Blindfolded Innocence Read Online Free PDF

moved away.   Olivia walked me out and offered to call a cab.   I waved off her offer and pulled my heels off, starting the drunken stumble home.

 

     
    CHAPTER 7

     

     

     
    In every successful swinger relationship there must be a set of rules so that everyone knows their place, and so that no one is offended or taken advantage of.   Different couples practice different rules depending on their own preferences.

 
    CHAPTER 8

     

     
    Tuesday.   10am.  

     
    The Dupont / Murray file sat harmlessly enough in the center of my desk.   I walked in my office and stopped short, staring at it.   I instantly knew it didn't belong; it was Red, instead of the Blue or Green folders that were used for civil litigation or corporate filings.   I picked it up hesitantly and thumbed through it.   Immediately I could tell it was a divorce file - Custody and Division of Assets were prominent tabs.   I closed the file and tapped it on my desk, thinking.   What to do….

     
    I could call Ancient Dorothy, tell her that a file has been mis-delivered, but that was just silly.   I was less than 20 feet from the East Wing.   I could just walk over there and deliver it to the first secretary I saw.   It would take less than a minute, and then the file would be properly handled.   It was the obvious and responsible course of action.

     
    Except that Broward doesn't want you going to the East Wing, my conscience nagged at me with a know-it-all tone.   What am I, five? I countered, getting irritated at my conscience.   I'm perfectly capable of returning a file without getting into any trouble.

     
    Decision made, I grabbed the file and strode out of my office, ducking past Sheila and practically jogging past the remaining open doors.   I felt like the red folder was a giant LOOK AT ME sign advertising my destination.   Which, of course, it kind of was.   I ducked the folder under my arm and willed myself to be invisible.   My concern was unnecessary, no one even looked up, everyone absorbed in the ever-present pile of work.   Broward being out of town didn't mean the presses stopped.

     
    I took an unexpected detour into the restrooms located just to the right of the elevators, and took an appraisal of myself in the mirror above the sink.   The light in the bathroom was muted, but it was bright enough to show me that it was not my best day.   Whether intentional or not, my knowledge that Broward would not be in this week had caused me to dress down, and not put as much effort into my appearance.   I was wearing khakis, a pressed white button-up shirt, and one of my new pairs of sensible, low, open-toed heels.   My hair was, as always, up in a bun, and I had opted for glasses instead of my normal contacts.   Some might think of glasses as sexy.   Those people haven't seen my glasses.

     
    At age six I started wearing glasses.   By age twelve they were officially coke bottles.   Around that age I start wearing contacts, and the ribbings from classmates dropped off.   Slightly.   I bring in that background information to let you know that me wearing glasses does not in any way increase my sexual intensity.

     
    Getting back to my appearance, I had neglected to put on makeup, which mean I had pale, untouched skin and dark circles under my eyes.   I knelt and opened up the sink cabinet and fished around behind the tampon box, reaching into the dark depths and feeling blindly until my hand bumped against what I was looking for, my small cloth makeup bag.  

     
    My first day I had packed an emergency makeup kit - one that includes mascara, lip-gloss and concealer.   I had stored it here in case I ever needed to freshen up before a big meeting, or hadn't had time to "do my face" before work.   I sent a silent "thank you" up to God for blessing me with such incredible foresight, and hauled myself back up to a standing position.

     
    Three minutes later I looked reasonably presentable.   I still had my coke