worked with. He was so smart and talented when it came to his craft. He’d said that I was a once-in-a generation talent, and I knew that he was blowing smoke up my ass to persuade me to take the job, but the truth was, he really was that. His mind was so sharp it was scary, and he had a natural feel and flair for creativity.
But all of that came in such a confusing package. He was strikingly good-looking—the poster child for sexy creatives everywhere. His look was part surfer boy/part advertising hotshot, with his wavy, shoulder-length blond hair, and his aversion to doing his shirts up more than halfway.
Then there was his attitude. Though he was clearly capable of turning on the charm when it was needed, even then it was tempered by his ‘take no prisoners, no fucks given’ attitude, and general air of douchebaggery. The guy made being an asshole seem like an art form. The truth was, while I respected his skill from a professional perspective, and appreciated his physical “talents,” I hadn’t seen much to make me like him, yet somehow, I still did.
Maybe ‘like’ wasn’t the right way to think of it. I... felt something for him. I’d known him not even a week, but there was definitely a connection there, which in itself was crazy. What the hell business did I have feeling anything for a guy I hardly knew, and who clearly didn’t respect me in the slightest?
After sitting in the stall for a while with a thousand different thoughts flying through my mind, I came out of the cubicle, splashed my face with cold water, then left the bathroom. I couldn’t hide out there for the rest of the day, but at that stage, I couldn’t face going back to my desk. I also couldn’t trust myself not to do something that everyone would regret, so instead of heading back, I went up to the sixth floor.
The roof terrace was rarely used, except for functions and other special meetings and events. It was a beautiful space, with well-tended planters and fake grass that looked surprisingly real, unless someone looked very closely.
I sat at one of the wooden outdoor tables and fished out my phone.
“Noa, what’s wrong?”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“You don’t just call me in the middle of the day to shoot the shit, especially not when you know I’m at work.”
“Oh crap, sorry. Don’t mind me. I’ll talk to you later. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“Hey. I didn’t say I couldn’t talk, I’m just remarking that you would normally leave whatever it was until we were at home together, so I know that it’s something important, that’s all. Let me just step away from my desk, and of course I have time for you. What’s up?”
“It’s nothing really. It can wait until we get home.”
“So, why do you sound like you’re this close to bursting into tears? I’m going to take a wild guess and lay the blame squarely at your boss. Am I right?” There were no flies on Michelle. Never had been.
“I guess.”
“Hmm... so what’s he done now? If he’s hurt you, I’m telling you I will end him. I know where you work. I’ll go there and snap his neck like a Christmas turkey.” She was a fifth dan in tae kwon do, so that wasn’t even an idle threat.
“It’s so fucked up. He handed in my signed contract to the HR department.”
“Signed contract? I’m not following.”
“He offered me a permanent job as a Deputy Creative Director here a few days ago. I told him I needed time to think about it, and when the paperwork came, I signed it, but then had second, third and fourth thoughts. I was stalling so I could think about it a little more. But then, I just got a call from personnel thanking me for the contract and wanting to organize next steps.”
“No! What did you say?”
“Nothing. I could hardly tell her I wasn’t necessarily going to take the role, and that my boss had turned in the paperwork without my consent, could I?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what the protocol is when you’ve painted yourself into a corner by screwing your obviously insane boss. They did not teach us that at veterinary school.”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch is right.”
“I meant ouch about what you said, not the situation.”
“I know what you meant, but the situation is fucked up. What are you going to do?”
“I have no fucking idea.