“So, uh? a Blackberry?” I commented, fumbling with the top button of my shirt for a few seconds, before giving up the ghost and leaving it be. “Cool.”
“Well, a girl needs to keep in touch with technology,” she breathed, rifling through her handbag which sat, almost surreally upright atop the bedside table. “Can’t let the competition use anything to their advantage or my detriment.”
She knew what I was thinking before I could even debate internally about asking the question.
“Your call goes through to the service who check my calendar and then update it with the appointment details. Its pushed out every few seconds and I get it instantly in the form of both an email message and an entry in my calendar.”
“Really,” I say, somehow calmed by this explanation of how my desperate plea got to the stunningly beautiful woman who was now buried back in her handbag, continuing her search. “Fascinating.”
And it was.
“They sometimes use voting buttons as well, especially if there’s anything kinky that I may not want to do,” she continued.
Which was accompanied by the realisation that the nervousness was back.
“I can get you some tech if you want,” she said. “I have contacts from my days back as a CIO of this startup. Good times, good times. But the bubble burst, y’know. I’ll fire over my business card when we’re done here. ”
She emerged from her bag with a different coloured condom in each hand.
“Red or black?” she asked excitedly. “Sorry, no ribbed today. Supplier emailed earlier saying there’s a delay in shipping.”