Disturbed

Chapter 1

An elegant middle aged woman sporting a sleek black bob and an extremely stern countenance sighed impatiently as she pushed her food around her plate.

She flipped open her compact mirror and studied her military perfect reflection. The sleek black pant suit and red bottom shoes she'd chosen to adorn her body that morning suitably gave her the image she desired. Classy, severe and confident like a woman who'd had to climb her way to the top to succeed.

As she checked her mascara and eyeliner, she was pleased her fatigue wasn't evident on her face. The last few days had been extremely hard. Thankfully, the dark cloud that had tormented her seemed to pass overnight.

She heard the door of the restaurant swing open but didn't bother turning to look at the group of men who had most entered the restaurant. She didn't need to turn around to know who they were. She could smell their type from miles away.

"Working class men on a lunch break." She rolled her eyes.

Even without turning around, she could tell a couple of them would have slipped off their wedding rings incase they were fortunate enough to meet a gullible dame.

She hoped they would take their seats and completely ignore her as she didn't have the time nor patience to deals with fools. Unfortunately, the gods had decided to forsake her as they often did.

She could always tell when a man was looking at her inappropriately.  It was rare for a man to pay attention to her as they were often imitmated by her demeanor which destroyed the patriarchy they were comfortable with. She would have admired his gumption if she hadn't been so irritated by his gaze.

She tucked her hair behind her ears, closed her mirror with a loud snap and continued pushing her food around her plate. She didn't have an appetite—hunger wasn't a concept she understood.

Sometimes, it made her wonder why she even bothered taking a lunch break when she knew she could barely stomach more than two or three mouthfuls. Eating was an exhausting, though necessary chore.

She eyed her Fanta and managed to take a tentative sip. She almost gagged. She was barely able to send the orange soda down her throat.

She wished she could have ordered water instead.

Beep beep beep

Her neck turned sharply as her black iPhone buzzed reminding her that she only had approximately ten minutes before the end of her lunch break. She needed to get back to her office so she could prepare for her next client.

Sighing loudly, she signaled to the waiter hovering close to her table to bring her check. The waiter came over, blushing like a teenage boy was standing in front of his crush.

"The check, please." Her deep, almost masculine voice was so stern and brisk that the waiter faultered before he handed over the bill and the small note he'd been asked to deliver.

He cleared his throat nervously when she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

She read the note with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

It was the typical flirty, albeit unimaginative note men sent, asking for her number. He didn't even have the guts to walk up to her. Coward.

"Who wrote this?" The woman asked coldly.

"A gentleman over there. He's wearing a green suit." The waiter cleared his throat again. He averted his eyes.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes before reaching into her bag for her black pen. She chuckled nastily, scribbled a few words at the back, then tossed a handful of currency at the waiter.