Lois slammed down the phone. “Oooh! That woman!” If she never had to talk to Mrs. Cox again, it would still be too soon. “‘I’ll give him the message’,” she quoted the woman in a nasally tone and added a sneer to boot.
Doing some legwork in preparation for the party on Friday?
She wondered if her old tennis partner’s dad, Louie, could help. Angela had always said her dad knew guys who knew guys.
Well, it did work for the other Lois.
If she told the reclusive billionaire CEO that he had an employee who was trying to blackmail her for those ludicrous stealing charges – she wasn’t planning on mentioning Clark or Perry – then maybe Tempus would be fired for sexual harassment or employee misconduct before their Saturday ‘date’.
Yes. Long shot. But it would get Tempus off her tail. Given Lex doesn't want to go where his lower-end-of-totempole employees have already been.
She had glanced at the microwave clock in the kitchen – 1:36 a.m.
They took the TV but not the microwave? Oh, it's a built in one, right? US-style?
Lois had looked through her peephole and saw Superman, not Clark. Her heart had plummeted.
That's clever.
Until he does, you’re not allowed to even kiss this side of him.
She could. It might just confuse things. And require angry make-up sex.
She had gone into the kitchen and gotten him a glass of water, wishing she had something better, like juice or wine or anything.
A hot shower. And a back-rub?
Michael
