When I open my bedroom door to Tony, it's not the Tony of seven years ago. He still fills out a muscle shirt and pajama bottoms (now white with blue stripes) as well as ever, although he's maybe huskier than he was then. His face is manlier, because it was still boyish at 32. The floppy, wavy hair, not all that different from Anthony's at 11, has been trimmed and shaved so that he finds it painfully short. The puppy-dog brown eyes still smile at me, but they've seen more pain and sadness, some of which he's caused.

God, how I love this man! He was cute, handsome, and hunky then, but there's so much more to him now. Or maybe I just see more because I know him so well.

It's not going to be easy to step back to that time when I'd known him just a few hours. But I will do my best to pretend. After all, if I could pretend that we were Ingrid & Anthony and only saw each other a few days a year, then I suppose I can pretend this.

"Did you have a bad dream, Honey?"

"No. I didn't even get to sleep."
"You! I thought it was Jonathan."

And from there, we try to recreate the rest of that conversation. It's not like it's a classic movie we've memorized, but we do our best. We both smile a little when he eagerly tells me I can "go be president someplace else." Because that's exactly what I did, with his help and encouragement.

And when I talk about my husband leaving me, he gives me a knowing look. That was the moment when he thought I was divorced, although I was merely trying to get divorced at that point. And obviously none of my three marriages turned out to be as easy to end as I hoped. Hopefully when I marry an appropriate person, it will be for keeps, fourth time's the charm.

He keeps trying to talk me out of sleeping with Grant, especially before I know about the promotion. I'm not sure when I'm supposed to "go off script." Or if he's going to. Clearly, he wants us to play it as if he's found the best way to persuade me not to sleep with Grant.

Then he strides over to his room and, talking with his hands as well as with his big Brooklyn mouth, he says, "Let me tell you one thing, Angela. You'd never catch me doin' somethin' dumb like sleepin' with my employer! Huh!"

And then Ingrid feeds me the next line, "You could do worse."

"Hey, I didn't mean—I mean, no offense. You're great-lookin'."

"Thank you."

"But you're my boss."

I step closer. "What if I weren't?"

"But you are."

"Tony, I could've fired you tonight, but I didn't."

"Yeah, and I appreciate that."

"You see, you made this into something personal, by telling me who you think I can and can't sleep with."

"Not telling, just, just suggesting."

"What if you wanted to sleep with me?"

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"What if we wanted to sleep with each other? And someone told you not to."

"I don't need someone to tell me. I have a conscience."

"OK, fair enough. Maybe I don't. Or not like yours. I think as long as it's consensual, and as long as jobs don't depend on whether the two people sleep together, then workplace romances are fine."

"Oh, you do. Well, uh, that's, um, a very interesting perspective."

I'm standing very close to Tony in his doorway, having moved gradually closer to him. I'm not touching him though. Now I whisper, "You're better-looking than Grant. Now if only you were fun to be with and a great dancer, I might be very tempted to sleep with you, instead of Grant. If you didn't have scruples about sleeping with your boss."

"Oh," he breathes.

Then I back away and let him digest that. I can feel his eyes on my tush, as if he can see through the blue robe. I turn around and say, "What are you looking at?"

He blushes, grins, hesitates, and says, "Something nice."

Then I crook my finger at him. He hesitates, looks around the hall as if expecting one of the kids to come out of their bedrooms to use the bathroom or get a midnight snack, and then comes closer. We're back at my door.

"I gotta warn you, Angela."

"About what, Tony?"

"Once you have me, you probably won't want anyone else."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Poor Grant."

"Yes, poor Grant."

Then we kiss in my doorway, hesitantly, since we've known each other less than a day.

"Come in, Tony. We shouldn't stand out here in the hall all night."

"OK." His voice is a little shaky, like he's nervous about our first time together, no matter how smooth and confident he pretends to be.

I go over and sit on the bed. He closes the door behind him and then looks around. "This is nice. Very feminine."

It's less feminine than it was in those days, a little less pink and lacy. But it does suddenly feel odd to have someone so masculine in here. Well, not that Michael isn't masculine, but not so obviously.

"Thank you."

"It's not what I pictured."
"Oh? Did you think it would be tweed and stripes?"

"Well, no, but you're a high-powered businesswoman. Bossy. A vice-president, maybe soon a president."

"Is that how you see me?"
"I don't know. I just met you, didn't I? But you did get me to come in your bedroom after I said it was a dumb idea."

"Tony, you are perfectly free to walk out that door and we can both pretend this never happened."

"I know. But maybe I like you having you boss me around."

I smile. "Oh, I see."

"I mean, within reason. No whips and chains please."

"What about Cool Whip?"

"You want me to go get some from downstairs?"
"Unfortunately, the refrigerator is a little empty."

"Yeah, I saw that. I'll go grocery shopping tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Hey, that's what you hired me for."

"Right. Uh, just so you're totally clear about this, I didn't hire you for whatever happens in here tonight."

"Hey, you couldn't afford to pay me for that. This is out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're too kind."
"Yeah, I know."

I pat the bed next to me and he sits down. For a moment we sit there like two shy, self-conscious teenagers on a first date. It really does feel like we're starting from almost the beginning.

"So, uh, what do you like? You like to make out awhile? You like lots of foreplay? You like a little romance? Or you like to go right to it? What?"

"Well, it depends." I wonder if I should tell him I've only been with my husband, but I really don't feel like explaining that situation. "When I, when I go on a date, I like to be wined & dined. Taken dancing, given flowers, all of that."

"That's nice," he says sincerely. "Sorry we don't have time for all that tonight."

"That's OK. We'll pretend you've already courted me."

He looks amused. "OK."

I wonder if we're again layering too many fantasies. So I say, "Anyway, now I've invited you upstairs, which I don't usually do because my son is asleep."

"We'll be quiet," he whispers. Then he kisses my ear and suddenly this all becomes easy. He slips off my robe and caresses my shoulders. "You are definitely the prettiest boss I've ever had."

"Uh, thank you." Considering his main job was as a second-baseman with a grizzled coach, and his last job was as a fish-truck driver for a plump couple in their 50s, that's not saying much. Then I giggle. "You're certainly the hunkiest housekeeper I've ever had."

"Thank you."

Then we drift into necking. We both make happy sounds but try to keep them low, which adds to my arousal. His hand moves into the top of my blue nightie, as the other hand pushes up the hem. I feel a mixture of home and taboo. Yes, this is Tony, my Tony, but he really hasn't done anything like this to me in our house before. We always saved this for our Ingrid & Anthony times.

"You like that, Angela?"

Oh, how wonderful it feels to have him say my name like that! Even if we're pretending it's 34-year-old Angela.

"Yes, Tony, I do," I whisper, and then I start nuzzling his neck.

"Mmmm, Angela, that drives me crazy!"

"It does?" I say, because I'm not supposed to know that yet.

"Yeah, it does."
"How crazy?"

"This crazy," he says, and he takes his hand from stroking my inner thighs and moves it onto his own crotch.

"Let me take the measure of your madness."

He grins and moves that hand onto mine. Then he leads me into his striped pajama bottoms. I nuzzle his neck as I pleasure him.

"Wait, Angela!" he whispers hoarsely. "I'm supposed to save that for you."

"No, Tony, you were right. You shouldn't sleep with your employer. I'm saving you from that."

He looks amused and frustrated. "Well, you're the boss. I mean, uh, God, that's good!"

"Thank you. But I forgot to warn you. If you ever had me, you would regret it every time you have another woman afterwards."

"I believe it!"

"I'm saving you from that."

"Thank you! God, yes, thank you!"

"Sh, the children will hear you. We wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea."

He grins. "Oh, sorry."

When he comes, pushing hard against my hand, his voice is soft and tender, although the words are "Best boss ever!"

"Well, I hope you'll be happy working here, Tony."

"Happy? I'll be ecstatic!"

Then we laugh together, much louder than we could've that night, especially if we'd been alone in my bedroom. We're back to present-day us.

"Ay, Angela, that wasn't how it was supposed to go."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to proposition you and make you say yes, despite your reservations, just like when you hired me."

"I see. Well, I think what we did just now would've been enough to make me reconsider sleeping with Grant."

He grins. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I would've been very distracted living with you if we had crossed a line like that so early."

"Yeah, I would've been plenty distracted myself. But I was supposed to give you multiple orgasms tonight."

"Raincheck?"

"Definitely. Uh, the offer for foreplay still stands."

"Thank you, Tony, but we're not Ingrid & Anthony. We're not limited to one or two nights alone in a year."
He grins more. "A whole month, Angela!"

"Mm hm. And I've got another early encounter I'd like to rewrite tomorrow night."

"Yeah? What?" he asks eagerly.

"You'll find out. You go back to your room, away from your wicked, seductive boss, and get some sleep."

"I'll try."

I kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight, Ing—Angela."