Chapter 7: Lunch at Work
1137 Words
Nikolas
Complex architectural designs spanned my tablet screen. Each one represented several hours of dedication, focus, and sweat.
Tapping at the leftmost one, a wave of pride swelled within me. But that feeling vanished as suddenly as it'd arrived.
No matter how much I tried, I just couldn't get Brianna's image off my mind. The previous night's events were still fresh in memory. Mother had gotten so pissed that for the first time, she resorted to violence. I should be on her side since Brianna's accusation was insulting, to say the least. For some reason, I did the opposite.
Holding back a cuss, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Around me, it rained in torrents. Lightning streaks flashed across the sky, which posed a huge threat to early risers. Yet, people went about their business, hurrying across the streets with rain jackets and boots.
A part of me resented them for not being in my shoes. They hadn't been forced into a miserable marriage, which only brought grief and regrets.
Another part of me preached gratitude. Many people woshed to live the life I had. They dreamt of owning a company as reputable as Conti Montors. Life was full of ironies indeed.
A few minutes later, I climbed the front stairs leading to the company building.
“Good morning, Mr. Conti” flooded in as soon as I got into the reception area. Aaron, my acting assistant, strode towards me.
“Ms. Morgan resumed this morning,” he added.
I glanced at him, certainly not expecting the news. Rather than comment on it, I changed the topic. “Any new development?”
We entered the elevator.
“Not exactly, sir, although L&L Brothers requested more time to reach a conclusion.”
“Time is one currency we don't trade in,” I replied, plugging in my earphones.
Aaron followed me all the way to my office, where we finalised our discussion. With him gone to grab my coffee, I tracked the company affairs, pending when the next board meeting would be held. Everyone knew better than to interrupt my flow; so when the door behind me squeaked open, I cussed.
“Well, I pardon your French, Mister. I didn't expect you to begin the day with grumbling,” a familiar husky voice drew close.
In a matter of seconds, a vixen dressed in a suit stood before me while extending a cup of coffee. Vixen was the only word I could think of to describe her due to her bleached hair.
“What happened to your hair?” I asked.
She smirked, raking her fingers through it. “You noticed.”
“It only takes a blind person not to.”
“I decided to touch it up. The damn flu made me look like Medusa.” Her eyes narrowed into slits, right before she raised her brows. “You don't think it suits me?”
I scoffed, “We both know what I think doesn't matter.”
“I'm glad we understand one another.”
Morgan Fitzgerald was my esteemed assistant, although she’d never hear that from me. We went to the same college but only connected during grad school as MBA students. Morgan had majored in Communications during undergrad and I’d had my head buried in automobile engineering. She'd proven to be a huge asset to the company by being a critical thinker.
“You didn't tell me you were resuming. I'm sure it typically takes a week or so to recover from the flu,” I said, taking a second to look away from my laptop.
She shrugged. “Call it tough skin. Congratulations on your wedding, by the way. I didn't have the chance to build “Morgan’s Specials.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on my lips despite myself. Morgan was fond of giving the most bizarre presents. They included a monstrous-looking bobblehead toy that bore earing the title ‘Nikolas Conti, emotionally constipated since 1997’; a so-called anti brooding kit containing a squeeze ball and sickeningly sweet scented candles; a miniature coffin she’d claimed was for my dead sense of humour and erotic CDs to mark Daphne’s 's twenty-fourth birthday.
Like a deck of cards, my mood fell. It had everything to do with the thought of Daphne.
“Hello?” Morgan called, but I barely responded. “s**t, I didn't think not getting the special would cause a fuss. My bad.”
I was about to respond when the telephone rang. It was a receptionist.
“Sir, a certain lady is here to see you. She says her name is Brianna.”
I almost blurted out a ‘what the hell’. What could she possibly be doing here?
“Fine. Let her in.”
Brianna walked in a few minutes later, and I couldn't have been more furious for letting her in. There was something about her that made me uneasy. Could it be the sundress or the way her red curly hair framed her face?
Non fare l'idiota, Nikolas. Don't be an i***t, Nikolas.
Scolding myself and making sure that upsetting thought had been buried at the farthest part of my mind, I turned my attention to Morgan.
“I'll take my leave now,” she spoke before I did.
Silence settled in after Morgan left. While I worked on my laptop, Brianna stood quiet across the desk
“Will you keep standing there like a statue or explain to me why you came into my office unannounced?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…”
“Why are you here?” I cut her shot, irritated by her constant apology.
“I brought you lunch.” She visibly trembled when I dragged my gaze to her. As if to quench my anger, she added, “Alice said you left without having breakfast.”
“Lunch,” I scoffed, “after the drama you pulled off yesterday. I see you're not done making people sick.”
Her face fell almost like she wanted to cry. But I wasn't moved. Brianna couldn't fool me, not when she'd had the guts to point accusing fingers at my mother.
“Leave,” I ordered.
“Nikolas…if you'd just let me explain. I didn't mean to hurt anyone.”
“There you go again with that annoying catchphrase. You didn't mean to, but your actions tell a bloody different story. What do you take me for? A moron?”
She swallowed the sobs that longed to leave her trembling lips. Those tears she'd been holding back fell.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
“Save your apology for when you actually feel sorry. Now, leave my office.”
She didn’t argue anymore. Sniffing, she walked away, and I was left wondering why I ever agreed to make her Daphne's replacement.
- Writer
