This segment takes place later in the day after Johnny receives the text from Amanda breaking off their relationship. You can find the entery where this occurs here.
The first half of the morning went quickly. Before he knew it, it was lunch time.
Where did the time go?
He put on his suit jacket and tried to think through the hazy thoughts which made his brain seem over stuffed.
What accounts did I finish? Did I get the midweek report done?
He shook his head and made a note to check when he came back. He left intending to go for lunch but instead walked the five blocks over to the park. For the next thirty minutes he strolled at a dirge-like pace. He saw nothing, he didn’t notice the gentle warmth of the sunlight, he didn’t hear the sound of children playing around him and he was unaware that he was watched from afar.
When he returned to the office, Butch Woolam intercepted him in the hallway. He had a deli sandwich in one hand and a soft drink in the other. With a jerk of his head, he requested Johnny’s presence in his office.
“So, not a lot of sleep last night?” Butch asked as he arranged his food on the desk between them.
“I got enough. Why?” Johnny looked puzzled.
“Well, the weekly report turned up on top of the shelf next to the copier. Your analysis of the Stratham account was down on the shelf in the supply room. And, this is the real tipoff. The Forsythe ledger was in the men’s room on top of the towel dispenser.”
“Oh, I guess I’m just distracted.” He smiled briefly.
“Wanna talk about it?” He chased a bite of sandwich with a gulp of tea.
“Uh. No. I’m okay. Just one of those things. Was everything okay, when they were delivered to you?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. But, next time, use the in-box on my desk.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“Yes, I need these by next Thursday. Don’t forget the Ventrue report by five today.”
“I won’t.” He rose to leave trying to recall the status of that report. He waved absently as he left his boss’ office. He wasn’t prepared for the sight that met him when he reached his office.
His eyes followed the well-turned ankle from the sole of a exquisitely-arched foot with a nicely sculpted Achilles tendon that connected it to its narrow heal, to the shapely ass connected to a torso which disappeared under his desk. The silk-clad leg, which was stretched to the point of its frosty-pink polished toe, was as gracefully curved as the randomly shifting sand-dunes of the Sahara. A succulent thigh extended from beneath a very high hem, and through the split of skirt - fully one third of its length - he saw through to the other side of the skirt’s lining.