Storm In the Office ✅

Dusty Prosperity

Swish, swish...

'It's unfair!.... Its so bloody unfair!!' I cried out in hopeless rage as I swept my office floor with a broom so old, its bristles were as much effective as a
Ninety-year-old woman's punch.

Swish...

'You've mentioned that ten times already, Mr Linton,' the stiff figure of Mr Ambrose which also happens to be quite handsome- to my utter annoyance, spoke from the doorway that connects our offices.

'Oh yes? And you ignored it twelve times, Mr Ambrose, did you know?' I turned my head around to look at him, my hands still working with the ancient broom, not very efficiently I must say.

'Ten times, Mr Linton, I provided you with a response this time.'

'Ha! Response my...' I hesitated under his ice cold glare and refashioned my words, '... generous behind. And its 'Miss' to you.' I sent a fiery hot glare of my own with the latter part of my sentance. It created a very interesting contrast to his.

Mr Ambrose returned to being impassively stony, an expression that silently screamed that I should not dream of getting what I wanted in a million years of this life. Or any other life, or even a sub-life, should they even exist.

'You know very well Mr Linton, not to expect of me to address you like so while you're in this building.'

Ha! See?...

But I was Lilly Linton. I was a feminist and the personal secretary of Rikkard Ambrose, the most miserly miser who had a heart made right out of North Pole's special lump of ice berg, for more than a year now. If all that didn't radiate the aura of my courage and confidence, nothing else could.

........

Except maybe the adventures with the same person aforementioned.

'No, I know very well not to expect of you to address me like so during work hours. This,' I pointed at the office floor like it was responsible for everything- it actually was, in a way, 'bloody damn well is not my work hour.'

'But its still your work place, so the rule stands valid,' it would always be a mystery to me how this man manages to sound smug without actually sounding smug. That didn't make sense but I am sure it still made sense.

'You want to talk about validity of rules, Sir? How about extra payment for working overtime?'

That was a valid question. That was a very strikingly valid question considering I was now sweeping my office floor because apparently my employer thought my office was too dusty and disorganized. Too bad- or maybe too good for me, that he never had the fortunate opportunity to peek inside my closet at home.

Swish, swish, swish...

I huffed in annoyance. Swishing the broom across the floor I looked just like those typical dominated housewives. So much for looking for freedom.

No, no, Lilly. Think about it like this. This is not your house and that chauvinistic handsome gentleman is not your husband. Rather this is your office and that is your employer. That's very liberating, Lilly, very liberating.

Oh yes, this is my office, where I'm working my butts off after the end of work hours and that too-

'I am not going to pay for your mess, Mr Linton.'

Indeed, very liberating.

'You pay Mr Stone quite gladly when he takes care of everybody else's mess,' I pointed out.

'I pay him, yes, but not gladly, no.' He picked up a file from my desk and my heart jumped in delight. Maybe he was going to help after all?

But then he put it back down making my heart crash into the bottom of my chest. Blast him! No, blast me! For even thinking of Mr Ambrose helping me with dusting. Because unlike paperwork, dusting actually required a bit of flexibility. Something, and the only thing Mr Ambrose was physically incapable of.