Anya Watson just got pranked!
The witty but insecure accountant wannabe with red, fiery hair finds herself super glued to the barstool in their office kitchen on a Friday, when all her peers had gone home for the weekend.
Who knew that of all people, her boss, the dashing Mr. Adrian Banks, would stumble upon her there and end up stuck himself – literally – with her?
Oh no! Whatever will they do now?
I stammer. “Ugly? UGLY? But I’m ugly!”
He protests rather immediately and vehemently, “Of course not! Who told you that? Regina again?”
“I don’t need Regina to tell me what I already know! Look, look at my face!”
I wiggle my arms. Which, I forgot, are still stuck. Darn, I can’t even point my finger to point out my point. Whatever.
“My eyes are too wide apart, my nose is too big, my lips are too thick and my hair. . . it’s always a mess!”
“What are you talking about? You’re perfect. Every detail fits you perfectly. And I love your curly red hair. I’ve always wanted to run my fingers through it.”
“Perfect?! ME, perfect?” I screech at him.
He plants a kiss on my pert nose. “Yes, you. Why do you keep repeating yourself? Never mind. It’s one of the many things I like about you. You’re a natural. Authentic. There’s nothing fake about you.”
“There is!” I counter him.
He actually looks interested instead of turned off. Go figure.
I blurt out, “I have false teeth!”
His brows rise up and his mouth curls. “Oh, you mean, like the ones that are worn off and soaked in a glass of water every night? My grandma has those.”
I would have stomped my foot on the floor if it isn’t dangling in mid-air. So I stomp it in mid-air. Which makes him laugh, and gives him the idea that he has to squeeze himself closer to me.
Yep, you guess it right. Right smack in between my legs.
Good thing I’m wearing pants. Or is that a bad thing?
Hehe. Naughty you, Anya.
“No-o, not like that,” I shoot back, trying to focus. “I have teeth implants! When I was a teenager, I was super clumsy and one day, I was biking, and I fell flat on my face, and almost all my teeth broke, and, and. . . that’s it! I have implants! I’m fake!”
Geez, I’d win hands down at the “insulting oneself” contest.
He shrugs. “So what? Ask any model, any actress and they have implants too.”
My ears must be failing me. Did I just hear him comparing me to actresses and models? I shake my head.