"He is fetching."
Is society bringing back the word fetching? I'll have to Google it and then cross-reference Twitter about the matter.
"Yes, well I better get back or he might be forced to use my name to find me." I fake horror and almost spill the half full cup of black crap all over my blue silk blouse. It was a purchase at full retail price which is very rare for me, but it is stunning and the cut fits my body perfectly. This is an unusual department store find. When I stumble upon something so perfect, stinginess be damned. Plus, it goes perfectly with my brown pencil skirt.
I grab a napkin off the counter, wipe my red lipstick stain from the rim and refill the cup. I wave bye to Grace as she continues her warm tea hugs. As I ease closer to Mr. Payne-in-the-ass’s office, I hear talking. His voice echoes through the hall and it does not escape my attention that this particular corridor, which is very close to the bathrooms, is empty. Anytime his office door is open, people -- up to and including the President of the company -- steer clear of his radar.
I steady my shoulders and brace myself before entering the war room, aka Mr. Payne-in-the-ass’s office. Double checking my gear: large fake smile...check; coffee full, black and seemingly undrunk...check; no stains on clothing...check. All seems to be in order as I walk across the threshold.
He is seated with his chair back facing me. I see his reflection in the wall of windows and notice his eyes fixated on the buildings jutting up from Michigan Avenue. Even just his reflection is causing my heart to race and my panties to dampen. I hate that he does this to me. No matter how angry I am with him, one look at his gorgeous eyes or sexy smirk and I am reduced to a puddle. Damn you hormones!
He is on a phone call so I silently place his cup on his desk hoping to get out unnoticed.
"Yes, that is what I said. If he expects to be given a discount because he went to school with Mr. Mimir then he needs to be reminded this is the twenty-first century. Money is..."
I am about half-way across the room when I hear, “Ms. Drake, please sit.”
Balling my fists at my side I shut my eyes and breathe. Deep cleansing breaths that yoga guru's swear by are doing nothing for me at this moment except making me light headed.
"You got this Morgana!" I hear my brain whisper to me.
"Not now Brain. I have to talk to my boss."
My Brain stares and then rolls her squiggly eyes at me.
"Just trying to help Morgana. You seem to need a lot of that lately."
My brain is right. You see Mr. Henrik Payne, VP of Sales and Marketing at Mimir, the third largest online retailer, and I have a past. Our past may be brief, with the almost four months having known him, but it is filled to the brim with ups and downs. Let me list you in chronological order the 'main' events:
1. There was the time he got drunk at the holiday party a week after I was hired and passed out trying to go down on me.
2. When he fingered me a few weeks later, bringing me to the point of orgasm and then walking away like an asshole.
3. Also, he got me fired; well put on leave with no pay, because the head of HR walked in on us about to get it on.
4. I got another job to help pay the bills, and when he attended a meeting at my new job he had sex with me on the conference table. Can you guess what happened? Yeah, I got fired. Notice a pattern yet?
5. Last but not least, we admitted we had feelings for one another. Everything was great; I got my job back at Mimir and then the cold shoulder. That's right, no romantic love behind closed doors or even a quickie in the closet, just total utter you-don't-exist-Ms.Drake from him since.
He is good at acting like nothing happened and that I am nothing to him. This would be fine as his assistant if we haven’t had SEX. But, I'm not bitter. Stop looking at me like that!
I admit I let all this happen. You could say I am partly to blame too. For any other man I would have put a stop to this toying of my emotions -- and vagina-- long ago. But with Mr. Payne I just can't help myself. He must have some hypnotic like powers that he wields at me with his eyes and hands and penis.
So, now I do my best to remind him every day of what happened. A short skirt that happens to reveal my thigh highs or a low cut blouse that may or may not cause my boobs to fall out. Don't you just hate it when that happens?
"What are you doing Morgana?" My Brain has folded her squiggly arms and is glaring at me.
"I'm winking at the reader to show I am joking."
Brain shakes her head at me.
"Oh Morgana, you look like a cow having an epileptic seizure."
Just before I turn I get myself ready for the attack. My hands come up to my blouse collar to unfasten one, two...and three buttons for good measure. Reaching in my bra I plump up the ladies and shimmy the blouse for perfect viewing. There, now I am ready.