Tainted Desires | 18+

9 - Tough Cookie

Mirabelle Morrison

Terrence was back to work like nothing had happened. He was back to his normal self, dishing out tasks to his workers, grumbling to himself whenever he was stressing out, and still ignoring me most of the time.

I was glad that he was back in his office, but it wasn't what I expected, especially after the supposed talk we had. All the talk about acting like adults seemed to evaporate from his head whenever I came into his view.

What exactly was my job if he was going to keep acting like I was invincible?

"Mr. Toussaint?"

Silence.

"Mr. Toussaint?"

Silence, again.

"Sir?" The movement of his fingers against his pen stilled for a moment before resuming action.

It was not that he did not hear me calling him, but he was just choosing to ignore me.

"Terrence!" I did not mean to shout his name, but if that was going to do the work, then so be it.

The satisfaction I got when his head snapped up was almost enough to ignore the way my heart was racing as I anticipated the consequences of raising my voice at my boss.

"I don't think I've ever seen an employee call his or her boss by their first name, Morrison." He rolled his eyes before returning his attention to the paper he was scribbling on earlier.

"What exactly is my job description?"

"A personal assistant,"

"I get that, but what exactly am I supposed to do?" I ask him, still unsure of what my job entailed. "I don't like how I come here every morning to not do anything."

He hums but doesn't say anything, my patience running thin at this point.

"Terrence Toussaint! Would you please look at me?" I snapped for the second time. "I have a degree for crying out loud, and for me to waste my time here by running around behind you is shameful. If a personal assistant is what you're looking for, then tell me clearly what you want me to assist you with. Your secretary is not your assistant, neither is anyone else. Sending them to tell me things to do is quite ridiculous, not only to me but to yourself, if you haven't noticed. I get that you didn't employ me by yourself, but still, a little respect is not hard to pass across. Moreover, if you're sceptical about what I can do, you can go through my details or interview me yourself." He looked at me with amusement, but that only made me confused about what was amusing.

"An interview is what you want," he stated. "And what exactly am I supposed to interview you on?"

I did not have a response for him. I was going to blame my sudden outburst for why my brain was empty.

"No comment? I don't understand this behaviour of yours, Mirabelle," he began standing up, folding the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing the inked art on his arms. "You seem to enjoy calling me out, only to be mute afterwards. Is that skill also on your resume?"

He came to sit on the desk in front of me, folding his arms across his chest. Now was not the time to be distracted by his tattoo, but I could swear I'd seen them somewhere before.

Looking back at his face, I realized he was still waiting for me to say something. "I studied Business and Finance Management, if you may know. Working as a personal assistant doesn't exactly look good on my resume, but I'm willing to give it a try. However, if you're going to keep me in your office as a piece of decoration, I might as well just quit and be a decoration at home."