The Affair

Chapter 19.2

Friday, July 8, 2022 – 4:05pm

Friday burns fast. Four o'clock hits at the office, and workers are quick to file out for the weekend.

Fallon's fingers fly across her keyboard, inputting data into forms to prepare a last-minute application filing. She tells herself she needs to hurry. Amy would be there any minute, and she did not want to make her wait.

She gives a quick peep around the cubicle wall, then squeaks.

It's Amy, rounding the corner and strutting her way with a model's swagger. Her black hair sways freely behind her shoulders, unrestricted by her usual ponytail. A white halter dress ropes behind her neck, hanging with a lacy aesthetic, short and flowing as the bottom hem bounces above her knees with her walk. She's fierce stomping around the cubicle wall in her tan leather wedges—admirable even.

Fallon's lips roll, unsure if she could speak first. Amy sits in her chairs with a huff, tossing aside her purse as if it disappointed her. She's agitated, and her cat-eye sunglasses add an extra sharp edge.

"Wow, Amy... y-you look so hot..." Fallon says.

Amy cocks her head, lips curling as the compliment dissolves across her tongue like cotton candy. She flips up her sunglasses, perching them across her hairline.

"Aww, Fallon. How sweet of you to say! But if only I could say the same about you," she says, judgmental eyes scanning Fallon top to bottom now, "You look like a slutty catholic schoolgirl."

Fallon nods, turning away. She looks down to her body, now insecure. It's a simple outfit—a cute one she thought. A navy top, collared and buttoned up, the hems hugging her slim waist as the skinny arm-sleeves cuff at her elbows. It sits over a pleated skirt, short and grey with a white plaid design. Her shoes are black leather flats. Nothing special, but they did work with her outfit.

She fiddles with her fingers, awkward and clueless under the scrutiny. "I-I'm s-sorry..." is all she can think to say.

Amy just rolls her eyes and pulls her phone from her purse. "Whatever. Are we going or what?"

"Oh, yeah! But please just give me, like... um, 20 minutes? I just have one application to file—a-and the client approved the spec super, super late. And I just g-got it. So, uh..." Fallon rambles.

Amy snaps her fingers, shutting her up. "Okay, okay! I get it—I work here too, stupid," Amy quips, straightening her back as she flips out her hair. "Lucky for you Dylan knows how to treat a girl, and I'm very, very satisfied right now." Her hand flutters, brushing off Fallon like a peasant. "Finish your filing, little Fallon. I'll wait. But I won't wait long. Got it?"

Fallon's quick to nod her understanding and return to her work. The cubicle is quiet now, with only the small sounds of Fallon typing and clicking her mouse. Amy leans back, sighing softly as she brings her phone a bit closer. She pulls up a novel, Memoirs of a Geisha, a classic, and Amy's absolute favorite.

Quietly, she reads as Fallon hurries to finish. But in the background, another application runs on Amy's phone. Amy doesn't even think of it—the camera hidden in William's office, in range and feeding off of Amy's hotspot.

She's oblivious, but many videos are uploaded to the SMOL application.

It only takes Fallon 15 minutes to file her application and pop up from her chair. Pleased with the urgency, Amy pats Fallon's head as she passes. They leave the office together, Fallon following Amy's lead all the way to the outside of the building.

The Texas heat swallows them as they step from the indoor frigid air, the chaotic city noises following. Cars stop and go at intersections, honking horns impatiently against the slow traffic. Swathes of people spill into the downtown streets from the tall buildings, crossing each other in fast, agitated movements. Down the street, a construction crew works, adding to the noise with heavy machinery breaking apart chunks of concrete.