Dead Flower (Sequel to The Flower Girl Book Two)

Chapter 13: Make it Quick

       Andrew

Dormant at my desk, I stare into the limpid glass of my boss's office. Watching as his fingers rap on the mahogany wood. His name ingrained into the silver plate. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I prepare what I'm going to say. Most people are nervous when they approach girls or those higher up, parents. Me? I don't give a fuck. They shit, piss, and fart just like the rest of us.

No life is better, and I'll be damned if I let someone think they're better than me, just because of their status, or good looks. The car you drive shouldn't make you worth more. If a girl ever wanted me just because of my car, I'd never fucking date her. She shouldn't care if I own a mustang, or a fucking volts wagon. You get what you get bitch.

It's hilarious when people blatantly think they're better than others. No, I literally laugh. Give me the looks, say the words, none of that bullshit affects me. I know my worth, and those people don't do anything to better me or do anything towards that worth. Fuck em.

Done with the rant in my head, I watch Allan Grange place the phone down. At that same time, our eyes lock. I've never felt more violated. I never want to experience that again. Shifting my gaze, I stand, fixing my tie before knocking on his open door.

"Andrew!" He sounds delighted to speak with me. "Come in!" Entering his office, I shut the door behind me. "Is something wrong?" I never shut the door when I have something to say. I just don't want the others to think I'm kissing ass. The only ass I'll ever fucking kiss is my wife's beautiful cheeks.

"No sir." The blinds are still open. If anyone wanted to look in, they could.

"Then what is it?" I wonder about all the hard work he's encountered. I can tell he worked hard to get here, nothing was handed to him, and I respect him so much for that. His hands are worn and wrinkled. Several scars graffiti his pale face. The man must not get out much. There's no way anyone would think he's from Georgia. Mostly everyone that lives here is tanned from the sun.

His suit tightens as he becomes taut. Cupping his hands on the desk, I get comfortable as well. "I have something I'd like to bring forward to the company."

Mr. Grange grabs the pen adjacent to the note pad, lifting it to his lips. "And what would that be?"

"A temp. I know we're in need, and she's a hard worker." Veronica you fucking owe me. She better be good.

"Well, I trust your word Andrew. Give me her information, and I'll see what I can do." Relieved that I at least tried, even though I didn't receive a definite answer, at least I can get Vee off my damn back.

I stand, adjusting my pants, flattening the wrinkles. "Thank you sir." Extending my hand, I bestow a firm handshake. He offers a meager smile. Opening his door, I'm back to work.

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The women in the office don't talk to me, but they damn sure talk about me. I hear them as I walk by, five steps ahead of them. Some say how they want to fuck me, then others are appalled by me. I have a picture of my two favorite girls, my only girls, who remind me why I still work here in the first place.

I have to finish up one more quick statement before clocking out, and heading home to my angels. Interrupting that task, a tall, leggy, red head stands beyond my desk. Someone who I've noticed around the office, but never paid too much attention to. I don't even know her name, or what it begins with. My eyes reluctantly meet hers. "Yes?"

Her creamy nude toned lips curve upward. "Hi, my name is Jessica. I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime?" Is she blind? Can't she see the goddamn ring on my finger? I can't belive she had the tits to ask that absurd question. These women are relentless. I have to be careful how I answer her. I don't need her going to the boss, turning the story around. Stating how I sexually assaulted her, just because I rejected her.