Tuesday, 19 August 2014

Yawns aren't contagious and that's how I know he's Satan.

(It's not even eight in the morning so this won't be arranged the way I like it but I rounded up my hourly rate for the Devil for my assistant services and he didn't even bat an eye so here the fuck I am. We've hit mid five figures. This makes me laugh. I don't even know what I've gotten myself into anymore that he pays me so much for doing stupid things he could hire a service to do for fifty bucks. Especially since I wind up giving it all back to him in rent and putting what the boys give me toward their share into certificates that they can cash in later, with interest. I'm nice like that. I try to look after them too because they look after me. And that is all above board and has nothing to do with sex, since fully a third of my readers have decided I must be sleeping with everyone. Christ, people. I would have been worn clear through years ago.)

Caleb uses work as an excuse to chip away at my resolve when I'm angry with him. I get easily distracted in the details and drop my guard every. single. time. We only seem to be at DEFCON 3 today though. He's being Charming. I'm being Distrustful. We're using our Words. This Sucks.

I am terrified of revolving doors and won't walk through one alone.

Converting dirhams to dollars is pretty easy and surprisingly cheap, making this trip I'm trying to finalize for Caleb to Dubai in November much less painful than I expected it would be. The Atlantis? Check. Races? Check. Dolphins? Check. Driver? Check. Bridget? Not on your life.

Cookies before ten in the morning? Gross. Not what I meant by breakfast pastries.

Headache? Check.

Coffee? Where? It hasn't been delivered yet.

Idiot wasn't ready when I arrived either. Also well planned. He's possibly the only boss that can spend the first quarter of a workday in nothing but a towel and not get sued for it.

I really have no patience for this today.

He just offered to reformat his Dubai meetings to Sydney if I wanted to go there instead and doesn't get that I'm not leaving the continent with him. Also, you know, I JUST FINISHED booking everything.

Since he slipped that I technically have to sign nothing, I'm back to actually not signing anything and it's nice to just say no.

I do love planning his trips though. Maybe I should have been a travel agent but close enough, I'm a dreamer.

Oh look, fucker can do something. He's ordering a rush breakfast. Finally.

I hate this office. But he hates working from the boathouse so once he was dressed we moved.

I hate my dress too. Maybe light wool before ten in the morning is also gross. So are these shoes. His dress code for work is misogynistic beyond the pale. I should be home in my cutoffs and my Breaking Benjamin tank top. I hear rumors of new music. All the Bens are spooling up at once here.

And the screen on my phone now displays a message from Lochlan. He's so sweet.

It says,


It's so nice to be wanted. He's up early though. I feel like a tug of war. I feel like a loser. I feel like crawling out of this dress backwards and walking down West Georgia naked sipping on a pitcher full of coffee.  I wonder how far I would get? That would be something. Something better than this.

But not right now, because I forgot to block the meeting rooms for the trip. Shit.