He calls her in his office for the third time today. Arms crossed, ass slightly planted on the edge of his desk, he’s positioned in front of her intended seat.
Exasperated, she goes to him. She lingers in the doorway with one hand on the wall “Yes, Mr. Montgomery?”
Her stubbornness torments him. He shifts position easing his ass off the desk to face her. “I wanted to discuss your proposal for the Beard Oil contract. Come on in and close the door”
She takes three steps into the office, pivots, and closes the door behind her. “Are you not pleased with the work I’ve done so far?”
“It’s not that I’m not pleased,” he walks around the desk to find his seat behind it, “I just think there’s more we can do here. We can make it better. What do you know of—”
Impatient and annoyed, she stops him. “Mr. Montgomery, I’m putting the final pieces of the project together right now. I must finish it before I can identify areas that need improvement.”
“Well, of course you need to finish it. I know that” he rubs his chin and looks off to the side. “I just wanted to give you some pointers. I’ve been following along in Google Docs as you write. If you think about this proposal in terms of exploiting a need, the investors will be more intrigued”
Mr. Montgomery was like a spice man who spoke of nothing but the spice market and exotic spices that no one knows of or cares to hear about in great detail. Strategic Marketing was the flavor that brought lightness to his eyes and confidence to his lean body. He runs a finger up his suspender and continues, “See, supply and demand is the holy grail. It’s—”
“Why don’t you just fuck me and get it over with?” She interrupts him harshly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She takes three more steps toward him slowly. Her middle and index fingers slide on the wall as she moves. Her eyes never leave him.
He looks at her– mouth open, swollen balls anchoring him to his position. She walks over to him and grabs him by the collar. Her fingers meet the gently shaved skin of his neck. He moves toward her without resistance.
She leads him to the black couch on the other side of his office, tilting her head down. He sits. She covers his lip with her index finger, pleasantly surprised by the softness that trembles beneath her bone.
“You have been getting under my skin lately. I see you want my attention. You’ve earned it. But know this, Patrick,” she bends over to meet his ear, “work comes first,” she whispers softly before walking out.