The Many Faces of Edmund Fig (ManxMan)

Chapter 11: It isn't thick enough

Please excuse this crap chapter. I half ass edited it so if there are spelling errors I apologize. But other wise please enjoy.

Chapter 11: It isn't thick enough

"Would you like something to drink Sir?"

I politely declined and leaned back. I don't see the point in us taking a flight to a city that is only two hours away. It is a waste of money. But whatever the big wigs want the big wigs get. Johnson sat beside me with a sleeping mask over his eyes and earphones muting out the rest of the world.

Thank God. At least I don't have to listen to him drone on or find some way to humiliate me in public. I sighed letting my head turn to the side. Why didn't I bring headphones or something to do? Genius Curr strikes again. Yesterday didn't go well either. Especially when Angela found out about the trip with Johnson.

"Not sleeping with him my ass. You probably sucked his dick to be able to even go on the trip." Angela growled.

I turned glaring at her.

"You're only pissed because you have to actually do something here that doesn't involve you fucking half the staff."

Her eyes widened tears glittering in the corners.

"Fuck you Joseph."

I rolled my eyes at the memory. Why can't things be less complicated? I glanced at Johnson my lips turning downward. Why did you have to let them assume that we were together? Your risking both of our careers with a move like that. I sighed turning back forward and letting my eyes flutter shut.

I yawned wiping my eyes.

"Curr!"

I looked up sleepily.

"Sir?"

"Did you not hear me?"

I blinked forcing myself to completely wake up.

"S-sorry I didn't. Could you repeat that."

He sighed turning back to the desk clerk. They have been going back and forth for the past half hour. Something about the room was wrong.

"I'm sorry Sir but it is what I booked for you and there are no other available rooms."

Johnson growled a couple curses at the clerk before finally giving in.

"Take us to the damn room."

A bellboy walked over and took our bags and we boarded the elevator. Level 54. My stomach immediately protested as the elevator rose. I gripped the railing tightly my eyes darting around. I hate elevators. Damn devils creation!

Ding

I darted off the elevator. Thank God. The bellboy led us down the dimly lit hallway and we stopped at the end of the hallway.

"The presidential suite."

My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull. The room oozed money. Soft white leather couches sat in front of a large sleek white plasma screen tv. A silver sculpted metal table with a thin oval glass top. Under the tv was a wide silver fireplace, blue flames crackling lightly. The bell hop set our bags down and handed each of us a thin black card that had a platinum P engraved in the front. Johnson pulled out his wallet and pulled out a one-hundred dollar bill and handed it over. I blinked surprised. Maybe I should quit my job and become a bell hop. Johnson turned to me his brow arched.

"It is an unspoken rule to pay the bell hop at least one-hundred dollars and no you may not quit your job to be a bell hop."

I scowled when he turned his back to me and went further in the room. If this is what rich people consider a "room" then what do they consider a house? I could definitely settle for a room.