The Gap Year

Two

I walk out of the ladies' room with my blouse drenched, crippled and bunched up in my fist.

Taking a seat at my desk, I start organizing everything I'm going to need for the day, which mainly consists of planners, journals and writing utensils.

My desk phone rings, scaring me to the point where I drop a stack of pens and some papers, drawing more attention than what I would've liked.

"BCL Management, Mr. Beckett's office, how may I help you?" I ask almost robotically. I listen to a lady rant about a variety of things while I get on my knees to recollect everything from the ground and under my desk.

I mutter a few "Uh-huh's" and "I see's" every little while and see a pair of long jean-clad legs stop a few feet before my desk. As I get back up to my desk, I come in contact with the same green eyed curly dude whom kindly opened the door for me just a few minutes ago. I see him open his mouth and before he even gets the chance to squeak out a syllable, I hold a finger up for him to wait a moment. I start writing down a few things the lady says and in an exasperated moment after too many listed things, I give up on writing.

"Look Miss, I'm sorry but he's not here at the moment and there is nothing I can help you with. If you'd like to try again later or give me a phone number, I'll make sure to deliver the message." I say, and so I scribble down the information she immediately gives as fast as possible.

"Grrrreat, thanks. Have a nice day." I hang up.

"Well aren't you every customer's dream operator?" he asks with a smirk.

I raise an eyebrow at him. Half of me begs for him to go away, and the other half of me yearns to keep on listening to that musky accented voice. My almost drooling face quickly turns into a sarcastic-like close lipped smile.

"First of all, that wasn't a customer and second, I'm not an operator, I'm an assistant. Can I help you with anything?" I try not to sound too grumpy.

"I know, I know, what else does this douche want other than to continue ruining my morning?" He scratches the back of his neck. I don't reply or try to deny anything because I mean, he's not wrong..

He forces an uncomfortable chuckle after he sees that I have no intentions whatsoever of replying.

"Uhm, could you please tell me where the loo is?" He clears his throat before asking.

Follow the orange pool and it'll lead you right to it.. my mind growls.

I don't say anything, just point towards the back of the office. He nods and walks away, my eyes involuntarily following after him. He doesn't say anything else when he passes me on his way back into the conference room and only gives me a quick glance as their meeting finishes and him and Liam walk out of the headquarters.

.

As soon as I get home and change into a loose shirt and the saggiest sweatpants I can find, I set to work on cleaning my orange mess. After a couple failed attempts on completely whitening it, I hear footsteps behind me.

"Give it up already" Florence says.

"What? Have you got any idea what this stupid blouse cost me?" I huff.

"It's the third time you try washing it off and it won't budge!" she points out.

"Is Flo, my ridiculously tidy flatmate, actually telling me to give up on.." I dramatically pause, "on.. cleaning?" I gasp in mockery.

"Oh shut it. That blouse looks more ridiculous than your tie dyed pijama t-shirt." My roommate replies.

"Uhm, excuse me? You had no issues whatsoever with it when you asked if we could do them. Not my fault that mine was prettier than the brown mess you had going on." I retort with a smirk. She rolls her eyes and turns around.

"Fine, do whatever you want. That stain is only going to end up looking like a child puked all over you while breastfeeding." she says while walking out of the small area we designated for laundry. The previous mocking smirk I had immediately dissapears after her dumb comeback.

Not even half an hour passes when I hear her loud laugh, to which I presume that she has opened the trashcan lid and come face to face with the puddled mess I frustratedly gave up on.

She, however, doesn't say anything about it when she sits next to me on our run down couch, offering me some chips accompanied with a cocky smirk that I roll my eyes to as I steal the bag out of her hand.