Oh, fucking hell.
“What part of ‘I’ll be right there’ got lost in translation?” I ask, knowing it’ll piss her off even more.
“Don’t start with me. I brought you your damn lunch.” She throws a brown bag at me.
“Would it kill you to be polite?” I tease, knowing asking Drew would lead to Viola at my office again.
Her eyes graze down my body and land on my groin. “Would it kill you to stop screwing every bimbo you come across?”
I glance down and see the tent I’m sporting.
“It would actually.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back toward reception. “I may or may not have added a little special ingredient in your sandwich. Enjoy the extra saliva,” she calls back over her shoulder.
I smirk. “I always do!”
She flips me the bird and turns for the elevators.
I laugh and shake my head. Fighting with Viola is the best foreplay I’ve had in a long time.
Once I’m seated back at my desk, I open the brown bag and grab the sandwich out of the Ziploc bag. It’s lumpy, and I’m even more hesitant to eat it.
What the hell?
I peel back one side of the sandwich and see she’s crushed up hot Cheetos on top of peanut butter, pickles, and sunflower seeds. It looks just as gross as it sounds.
But fuck it, I’m starving so I take a bite anyway.
Blake storms in promptly at four p.m. and asks if I have everything finished. Somehow, I just managed to complete the review minutes before he came in, so I proudly hand it over to him.
“All done, sir,” I say, giving him a cocky salute.
“Really?” He looks impressed, but I can tell by the way his jaw clenches that he was banking on me failing.
“Yup. It’s not easy having beauty and brains, but someone’s got to do it.”
“You’re full of shit.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Nah, man. It’s all there. Nearly killed myself to do it, but I didn’t want to let you down.”
“Or you wanted to kiss Mr. Crawford’s ass,” I hear him mumble, and I’m starting to sense some regret in his tone. “Okay, well, I’ll let the boss look it over and let you know how it goes.”
“Great.” I interlock my fingers and crack my knuckles. “Does that mean I can take a vacation day tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure.” I hear the hesitation in his voice, but I don’t question it. “I’ll let Mr. Crawford know.”
I begin packing up my stuff, eager to get the hell out of there. “Thanks, man. See you Monday.”
I have five and a half feet of fury waiting to curse me out back home. And this time, I might actually enjoy it.
Once I’m home, I start unbuttoning my shirt and ripping my belt off. I can’t stand being in these clothes any longer than necessary. I don’t see or hear Viola anywhere, although her car is parked in the driveway, so I pull my shirt off and pull my pants down before tossing them on the arm of the couch.
I walk to the kitchen and pull open the fridge to look for a beer. Once I find one, I twist off the cap and slam the door shut again. Just as I take a swig, a girl walks in, who isnotViola, and stops frozen in her tracks.
“Who are you?” I ask, fully aware I’m down to my boxers. Her eyes glass over before finally blinking and looking back up to my eyes. “Did you hear me?”
She swallows. “Yes, sorry. You just scared the shit out of me. Viola said her brother wasn’t home.”
