Indigo
The day afteR the run-in with Cliff (which Bellamy and I referred to going forward as DNI, the ‘Douche Nozzle Incident’), I walked into my office to find Bellamy on the phone. She had a shit-eating grin on her face, and I was both excited, and terrified to find out why. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Holy fucking shit on a cracker,” Bellamy breathed out as she closed herself into my office with me.
“What now?”
“Cliff sent a donation of five-hundred grand.”
I snorted. “That’s a good one, Bell.”
“I’m not kidding. He wired it into the Walker House main account this morning. I was checking the books and thought it might be a mistake, so I first called the bank, and then called his office.”
“Bell—”
“No, wait, there’s more,” she rushed on.
I sighed, leaning against the edge of my desk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh my god, bitch, if you would shut up for more than ten seconds, I could tell you.”
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms, and nodding. “Continue.”
“So, I called the bank... they said it’s legit. I called Cliff’s office and discovered he was on leave for a couple of weeks due to some kind of ‘accident,’ but that he’d authorized the donation and said that it would be matched right before Christmas.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I squeaked.
“Right?”
“What kind of accident?” I asked.
“Car, I think,” she said. “Apparently, he had a couple of broken bones or something. I didn’t get into it with Carol, because I don’t really give a shit.”
Carol was Cliff’s third assistant this year, and she seemed sweet, but that meant he would probably eat her alive.
“Bellamy,” I admonished.
“What? He attacked you, Indy. Right here, in case you don’t remember. The only thing that would be better than him having a few broken arms, is that his dick is ripped off, it flies up into the air, and lands in his esophagus choking him on it.”
“That’s quite graphic,” I pointed out. “And is there a way one can break more than a few arms?”
“Both arms!” She threw hers in the air. “You know what I mean, but definitely the dick choking stuff.”
She had a point, not about the dick stuff... well, not just about the dick stuff... but I wasn’t bloodthirsty quite like that and I tended to feel guilty when thinking ill of someone. Especially, if they’d been hurt.
“Anyway,” Bellamy continued. “It’s all legit. Like, lawyered up and shit, so we’ll be getting another half-mil at Christmas.”
“That’s four times his normal donation.”
“I know,” she squealed, jumping up and down.
“We can add room for another fifteen kids.”
“Or, you could give us a raise,” she joked.
