It’s our boss, Adrian Banks. Twenty-six years old, Magna Cum Laude, second topnotcher in the Board Exams, son of the firm’s owner.
And, oh yes. Don’t forget, Anya.
He’s one hot single dude.
All the girls in the office have a crush on him. Me included. But I take pride in hiding it very well.
Not like my co-workers. Often, they talk about him, giggling, swooning over his good-looking chiseled face features topped with black, wavy hair, his commanding tall six-foot stance, his perfectly toned body, and deep, manly voice. Even Regina, the b*tch who put me in this predicament, wishes for a one-night stand with him. He’s like Zeus to them — unattainable, but all the more desirable.
Unattainable because he doesn’t give so much as a flirty glance at any girl, however pretty they are. He’s all work, work, and more work. He pesters us with deadlines, calls for deadlines, emails of deadlines. In fact, his last name should have been Deadlines. It’s like he’s a robot driven by numbers and accounts. I actually believe he lives and breathes debits and credits.
Mind you, he’s not gay. He has a doting girlfriend. And what a woman! I think when God gave out beauty and grace, Keila Easton caught every bit of it. She’s perfection. Like a goddess, fit for the Zeus Adrian.
Which brings me back to the man, whose brows are now raised at me.
“I thought I heard something. You okay there?”
Oh, sure. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.
“Uhm. . . y-yes, sir, Mr. Banks,” I mumble.
His brows move down. “Right. Have a great weekend,” as he makes to close the door.
Of course not! I’m stuck! What do you think. . .
Suddenly, it occurs to me. He doesn’t realize I’m stuck! He thinks I’m enjoying sitting here like a toad!
“Sir? SIR! MR. BANKS!” I scream my lungs out.