Thank you for your kind words, your great responses and for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Stuck-Up Suit.
MERCEDES
I had planned to give the phone back this morning.
No, really. I did.
Then again, I had also planned to finish college.
And travel the world.
Unfortunately, the furthest I'd ventured out of the city over the last year, was when my uneducated ass accidentally fell asleep on the Path train and ended up in Hoboken.
With the phone safely concealed in the side compartment of my purse, I sat in car seven, one row back, and diagonally across from Mr. Big Prick, stealing sidelong glances while he read The Wall Street Journal.
I needed more time to study the lion.
Creatures in the zoo always fascinated me, especially the way they interacted with the humans.
A woman boarded at the next stop and sat directly across from Sam. She was young, and the length of her skirt bordered on inappropriate.
Her tanned legs were toned, bare and sexy...even my eyes lingered for a moment.
Yet, the lion never pounced. He never even seemed to actually notice her as he alternated between reading and mindlessly clicking that big watch of his.
I totally would've taken him for more of a whore than that.
When his stop came, I made the decision that I'd give him back the phone...
Tomorrow.
One more day wouldn't matter.
So for the rest of my trip, I went back through his pictures. Only this time, I studied them, paying close attention to the details of the background, rather than the focal subject.
The photo of him and the old lady was taken in front of a fireplace. I hadn't noticed that before.
The mantel was lined with a dozen picture frames, so I zoomed in on the frame that was the least pixilated.
It was of a young boy and a woman. The boy looked about eight or nine and was wearing a uniform of some sort.
The woman...at least I thought it was a woman...had something close to a crew cut.
The boy might've been Sam, but I couldn't be sure.
I was so focused, I almost missed my stop, zooming in on what turned out to be a mailman in the back of another shot.
What the hell was I doing?
'Oh, you know exactly what you're doing...snooping.'
I stopped at my usual coffee truck and ordered.
"I'll take a Grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk."
Ajmal shook his head and chuckled.
Every once in a while, when he had a line of women who looked like they got lost trying to find a Starbucks, I would order something ridiculous.
Loudly.
I'd usually get at least one who believed Ajmal's Halal Meat, served fru fru drinks, when, basically, you only had four choices...black, milk, sugar, or go the hell somewhere else.
He didn't even carry Equal.
Dropping my buck into the cup, he handed me my usual black coffee, and I laughed as I walked away, hearing a woman ask if he made Frappuccino's.
When I arrived at the office, Sue was in a particularly rancid mood.
Fucking awesome!
The whole world thought Ask Sue was a beloved American institution.
But only a select few knew the truth.
The woman who delved out heaping doses of sugary advice, got her jollies from screwing people over and being cheap.
"Find a number for the Tillary Hotel," was how she greeted me.
I powered on the tower to the old desktop computer she had me work on. The Internet on my phone was much faster, but I wasn't using up my data because she
refused to move into the twenty-first century.
Five minutes later, I brought her the number in her office.
"Here you go. Would you like me to make a reservation for you?"
"Grab the travel folder from the file cabinet."
I handed it to her and waited, since she never answered my question.
Sue flipped through the bulging file until she found a small, folded card...the kind the hotel leaves with the maid's name on it.
She read it and then held it out to me.
"Call the hotel. Tell them Sofia doesn't know how to clean a room. And that the last time I stayed there, the carpet wasn't properly vacuumed, and there were black hairs on the wall in the shower."
"Okay..."
"Mention Sofia by name and that I specifically want a room cleaned by someone else. Then ask for a discount."
"What if they won't give a discount?"
"Then book the room anyway. My room was perfectly clean last time."
"You mean the carpet and shower weren't dirty?"
She let out an exasperated sigh as if I was trying her patience.
"Their room rates are highway robbery. I'm not paying $300 a night."
"So instead, you want me to possibly get someone fired?"
She raised one thick, drawn-on eyebrow.
"Would you rather it be you?"
Yeah. This bitch should be giving advice on morality.
Lucky for me, it was Tuesday...the day Sue met her editor each week. So, at least, I only had to put up with her for half a day, before she left me with a page long to-do list.
Speaking of the list...
Order new business cards. (Make them less colorful this time, I run a business not a circus.)
Update blog. (Yellow folder has daily letters and responses. Do not improvise as you type. Ask Sue does NOT suggest doing it doggy style to cheer up your boyfriend who just lost his beloved Jack Russell terrier).
Enter bills in blue folder into QuickBooks. (Take all discounts, even if passed the discount date.)
Send contracts to Larry for review. There was no direction on this one. But I figured out why shortly after.
She had written across every single page of the document with a bright orange marker...Ridiculous. Not acceptable.
Pick up dry cleaning. (Ticket on my desk. Do not pay him if the mark on the left sleeve of my mohair jacket did not come out.)
What?
What the hell is mohair anyway?
Delivery from Speedster Printing this afternoon. (No tip. He was ten minutes late again last week.)
The list went on and on.
And I had to stop myself from scanning it and posting it on the blog under the last response she gave to an employee, who was having trouble with her boss.
Instead, I cranked up the tunes...she didn't allow music in the workplace.
And I tipped the printer delivery guy twenty bucks from petty cash. Then I took a one-hour break with my bare feet up on the desk, to play with Mr. Big Prick's phone some more.
Looking down at my wiggling toes, I admired Puck's latest handiwork...two feathers tatted on the top of my right foot that dangled from a leather ankle bracelet.
Very Pocahontas.
Shit! I needed to stop back at the shop so he could take a picture for his wall, now that the swelling had gone down.
I was nearly at my data usage limit for the month, so I popped the name Sam Evans into Google on his phone.
I was surprised when the search returned more than a thousand results.
The first one was his company's website...Evans Financial Holdings.
So I clicked on the link.
It was a typical corporate website, all very sterile and businesslike.
The list of holdings was a page long, everything from real estate to a financial investment firm.
The site reeked of old money. I would bet Daddy Evans still had a big corner office and visited every Friday after golf.
The common theme of the site also seemed to summarize the business...wealth management.
Yeah. The rich get richer.
I wonder who was managing my assets?
Oh, wait. That's right. I had none. Unless you counted my great rack. And I currently had no one managing that either.
I clicked over to the About tab, and my jaw dropped.
The first picture was of the Adonis himself, Samuel J. M. Evans.
The guy was seriously gorgeous.
He had a strong blade of a nose, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of a lush forest after rainfall.
Something told me he might have Greek in his ancestry.
I licked my lips.
Damn!
Underneath, I read his bio.
Twenty-nine, Summa Cum Laude at Wharton, single, blah blah blah. The only thing that surprised me was the last sentence...
Mr. Evans founded Evans Financial Holdings only eight years ago, yet, its diverse client portfolio rivals the oldest and most prestigious investment firms in New York City.
Holy Shit! Gorgeous and brainy.
Guess I was wrong about Daddy, then.
After wiping the drool off the keypad, I moved on to the Team tab. Thirty different directors and managers were outlined.
There was a common theme there, too.
Over-educated and scowling.
Except for one lone renegade who dared to smile for his corporate photo...Tom Madison, who was apparently a marketing manager.
Bored with corporate life, but still not ready to go back to my to-do list, I scrolled through Sam's contacts again.
I passed over Adrienne's name and wondered if it was only women that Mr. Big Prick managed to piss off.
A few names down from hers, I landed on the first male name...Tom.
Hmmm. Without overthinking it, I thumbed off a text...
Sam: What's up?
I got excited when I saw the three dots started bouncing, indicating Tom was typing a response.
Tom: Working on that presentation. I'll have it ready tomorrow as planned.
Sam: Great. Tell Amelia to get you set up on my calendar.
At least, I had gotten her name right. I watched the three dots start and then stop. Then start again.
Tom: I didn't think Amelia was coming back anymore. After what happened at the meeting yesterday.
Now we were getting somewhere. I sat up in my chair.
Sam: A lot happened at the meeting yesterday. What, specifically, are you referring to?
Tom: Umm...I meant when you yelled "You're fired, get the hell out of my office!"
The hell...gorgeous or not, this guy really was a total prick. Someone needed to fix his blonde ass.
I launched Safari and reopened the last page I had visited. Halfway down, I found what I was looking for...Emma Pillsbury, Human Resources Manager.
My fingers got to work again.
I'll show Mr. Big Prick!
Sam: Maybe I was a little harsh. I'm in meetings all afternoon. Could you stop over and tell Emma in HR to make sure Amelia gets a month of severance?
Tom: Of course. I'm sure she will appreciate that.
Hmmm...gotta tone it down. If I'm too nice, Tom might suspect something...meaning, he'll definitely know it isn't the blonde Adonis.
Sam: I appreciate not getting sued. What she appreciates isn't my concern.
Figuring I had pushed far enough, I tossed the phone into my purse before I could do any more damage.
Tomorrow I would return it.
And I was looking forward to meeting the jerk in person.
Too short?
Stay safe!