As always:
Thanks to rf-fast for the editing work. Your insights are what takes this story from mindless drivel to readable.
Happy Reading!
*****
Reputation:
Reputation: an act or a series of acts that defines the perception of yourself in others.
Now that is not Webster's definition but one of my own, as at the moment I do not have a dictionary in front of me. The results could be positive or negative and the effects are long lasting. The acts could come from years, months, or weeks of habitual redundancy, or in my case, a single, solitary moment in time. And for me, my reputation in the office in which I work is that of a depraved soul. But still, that doesn't explain why I am gagged with a shroud over my head while being tied down to a chair. And the very reason I do not have a dictionary in front of me.
I was late. It was my first day at Windham Securities, a firm that deals with investments for the most wealthy of individuals. Some wanted stock advice, some wanted retirement assistance, and some only wanted use of our accounting services, but all were prestigious. I was doing my best to make up for the time lost, running as fast as I could in my navy blue suit and fake oxford shoes. As it turns out, running is not the greatest of actions to do when you have poor quality shoes and two left feet. Passing by the bushes that lined the cement walkway I was on, I saw the finish line. I also saw Janet Crosby. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a red executive business suit that screamed power. She was my soon to be coworker and she was being kind enough to hold open the door for me. As I got close, I smiled at her. I also tripped. With the speed in which I was going, my action was more like a dive, a head first aerial assault onto the aforementioned Janet Crosby. When the dust settled, I was lying on top of the poor woman with my right hand unceremoniously enjoying the feel of her left breast. With several eyewitnesses viewing the event, my ineptitude at running became sexual harassment.
I was embarrassed but determined as I explained myself to the human resources director, thankful there was a security camera in the lobby to show my side of the tale.
"Troy Miller," Mark Driscoll, the head of Human Resources started. "I understand that this was an accident but I also cannot ignore the results of what happened. You are admonished from this instance, but if you slip up just once more, the company will be forced to let you go. You are now on probation for six months."
My job was saved but not my reputation. Gossip spread across the office like wildfire and I was henceforth known as the Depraved Demon of Windham Securities. No matter how polite or nice I was, hell I even spent forty dollars on cookies a colleague was selling for their kid, it was always assumed I was just playing an angle. Some feared me, some wouldn't speak to me even if we were working on the same project, but most just looked at me with abject disgust. I just couldn't shake my reputation.
Despite the drawbacks, I was determined to make my mark in the financial world. I followed the market, dissected trends, meticulously analyzed companies and prospects. If a stock would allow even a penny of growth, I jumped at it. I was also great at reading my clients. For instance, I had two small business clients say, "I want my company to be environmentally conscious." One said it and meant it. The other meant, 'I want my company to 'appear' to be environmentally conscious.' I knew what was required simply by the client's body language. I worked late every evening, pouring over the portfolios of what few clients I had to ensure their futures were secure.
It was another late night at the office and just like the others, I was alone. I finished a retirement plan for a client, one that would provide enough equity so he and his wife could live until they were a hundred and fifty and still be financially comfortable, grabbed my briefcase, and made my way to what is always my last stop before vacating the building; the restroom. When I reached the door, I realized my shoe was untied, so I did what anyone would do; I knelt down and took hold of the laces.
A creak of a door and the sound of two footfalls had me looking up at a woman who I have never seen before. She was gorgeous, but not in a supermodel or curvaceous type of way. Those never interested me. Her face appeared soft, her hair, black in color, cascaded down to her lower back, and she dressed in a navy blue blouse, a black skirt, with a black overcoat. The fabric was of obvious high quality and not something off the rack at a department store. Everything about her screamed innocent and wealthy... all except her dark brown eyes, piercing in nature, and they radiated a sense of danger. One glance into them and I knew she could beat me to an inch of my life or further if she so chose. And I couldn't look away. Just one look and I was already infatuated with the woman before me.
"I see what you are doing, Troy!" The voice of Janet came from behind and I turned my head just in time to see her purse arching down toward me. "I can't believe you would have the audacity to look up a client's skirt, you pervert." The force of the blow was enough to flatten me to the ground. What did she have in there, a cinder block?
I struggled to stand, more out of fear from being attacked again. "I was not looking up her skirt. I was tying my shoe when she came out of the bathroom."
Janet shook her head, let out a disgusted huff, and rolled her eyes at me before focusing back on her client. "Allow me to apologize, Triela. Please know that his actions in no way reflect the high standards that Windham Securities is known for and furthermore I will ensure this animal is dismissed first thing in the morning."
"Thank you, Janet, but that isn't necessary." Triela glanced over her shoulder as the two of them headed for the exit and she smirked at me, "I'm sure he has learned his lesson."
"Well I appreciate your forgiving nature." Janet then stopped a few steps short of the elevator. "I just realized I left my keys in the office. Do mind seeing yourself out?"
"Not at all, I'll see you next month."
The elevator doors opened and Triela entered. Janet turned on her heels and headed back to her office. I pushed open the men's room door, not at all looking forward to another human resources interrogation come morning.
I did my business in the restroom and stepped in the hallway. I noted that Janet's office light was still on and debated about heading down there to attempt to diffuse the situation but decided against it. Why bother? It would just invite an argument and allow Janet to insult me more without hearing a word I say. Instead, I went the other direction and pushed the down button on the elevator.
Exiting the building, I inhaled deeply. The cool night air filled my lungs and as it always does, helped dissipate my stress. I gingerly started walking down the walkway, appreciating the few stars I could see through the light pollution the city was emitting.
My attention was diverted from my astronomy hobby by the sound of a gunshot. I paused. It came from our parking lot, the same parking lot that was my destination. A few more paces and I glanced around the building to see a terrible scene. Two very large men had grabbed Triela, one by her feet and the other by her arms, and were trying to force her into a white van. She was struggling with all her might.
"Fuck you, assholes!"
I thought those words were odd as I assumed most people would cry out for help. She wiggled a foot loose and planted her heel in the face of one of her attackers. The brute fell to one knee, blood coming from his cheek where the small heel of her shoe cut into him.
I took that as my opening. I charged the goon that was still holding Triela.
"Dumb Bitch!" The man I was going after took hold of her head and slammed it into the side of the van. He straightened his overcoat as she slumped to the ground. "There, now you can't cause any trouble."
I swung my briefcase - I should thank Janet for implementing the idea for that maneuver - and it crashed down on his back, pushing him against the side of the van. I continued to blindly thrash about, wielding my briefcase with the expert precision as a newborn does with its rattle.
When my strength was exhausted, I opened my eyes to learn the truth about the carnage that I'd done. I expected to see blood everywhere, a corpse on the ground, maybe even Triela preparing to give me a kiss on the cheek for heroically saving her, but no. What I got was two Italian thugs laughing at my poor excuse for fighting techniques.
"What do you call that, The Trying to Swat a Fly attack?"
"Wait, I know, it was the Briefcase Fanning move. He must have thought our van overheated and he was trying to cool it down!"
"What he did was the I'm butting into other people's business so I'm going to get fucked up assault."
As I was being laughed at, I glanced down and saw Triela. Her face was a mess as she already had a large lump from where her head was forced into the side of the van and there was blood coming from her nose. There was a gun right next to her. I knelt down and placed two fingers to her neck, hoping for a pulse.
