Monday 17 November 2008

Far too fast to pacify you.

In a year of fallen angels
Broken hands and boys in danger
Pray the lord might pacify you
Ain't no telling what he's up to
Let's enjoy a little morning coffee with Bridget, shall we? As she begins her first day at work, as assistant to Mr. C____, who, as bosses go, is incredibly indulgent so far.

I knew Caleb was sending a car for me, which is silly considering the Lexus has been in my driveway for two days. But he himself showed up in the 350z again, which handled poorly in the snow but I could see that he was enjoying ferrying me around and a lot of times I think Caleb has made so much money that he pretends to be working and he doesn't have to work at all.

He took me out for breakfast to celebrate my first day of work, and of course I wasn't hungry because I didn't know he was going to do that and I had already eaten but I had coffee and a warm piece of pecan pie that I ate half of, while he had an egg white omelet and bacon and steamed vegetables because he will not allow himself to gain an ounce. It was this vanity I was marveling over when I found another. The lines at the corners of his eyes that are not as pronounced as Cole's were because I think Caleb rarely smiles.

Unless I'm there.

He has smiled through most of the morning, I'm surprised there aren't feathers sticking out of his mouth.

To address all the people who pointed out that Sam has asked me to come work for him many times over and I have refused, and yet here I am, working for my devil of a brother in law, let me just say this. Working for Sam is beyond difficult because I spend my day staring at or walking in and out of Jacob's old office.

That hell is worse than this one.

This one so far is not so bad. So far work-wise I have ordered new business cards with Caleb's new information on them, I have arranged for a huge Christmas tree to be delivered to the loft on December thirteenth and he's asked me if I can show him how to use his Blackberry when we come back from lunch. Oh and I charmed his doorman. To absolute pieces.

Basically I think my job description is to let Caleb watch me walk around in his loft in my ridiculously high heels. If he's going to pay me this much money to do that, then yes, Lochlan, I am selling out. No better than a whore? That's great, thank you.

There is something in it for me, too. You seem to forget that.