“Maggie, report to my office, please.” Greg hung up before she could reply.
“Great,” she muttered, standing and striding down the corridor to Greg’s office. Things couldn’t get much worse. She’d talk to Greg, accept whatever assignment he wanted to give her and return to her cubicle. One hour at a time.
She tapped on Greg’s door and entered.
“Shut the door behind you and take a seat.” His terse tone made her stare in surprise.
“Is there a problem?”
“The blog that everyone has been talking about for the last couple of weeks.”
Oh, heck. “Yes?” A note of caution entered her voice.
“You are the author.”
“No,” she lied.
“No? ‘By the time we arrived at the Italian restaurant on Nelson Street, my temper simmered. This particular restaurant specializes in great food and for entertainment; they have budding opera singers performing several live segments during the evening. Not only did I have to spend time with Mr. X, I had to put up with his friends and the opera. So shoot me. I like rock and pop. I can even listen to country when the mood takes me. Opera, not so much. It makes my head hurt’.”
He read the paragraph from her blog before he focused on her again.
“Are you sure it doesn’t sound familiar? I could have sworn I’ve lived through a similar experience. Doesn’t it sound like Toto to you?”
Maggie raised her head and glared at him. “I don’t think so. There must be hundreds of restaurants in Auckland.”
“Then what about this part? ‘If I wanted you to look at my breasts, I’d take off my clothes. Give you a good look at them. I’d even supply a tape measure so you could see if they measure up.’ Do you recognize that part?”
Maggie didn’t reply. He knew she’d written the post. She wasn’t about to make things worse by giving him more ammunition.
“You will stop writing your blog. Not only will you stop writing your blog, but you will delete the posts you’ve already written.”
“No.” Maggie was tired people pushing her around today. “You can’t make me delete my blog.”
“Thank you for admitting the blog is yours.”
Bother. She firmed her mouth and said nothing else.
“Maggie, you will delete your blog when you go home tonight. I’ll expect your blog to be history by the time you arrive at work tomorrow.” He picked up his phone and punched in numbers. “That is all. You can go now.”
