Filthy

3. Anabelle-2

Walking into my office, I tried hard to stifle a yawn and appear perkier than I felt. When it didn't work and I yawned wide, I tried to hide it behind my hand as I walked by my boss' office. He waved at me and smiled. I waved back, faking a smile of my own. Jack Rutherford was the CEO of our public relations firm. Tall, dark, and some would say handsome if you could get past the skeevy way he looked at everyone – “everyone” meaning the women in the office. And “looked” was probably the wrong word. “Leered” would be more apt.

Holding his head up high, he always seemed to look down upon you. I guess that's what being born with a silver spoon in your mouth must look like. It was very doubtful that Jack Rutherford ever had to want for anything in his life. Being born into a wealthy, business family meant he'd had it easy. Even his position as the company's head had come easily to him – it was passed down to him from his father who'd once run the company.

“Good morning, Anabelle,” he said as I walked by.

“Mornin', Jack,” I said, rushing by as quickly as I could.

I was a few minutes late, but he didn't say anything about it. Thankfully. Maybe he could see it on my face, but I wasn't in the mood to get yelled at.

I walked past a few cubicles, waved at some folks I knew. They were all settling in for the day already. Asher White, one of the guys on my team, stopped me as I walked toward the kitchen for an extra large mug of coffee.

“How's the McMillian project going?” he asked, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, blocking my path.

“Fine,” I said with a smile. “I'm almost finished with it now and we should have a press release ready to go this afternoon.”

Randy McMillian was a chef opening his first restaurant in Oregon. It was said to be unlike anything we've ever seen before, with a nice hipster vibe and a variety of healthy dishes, including vegan plates. It was highly upscale, which meant it was all very pretty and expensive, served up on tiny plates and ordered in individual portions. Oh, and everything was locally grown and sourced... blah blah blah. Unlike anything we'd ever seen before, my ass. It was the same as every other restaurant that had opened up in the area in the last few years. More and more people were catering to that hipster, vegan crowd. But my job was to make Randy Macs stand out, and I was doing my best.

“Glad to hear it,” Asher said, giving me a look that said he wanted to say something else, but was holding himself back.

Asher had been giving off the vibe that he'd wanted to ask me out for some time. But he'd never come out and actually asked. His flirtations were, honestly, way more awkward than they were attractive. And while he was a nice, clean-cut boy my mom would approve of, Asher just wasn't my type. He was too wishy-washy for me. Too submissive. There was a reason I was likely getting promoted over him after our next performance review. He had a hard time actually sealing the deal, getting the job done, or whatever you want to call it. Asher just did not know how to assert himself.

He couldn't even bring himself to ask me out on a date after we'd been working side-by-side for well over a year now. He should have been comfortable enough with me by now to have at least broached the subject, but he wasn't. That's why I still considered him a boy and not a man – even though we were the same age.

“Hey, Asher?” I asked.

“Yes, Anabelle?” He licked his lips, stood up taller, as if he expected – or at least hoped – that I'd intended to ask him out, thus getting him off the hook.

“Can I please get through to the kitchen? I really need my coffee before I go postal on everyone in this place,” I said it with a laugh, hoping he'd take it as a joke.

Whether or not I was joking was irrelevant. I wasn't a naturally violent person and the idea of a lifetime in prison wasn't something I was interested in. It was something that terrified me a bit, actually. Which meant that I wasn't going to be doing anything that got me arrested, even though it was damn tempting sometimes.

“Oh, of course,” he said, moving out of the way and looking more than a little disappointed. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” I muttered rushing into the kitchen to the delightful machine known as the Keurig.

I could feel Asher behind me, watching me, as I made my single cup of Vanilla Bean coffee. I really wasn't ready to talk to him just yet. I wasn't really ready to talk to anybody just yet. I was going to need at least two or three – hell, perhaps even four or five – more cups of coffee before I'd be feeling human enough to even consider conversing with anybody. But Asher wasn't taking the hint. He was still hanging out around the doorway to the kitchen, shuffling his feet, clearing his throat, and generally looking like an awkward, gangly, teenage boy with a huge crush who didn't have the balls to actually do anything about it.

I looked at him and let out a long, pained sigh. “Was there something else you needed, Asher?”

For a moment, he looked at me and I saw a firm set to his jaw. There seemed to be a sense of conviction and courage in his eyes I hadn't seen before. I thought he might have just worked up the nerve to actually do it. He might have finally worked up the balls to ask me out. And if he did? I'd have to turn him down, of course. But major props to him for actually growing a set. Finally. I turned and looked at him, sipping my freshly brewed cup of coffee.

“Uhhh yeah, I was wondering if you'd be free... ”

There it was! He was going for it! I was almost proud of him for getting the nerve up. But then he dropped the ball. Of course he did.

“... to go over some of the materials I created for Randy myself,” he finished.

We'd already been through everything from his end. I knew it was a copout. The courage and conviction I'd seen in his eyes just a moment before had gone. Completely. Like they'd never been there in the first place. Just when I'd thought Asher was growing up to be a man, he proved once again that he was simply a boy. And further justified my rationale for not wanting to go out with him. His face was bright red and he scratched at his chin excessively, not meeting my gaze.

“Sure, Asher,” I said with a knowing laugh. “I'd love to.”