“Either you find me that appalling or you prefer those of the feminine persuasion because I have been working for that broad smile you just let up off a few seconds ago since I've knocked on your door.”
Jeesh! I was not expecting that. My now elated state would not be outdone. I gave a muffled, but obvious, laugh and calmly said, “No, Mr. Thompson, women do nothing for me.”
“Uhn-huhn. So it's me.” He was affronted with raised eyebrows.
“Mr. Thompson, we're colleagues—”
“...consenting colleagues. At least I am,” he said cutting me off.
“Conflict. Of. Interest.” I attempted to ward him off.
“You just said you weren't gay.”
Ha! “You're witty. I'm impressed.”
“Shit. I was just thinking I had no chances.”
“Mr. Thompson, while I appreciate the effort, I'm not interested in dating. Right now is not…possible.” I tried being as polite as possible.
There was another knock at the door.
“It's open,” I sang somewhat sarcastically.
“Ms. Brimm. I took a look at the pools. I had a hunch so I went straight to the filter and they were installed wrong. I left notes for the repair guy. Whoever installed them was in a rush because they made a few careless mistakes.”
“Really?” Professional incompetence pissed me off!
“Yeah. Those pools are the newest in the game. It can be complicated if you're not properly trained or at least know what you’re doing.”
“Stan, let me offer you something for your time...” I jumped up to grab my purse.
“Oh, no, Ms. Brimm. Mr. Jacobs has it taken care of. If you need me to shoot over when they come tomorrow just give me a call. I finagled the vent to function temporarily. You should be covered.”
I gave a deep exhale. “Thanks, Stan. I really appreciate your time.”
“No problem. Have a good one,” Stan bode before leaving my office.
Azmir's arms stretched so far and wide. I didn't know if I should be elated or have my blues confirmed.
That man!
“Oh. So I have competition!” Thompson's revelation snapped me out of my trance as he his speculative gaze roved over me.
I couldn't help but blush. “Conflict of interest, Mr. Thompson.”
“We'll see about that. We. Shall. See,” Thompson emphasized his last words before leaving out.
Once he was gone, I took a gulp of my morning java that was now above room temperature then reached for my phone, smiled and took a picture of myself. I sent it to “A.D.” (as he was listed in my contacts) with the following caption:
My vastly improved mood courtesy of A.D. Jacobs.
Moments later, I heard a ping. It was Azmir, of course, It's my job. Get used to it.
I textedback,***conspiring naughty ways to repay the favor***
Ha! Indeed.
The day sped up and when lunch rolled around I’d gotten another surprise by one Azmir Jacobs. He had DiFillippo's send over an order of crème br?lée. He knew just what to do. But his generous and thoughtful acts once again reminded me that I had to wait yet another day to see him. It pulled at my heart.
That evening I’d stopped by the boutique to pick up the gown that Azmir had selected for me. I was trying something new—letting Azmir dress me. I had to admit his selections always impressed me and agreed with my frame. The seamstress urged me to do a final fitting when I told her she could bag it for me to leave. If Azmir wouldn't be there—there was no need to go the extra mile. She fought me on the issue and after reluctantly trying it on, I went straight to dance class and practiced my Tamia routine.
~~~~~~~~~~