008 - A Bone In His Neck
1490 Words
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• Everett •
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Two days later, I had just grabbed my briefcase, ready to get to work, when I bumped into Diane at my door. Her hair fell in careless waves, and her under-eyes were way too dark.
“Jesus Christ! You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, absently biting her finger.
In a flash, she thrust a slim black box toward me.
I tried to decipher the contents of her gift, letting out a sigh the moment I realized what it was.
“Morning to you, Diane. Not everyone’s obsessed with colognes,” I said, making my way to the dining area.
She scurried behind me, trying to catch up with my pace.
“That’s a limited edition I picked up in Milan,” she said. “I figured if I couldn’t say the right thing, I could at least show it.”
She stepped in front of me now.
“You didn’t even speak to me all of yesterday.” She added, opening her arms and forcing me to a stop, a pout forming on her lips.
I rubbed my eyes in frustration. “I need to leave for work. Stop acting like a child, would you?”
“I won’t. Not until you tell me we’re cool.”
I ignored her, moving toward the dining table. When I reached for a high-back chair, she held it, insisting she pull it out herself before I sat.
“I’m really sorry, Ev. I didn’t know stating the fact would make you so pissed.”
I shook my head. “Is that truly an apology? You know what? Tell Patricia I won’t be having breakfast.”
“In your dreams.” she said dramatically, darting in front of me and blocking my way.
“My goodness!” I exclaimed.
She quickly turned to her left, making frantic hand gestures to my dismay. In a second, Patricia appeared with a saucer carrying a cup and a small plate of toast. She avoided my eyes, gave a quick bow, and hurried away.
“Sit,” Diane insisted, pulling out a chair.
I hesitated.
“I made this coffee myself. And before you start complaining, Patricia supervised every step. I haven’t even slept properly these past two nights. Please just tell me we are back to being friends, ple-ase.”
“f**k. You’re a bone in my neck,” I muttered in defeat, sitting in the chair she had pulled out.
She settled in the one closest to mine, grinning from ear to ear.
"That's a relief," she mumbled.
I said nothing, twirling a silver teaspoon in the cup before lifting it to my mouth. The contents spilled onto my tongue and then down my throat.
Diane’s palm rested on her cheek now, waiting for my verdict.
“And?”
“Ten percent more sugar than Patricia would put,” I pointed.
“Way too creamy and not enough bitterness,” I finalized.
She tapped the table, looking away. “It wasn’t intentional.”
“I knew you would say that. Well, not everyone has the luxury of playing around with morning antics when work is waiting,” I replied, leaving the toast untouched and standing up.
Diane followed. “Harper & Co resumes by 9 o’clock.”
“And what says the time?” I asked, flashing my wristwatch at her.
She held my hand instead, her fingers brushing mine gently as she glanced at it.
“8:45. Fifteen more minutes is enough to see you off.”
I looked at her face, releasing my hand. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m not complaining.” She smirked, walking behind me.
In a jiffy, we were at the carport. I pressed my key fob, unlocking the car and sliding inside. With a click, I adjusted my steering, winding down the glass windows.
Diane ducked her head in. “Stay safe, you oversized teddy bear.”
I nodded, catching a glimpse of her waving with a smile before I glided my car out, concentrating on the road ahead.
- - -
In less than an hour I arrive at the revolving doors of my company ready to kickstart the day.
“Good morning, Mr. Langston,” the receptionist greeted brightly.
“Morning,” I replied, loosening my cufflinks as I walked past.
“Sir,” Claire, my personal assistant called, catching up with me. “Your first appointment is already waiting.”
I frowned slightly. “Already?”
“Yes. She arrived early. Marina Prescott.”
The name clicked instantly, dragging my mind back to the schedule I had reviewed the night before. My first meeting with Marina was slated for thirty minutes.
“She’s waiting in your office,” Claire added.
I stopped walking.
“In my office?”
“Yes, sir.”
I exhaled slowly. “Did you inform her that I hadn’t arrived yet?”
“I did.”
That explained a lot.
“Clear my next meeting,” I said, resuming my stride.
Claire hesitated. “Mr. Langston—”
“Clear it.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I pushed my office door open without knocking to find Marina Prescott sitting in my chair, her face buried in one of my company’s magazines, flipping through it as though she could give me tips on real estate.
I let her enjoy whatever moment she was having, but she quickly realized someone else was in the room.
She looked up, eyes widening in surprise.
“Oh! Mr. Langston. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I said.
She stood quickly, nearly knocking the chair back as she hurried to compose herself, tugging at her dress.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought since I was early—”
“You were told to wait,” I interrupted, stepping in and leaving the door open behind me.
I walked past her, taking my seat as she stood stiffly beside a chair.
She remained standing for a moment, then glanced at the empty chair opposite my desk.
“May I sit?” she asked carefully.
“What do you have for me today, Ms. Prescott?” I cut in, flipping open the slim folder on my desk. “And let’s be clear, where exactly are we starting this business of ours?”
She blinked, thrown off for a minute, then recovered with a smile that was a little too bright.
“Right! Of course.” She nodded enthusiastically , walking up to me. “I’ve put together a plan for your dating life, discreet and carefully thought out. I believe love should be intentional.”
I arched a brow internally. Intentional love? That was new.
I watched her while she spoke, tapping at her tablet as she scrolled through neatly organized charts and notes. She leaned forward, angling the screen toward me, her blouse revealing a good amount of cleavage.
“And here,” she continued, “are some suggested date ideas designed to build connection without unnecessary exposure.”
She leaned further, the dip of her dress shifting provocatively. I noticed. She noticed that I noticed. Still, she didn’t stop.
“So first, I categorized potential partners based on compatibility metrics, social fit, personality, and long-term potential.”
“And this compatibility scale,” she added with a smile, “was created specifically with you in mind. How the relationship is perceived matters as much as how it functions. I’ve already shortlisted venues, date ideas, even photographers—”
“Mmh... that will be enough,” I said, cutting her off.
Her smile faded. “I’m sorry?”
I closed the folder slowly, taking a proper look at her for the first time. Her cream blouse clung too tightly to her body, the neckline dipping lower than any professional meeting required, paired with a fitted skirt that stopped just above the knee.
“Do you know what we do here, Ms. Prescott?” I asked, leaning back.
“Yes… Love Incorporated specializes in—”
“Professionalism,” I interrupted. “Results! Discretion! Not whatever this is.”
She pursed her lips.
I glanced pointedly at her from head to toe, then back to her face.
“This isn’t a nightclub,” I said evenly. “And you’re not auditioning.”
Her face flushed instantly.
“I wasn’t... I didn’t mean...”
“People like you don’t work here,” I continued. “We don’t sell attraction, and we do not need the likes of you who confuses strategy with seduction.”
Her face burned red, the color rushing up her neck. She swallowed hard, fighting tears.
“That’s not… I wasn’t trying to—” she whispered.
“Save it.”
I stood up, shrugging my jacket off my shoulders.
“Leave my office this minute, and consider yourself fired.”
- Writer
