home. I really wish he wouldn’t do that. He has no right to feel so comfortable in my office when I’m so uncomfortable with him being in here.
When he says nothing, I blow out a breath and decide it’s going to be up to me to get things rolling. “So, what can I help you with?”
“Colleen,” The Toad begins, “Is there something you need to tell me?” I stare at him blankly. Several things come to mind: you’re a pig, I hate you, die in a fire… but none are things I can vocalize. I raise my eyebrows, asking for clarification. “I just mean,” he stutters, “You’re eating a lot—a lot” he emphasizes.
I narrow my eyes and slap my hands down on my desk. “What are you trying to say, Nate?” My temper has left me and so have my senses. I disregard the fact that he is my boss. I disregard the fact that I spent over three years in law school. I disregard my student loan debt, and the economy. If I lose this job, I can say hello to bankruptcy, because finding another one would be impossible. The trouble is that I just don’t give a flying fuck anymore.
He fumbles over his words. He fidgets. He opens his mouth repeatedly; but no words come out. Thomas Nate is stuck at the bottom of a well and it’s apparent that he knows if he speaks one wrong word, I’m going to drown him alive. So I throw him a bone.
“Spit it out, please. It’s nearly time for second lunch!” I snap, revealing myself as a closet “Lord of the Rings” nerd. The Toad looks unfazed. I should have known he was too lame to appreciate all that which Tolkien can offer. Idiot.
“ARE YOU PREGNANT?!?” he shouts, eyes darting around the room—looking anywhere but at my face—and a nervous sheen appearing on his forehead. Score one point for Angry Colleen.
“WHY!” I shout back, my blood boiling. He continues to squirm.
“I’m sorry,” he pleads, but I’m not having it.
“No, no. Don’t be sorry, Nate. I understand,” I nod my head, my voice ice cold. His eyes widen in what appears to be fear. Inside, I giggle maniacally. Good. “I get it. A woman can’t have a healthy appetite because either she’s a pig or she’s with child.”
“That is not what I meant!” he defends himself weakly.
“Sure, sure,” I say, wanting to throttle him. My arms twitch and the papers on my desk fly around the office. I stand up and lean over my desk.
“What do you want to hear, Nate? That I’m depressed? How about I tell you I’m a pig? How about I tell you that I just like cookies?” My arms twitch again and more papers fly around. And again. My desk is now cleared of every last loose paper. “How about I tell you that I can’t stand you?”
He stands up, having now found his voice. “This is unprofessional, unacceptable, and I urge you to lower your voice, Ms. Frasier.” I let out a muffled scream. How dare he! The stupid bastard. My last name is Patrick. I may not have Brad in every way I want him, but I do have his last name, damn it.
“Or what?” I challenge.
“Or you will be excused from your position at this firm.” His voice is condescending.
Without another thought, I make a decision. “DON’T BOTHER!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Leaning forward across my desk, I meet The Toad’s eyes.
“You will have my personal items boxed up and delivered to my condo—not my husband’s house. You will expedite a check to me for all of my recently submitted billed hours,” I raise an eyebrow at him knowing that he was likely planning on trying to swindle me out of my billed hours; especially considering the fact that I’ve put in a lot of overtime as of late, and that extra cushion will help me during my apparent upcoming season of unemployment.
“Do we understand one another?” I ask. Nate remains silent. It’s probably for the best. I’m one short answer from backhanding that moron right about now. I grab my purse and pull my apple fritter from the top right hand drawer and smirk at the pansy before me—and then take a huge bite of my pastry—and smile wide as I exit what was once my sanctuary.
“And one more thing—if there is not a sufficient enough bonus attached to my last check from this firm, then you can