Craved By Mr. Russell

Marriage Proposals

RICH RUSSELL

~~

Who wears an overflowing dress to work as a secretary in a tech company?

Heck, who talks back at me like they f*****g own the place? My question about her identity was still hanging in the air as she stared at me as if it was hard to believe that a good-looking man like me existed.

Typical.

I rolled my eyes, deciding that she wasn’t worth the stress. “You are fired.”

No secretary of mine would start her first day with a disrespectful attitude and without my cup of coffee.

“You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Russell–” The red-headed woman before me breathed softly.

I took another look at her, wondering how wrong I could have been. Should I talk about her appearance or her attitude? Whatever to be honest. “You are still fired. Leave my office.”

She stuttered, “I’m not your employee, Mr. Russell. I have an–”

“Yes, you aren’t because I just fired you. Can you get out of my face? Like now!” I snapped.

She was getting under my skin and I hated people like her. Yes, I didn’t know the kind of person she was and I didn’t care, I still found her annoying. Despite my clear instructions, she didn’t make a move to leave.

I hissed, “Do I have to call security–”

Before I could finish that statement, my office door opened after one swift knock, and another woman, stepped in with a cup of coffee from my favorite cafe. This woman was dressed in well-ironed pant trousers and a simple but elegant brown shirt.

“Hmm, good morning, Mr. Russell. I’m sorry to interrupt but I was told to get your coffee to you before–”

“Who are you?” I asked, brows furrowed.

“I’m Trixie Reed, your new secretary.” She answered and I didn’t have to look at the woman standing behind Trixie to know that she was smirking.

I swallowed the urge to tell Trixie that my coffee was supposed to be on my table ten minutes ago and just as my gaze landed on the redhead, she uttered, “Do I sense an apology on its way?”

Hell no!

“You sense wrong.” I retorted. “If you aren’t my secretary you have no business in my office–”

“I’m here because you and I have an appointment. I’m the–” Perhaps it was because I hated the fact that she cut me off, I did the same to her.

“Just leave.” Sternly, I ordered her.

I held her gaze, watching as her frown deepened and her face turned just as red as her hair. She scoffed as she headed for the door but the door swung open before she could touch the doorknob. I saw recognition flash across the redhead’s face which caused my eyes to squint until my dad walked into my office, wearing a bright smile.

“Mr. Russell.” The redhead exclaimed.

My dad etched, “You must be Ms. Martins.” The redhead nodded, telling my dad about how she had been trying to reach him but couldn’t seem to find her way. My dad quickly apologized with respect and he said, “I met your adorable girls in the hallway and they told me you came into this office.”

“It has your name on the door and I assumed it would be your office but–” Her voice broke as she looked my way, shaking her head subtly.

Oblivious to the tension between us, my dad chimed, “Oh, I see you have met my son.”

My dad’s tone insinuated that he wanted me to introduce myself to the mysterious woman he was treating with respect. She didn’t look familiar one bit so who could she be?

With mockery in her voice, the redhead asked me, “If you are not Mr. Daniel Russell, then who are you?”

To avoid getting in trouble with my Dad even though I’m a fully grown man of thirty-three years old, with a name of my own and a flourishing business, I kept my attitude in check, responding, “Hello, I’m Rich.”

As expected the redhead raised a brow, “You are rich?”

Whenever I introduce myself to people, they instantly assume either of these two facts–that I am being a spoilt brat and throwing my family wealth in their face or that Rich is a short form of Richard– or sometimes both.

In this mysterious woman’s case, I could tell she already thought I was a spoilt brat but her next statement made me realize she was indeed one of the annoying ones.

She blurted, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Richard Russell.”

This time, I scoffed. Aside from being called Richard, I knew it wasn’t nice to meet me.

I didn’t hesitate to correct her and at that moment it felt like we were the only ones in the room. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed that I was enjoying this banter. “The name is Rich, Ms. Rich Russell.”

“Oh.” She looked at my Dad for confirmation and when she got it, she apologized, “I’m sorry for my assumption.”

Regardless of what she thought of me, I was still a Rich Rich.

My Dad muttered, cutting my thoughts short, “This is Ms. Martins, the owner and Lead designer of Disons’ Kiddies Apparel, the brand I mentioned you will be working with as an investor.”

He did mention that but I didn’t agree to it. I’m an engineer who builds amazing stuff not get involved with some fashion show, especially not with her. While I was constructing that thought in my head, considering the best way to reject my Dad’s request, the redhead beat me to it.

She muttered without blinking, “I’m sorry Mr. Daniel Russell. I would rather reject the deal than be bound to work with him.”

My eyes widened and I blurted out in disbelief, “What? You are rejecting me?”

I didn’t realize how much it sounded like I was referring to a marriage proposal until the redhead looked me square in the eyes and replied, “The business proposal, yes, I’m rejecting it and the idea of working with you.”

No one…. Absolutely no one has rejected me in my thirty-three years of living.

I usually do the rejecting– of business proposals, marriage proposals, and of people as well– until now, and boy did I hate it.