My eyes slide to his, but I stay silent.
His words piss me clean off. The audacity of this fucker to have said what he just did is astounding. I've never been one for male locker talk or disrespecting women, but for him to have compared Sarah to a piece of meat makes me sick. However, I continue to stare at him impassively. I'm not into fraternizing with colleagues, either. And I don’t plan to start or even insinuate that it's ever okay for any of them to come into my office and just start spewing off at the mouth about bullshit.
I lean forward and place my elbows on my desk, pinning him with my eyes; his eyes widen at my expression.
Good, you stupid piece of shit.
“I beg your pardon? What the fuck did you just call Ms. Johnson?” I quip, my fingers twitching as I steeple them together.
David’s grin falls as he realizes his offense wasn’t going to be left unacknowledged. “Okay,my bad. I probably shouldn’t have said that…but come on,you’ve seen her.She’s got the body of a—”
Heat creeps up my neck. Thankfully, though, his musing is interrupted by a loud ding from my computer, drawing my attention away. My eyes slowly slide to my monitor, seeing the woman in question replying to me. I flick my eyes back to David dismissively, ready for him to get the fuck out before I hurt him.
Coldy, I respond,“If that’ll be all?”
I let the question hang in the air, the dismissal not going over David’s head.
David gets up rather cheekily and slaps his hands on his thighs. “Yes, that’s it. Good talk. Hey, do you happen to know her office address?” David asks, already halfway to my office door.
I scoff.Fuck no.
I can't.
Clenching my jaw so hard I feel a tooth protest painfully, I retort rather coldly, “You’ll have to ask my secretary,David.” I arch a brow, uncaring when his face falls slightly as he walks out the door.Dickhead.
I turn back to my monitor.
Clicking on the email, I soften and smile as I read it. She's just so disrespectful. In the best way, though.
Mr. Alexander,
I will not be singing without a mic, band, and backup singers. Sorry!
I am sorry you aren’t having a good day. We all wake up on the wrong side of the bed sometimes. A little word of advice? Do this breathing exercise if you have a few minutes in between clients. Tap your chest rhythmically while you do it.
I know youhaveto attend and speak to us worthlesspeasantsat the conference, but maybe you can find some downtime, and the trip can just maybe feel like a partial vacation?
I’ve let Frick and Frack know to get Indian food. I think they’ll get a little of everything. But we always end up fighting over the butter chicken, so I guess it doesn’t reallymatter to be honest. We may be fighting to the death tonight. Bring some boxing gloves.
Sarah B.
The irony of her sports commentary makes my smile broaden upon seeing the boxing comment, along with the box-breathing exercise YouTube video she’d attached to the email. Figuring it can't hurt, I pull it up and begin to breathe along with it, closing my eyes, and tapping my chest the way she’d instructed.
After five minutes I note that I'm feeling much better and not like I'm going to jump out of my skin.
Before I know it, it's a little after four, and I say my goodbye to Cathy and make my way to my car. Jerome and Christopher had already texted me, letting me know I have about a thirty-minute head start on Sarah’s arrival at the apartment complex, and they're waiting in the coffee shop for her.
Taking the extra time to stop at a nearby nail salon by her new place, I walk in, scrunching my nose up at the strong smell of acetone. The older, sweet-looking nail tech at a table looks up and greets me. “Hi, may I help you, sir? You here for a manicure?” she asks, glancing back down to the nails she’d been filing.
“Uh, no!” I huff sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck, suddenly feeling embarrassed andwayout of my element. The few times Hannah had begged me to get a pedicure with her, and I balked at the idea. I clear my throat, feeling myself beginning to perspire.
Jesus, why is this nerve wracking?
I clear my throat hard again to rid myself of the frog that's suddenly lodged itself in there. “I just wanted to know how much it costs to have a manicure?”
“Just a manicure? Or with gel or tips?” she asks, looking at me over her purple glasses.
I tighten my lips, pulling up a mental image of Sarah’s nails. “Gel,I think?”
