“Saffron.”
Rye draws a sharp breath at the sound of her name being called, knowing full well who owns said grating voice doing the calling. She looks up from her computer, meeting her guest’s dagger-sharp gaze. Kirsten Geary stands in the doorway of her office, leaning lightly against the frame, her usual faux perky expression on her face.
“Hey Geary,” she says with a tight smile, “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to let you know, your problematic ex is back in New York,” she says quickly, moving from the doorway as she approaches the other blonde’s desk, taking a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side with a dramatic crossing of her legs. “Do with that information what you will.”
“Which one?” Rye asks, not even realizing the words she says until they’re out of her mouth.
Geary can’t help but smirk. “That’s true. You’ve kind of run the gamut with them, haven’t you?”
Rye says nothing right away, biting her tongue.
Kirsten’s eyes lift toward the ceiling as she starts to speak. “Let’s see there’s been… Efferus and Nesingway, Thyrus, Hagen, Gale…” She looks more deliberately at her as she says the last name, "Andersen. I know I’m missing a few… I don’t think you dated the damsel-in-distress blacksmith. There was a tailor. But who wasn’t he seeing?” Rye tenses ever so slightly, but manages to keep a pleasant expression as she sits up, watching the other woman from the side of her monitor.
“And, remind me again, Kirsten… How many of them did you sleep with?” Rye asks with a smile.
“Oh, at least two,” Geary says with a fond smile, seemingly unfazed. “Three? Maybe three.”
Rye tilts her head, watching her more intently.
“Oh, don’t make it weird, cupcake,” Geary says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You’re not that important, Saffron. Nobody’s trying to Single White Female you.”
“I was gonna say Poison Ivy,” Rye offers.
“Oh, good choice!” says Geary with a dramatic clap of her hands. “Drew Barrymore is divine in that. And your mundane life makes you a shoo-in for Sara Gilbert. But, I’ll be honest with you, I don’t think any of your exes are good for a fatherly role, if you know what I mean.”
A beat.
“Maybe the cat,” Geary quips.
Rye draws in a breath. “Salem?”
“Exactly,” the other woman continues, “But that ship has long sailed. Rat-free, too, most likely. Cats are such good mousers…”
“So anyway,” Rye steers her back to the original point, “Who’s back in town, exactly?”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s Hagen.”
Rye bites her lip, then gives just a hint of a nod. “Thanks for… letting me know.”
“Of course,” Geary says with her signature razorblade smile, slipping back out of the chair. “What are friends for?”
Rye’s brows furrow, but before she can respond, Geary turns on her heels, casually marching back out of the room.
“…not subtle at all,” Rye murmurs to herself.