’t every respectable married man keep a mistress? I would let him finish saying whatever else he had to say. Then I would run up to him and kick him in the balls.
    “Since I can’t take you out anywhere or offer you any kind of a future,” he went on, “I would feel guilty seeing you if I didn’t compensate you in some way.”
    Compensate?
    “You mean, like, money?” I asked.
    “I’d like to give you an allowance, and whatever financial assistance you need,” he explained. “I know that you’re interning and you could probably use the money. It’s only fair.”
    I wanted to know how much, but felt it would be tacky to ask.
    “Sure,” I said. “That makes sense.”
    At least I knew where I stood with him. No dating, no future. Just Fred and me, and some help with the bills. This was probably the most honest relationship I would ever have in my life.
    He finished quickly, and I wondered how much five minutes of missionary was worth to him. But he didn’t get up from the bed to leave. He lay next to me, drawing me close in his arms.
    Snuggling up to Fred felt unnatural. He was still a stranger to me, and I didn’t have “snuggly” feelings for him yet. This was false intimacy, and I didn’t like it. It was almost offensive, in the same way that a bad liar insulted your intelligence.
    But maybe if he felt this comfortable with me, then I could stand to open myself up to him in return. I put my head on his shoulder and listened to him talk. He was complaining mostly, about