“Fine.” I leave the coffee to run rampant on my desk and floor. Mumbling to myself, I add, “I hope it doesn’t ruin any of my work.”
“What?” He looks back and scowls.
“Nothing.”
I follow the jerk, erm, I mean my boss, into his office. It’s nice compared to our cubicles. He’s got floor-to-ceiling windows that face all of us peons in his department and another one that looks out onto south Indiana Avenue. Not the view that Mr. McAllister has, but Spencer is no Mr. McAllister. “Sit.” He points to the chair.
I do as he asks because I want to get this over with. Spencer moves around to the other side of the desk and takes his fancy office chair. I think it’s leather. He then reaches down to his right. I hear a drawer slide open, then close just as Spencer produces a large box wrapped with a ribbon.
Oh, shit. I hope he’s not giving me gifts. Talk about awkward.
“What is the meaning of this?”
I blink a few times. I’ve no clue what he’s talking about. “What?”
“This?” He jiggles the box in the air.
“What is that?” I nod at the item in his hand.
With a dramatic sigh, Spencer tosses the box onto the desk and reaches down again. I hear the drawer open and slide closed. This time, he’s got a small, gold cube-like parcel in his hand about five by five inches. “And this.” He tosses the small box onto his desk next to the other one.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are those?” He’s making them seem like they’re filled with drugs or something.
“Wait. There’s more.” One more time, Spencer produces an envelope. That one he flaps around in the air. I see there’s writing on the envelope. He then throws it on the desk. This time, it slides close enough for me to see the words. “Willa Clariday” I read aloud. Looking up at Spencer, I frown. “This is addressed to me.”
“I know.”
“How long have you had it?”
He shrugs. “Not long.”
I pick up the gold cube and read the small tag. “This one is for me as well.”
“I know.”
I already know the long box is for me, but I look anyway. “Why do you have things addressed to me in your desk?”
I pick up the cube and look closer. “Did you open this one?” It’s obvious he did. The bow is barely holding the thing together.
“I had to be sure it was safe.”
Flipping over the envelope, the once-sealed envelope, I glare at my boss. “You opened this too?”
“I had to know what it was.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You didn’t.”
“You should not be receiving personal items at work.”
This cannot be happening. I don’t think I’ve even been angrier in my life. Jumping up from my chair, I place my hands on my hips. “Personal items?” I’m practically choking with anger. “Lots of people get things delivered here, personal and otherwise. I know for a fact that you order stuff from the internet, and have it delivered here because I’ve signed for it when you were gone.”
“I’mthe boss.”
Like that makes a difference. “Other people do the same so they don’t leave things on doorsteps that can be stolen during the day.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” His arms are crossed over his chest, his big, ugly nose in the air.
“I’ll be speaking to human resources about this, Spencer.”
