Friday, 2:02 pm
"What're you doing here?"
Having heard that question for the fourth time today, I rolled my eyes as I laid down my bag and set my water bottle down on the countertop. I turned to see my cubicle partner Gerald, returning from getting a fresh cup of coffee, judging by the topped-off mug in his hand. He was a good guy, albeit a little too nosey into my personal life for my taste. I put up with it though, because it sure as hell beat some of the possible alternatives. He knew all about my situation with Jessica, so I decided to rip the bandaid off.
"Jessica killed our relationship this morning, and it didn't end well." I leaned against the wall of my cubicle, "Apparently she found someone she liked more in Kansas over the last month and apparently she thought I'd like it better if she let me buy her a ticket so she could look me in the eyes when she broke the news to me."
Gerald's eyebrows raised and he let out a whistle, "That's a lot... and she waited till the last day to tell you?"
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, pulled it out, and immediately silenced it, "Yeah... she waited the full week to tell me." I waved my phone in the air, "That was her calling, by the way. Seventh time she's tried to call my phone in the last half-hour. She probably ran into some trouble getting to the airport or passing through TSA or something. Fucking useless..."
"Well, her using you like that... it shows a serious lack of character on her part. Consider yourself lucky, pal. You could have been in a marriage with that young lady." He blew on his coffee and took a sip and nodded, "It's probably for the best."
"What's probably for the best?"
The feminine voice behind me immediately caused the contents in my stomach to turn, and I gave Gerald a silent snarl of contempt before turning around to face the voice's owner. Standing before me was one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen in-person - Bobbi Nanford. She was slim with golden-brown hair that fell in waves around elfin features. She had a fair complexion and a long, graceful neck, and beautiful light-grey eyes that seemed to pierce into my soul when she looked at me. Her nose and lips were waifish and delicate. She could have easily been an influencer or model making a lot more than she did here if it weren't for the fact that she was so goddamn lazy. An alternative could have been finding some rich asshole to date, but the only real flaw to Bobbi was her personality. She didn't just suck. She was a complete psycho bitch.
"Nothing Bobbi," I said, immediately disappearing in my cubicle to hopefully communicate that I didn't want to talk.
Not taking the bait, she followed me.
"What are you even doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at home with your long-distance fuck-girl?"
Fifth time that question was asked.
I wanted to whirl around and lash out at her. I wanted to tell her that I didn't have to tell her a goddamn thing and that she should mind her own business. Honestly, I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to shove her head-first into a trash can and lock that trash can in a closet. The problem was that I'd had two infractions in the last six months and a third would probably lead to serious repercussions. Both infractions had come from complaints made by Bobbi. The first had been due to sexual misconduct in the workplace. It was a bullshit claim, and everyone knew it. For starters, I was too mild-mannered and introverted to be that brash. Second, I was too level-headed to make unwanted advances in the workplace and jeopardize a good career. Third, I wouldn't have tried to force myself on someone like that because I consider myself a relatively good person. And fourth, Bobbi was a raving, foaming-at-the-mouth bitch, and despite the fact that she was stunning, I wouldn't have touched her for a million dollars.
Okay, that was a lie. I'd sleep with one of the hottest girls in the office for a million dollars, but then I wouldn't really have had to worry about my job then, would I?
The other infraction occurred when she somehow managed to convince upper management that I'd been mishandling financial information. While I hadn't been directly accused of anything, my supervisor made it crystal clear that I was on thin ice. The point was, Bobbi had it out for me, and no one with any actual power had my back.
So instead of physically abusing her, I simply allowed myself to imagine several ways of ending her life and made due. It was hardly satisfying, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Trying my best to keep things civil, I moved my desk into a standing position and removed a couple of snacks from my bag as I set up for my half-day.
"We broke up this week," I said without looking at her. I turned on my computer, still trying to convey the message that I wasn't interested in talking to her.
She laughed at me, "Damn, Upton. You had to find some internet rando desperate enough that she flew out regularly to fuck you, and you still couldn't keep her? Why can't you just date someone who lives in your city like a normal guy? Got tired of the rejection?"
I'd mastered the art of not talking to this woman, and now I was having to use every trick in my belt to keep looking forward and not say anything. Why did she hate me so much?
"Have you given up yet, incel?" she prodded. "Or do you think you still have options? Maybe you need to look further away? Some poor woman in a third world country might see you as her ticket out of her shithole. Ever think of that?"
"Now that's enough, Bobbi," Gerald said. Him speaking up at all demonstrated that she'd probably gone too far. Gerald wasn't exactly the confrontational sort.
Bobbi snorted, "Mind your own fucking business, coffee stain. It'll never be enough. I know Marcus' type. He seems all nice and sincere. It's just an act. Don't let him fool you, grandpa."
"Why would you even say that?" I whirled on her, but still kept my distance. I saw her eyes grow fractionally... probably from the outrage she felt that I'd bother to question her. "What have I ever done to give you that impression?"
"Because you're all shit-bags," Bobbi spat. "The more nice and chill you are, the more of an asshole you are underneath it all. You're just an opportunist who probably used that poor, desperate girl. You probably broke her heart, and now you don't have to look her in the face because she lives halfway across the country. So now you can go about your little life and try to find some other low self-esteem girl who lives far away and woo her into sucking your dick for a while till either you get tired of her or she wises up to the fact you're a loser."
I could feel the blood pounding in my head and the nails digging into my palms.
She looked me up and down and contorted her face into a sneer, "You want to hit me, don't you?"
I did. I really fucking did. But I knew better.
"That's what I thought," she muttered. We stared each other in the eyes till moments felt like weeks, and when it became clear that I wasn't going to give her a reason to sue me, she turned and headed for the exit.
"I have better things to do than breathe your air. Later, loser."
She turned the corner and walked away, firmly shoulder-checking Gerald on the way just enough to jostle him, but not enough to make him spill any of his coffee. She was a master at that sort of thing. Gerald and I watched her walk away, both of us a little dumbfounded at how hostile she could be... but more than that. Despite my feelings toward Bobbi, I was captivated by the way her little ass looked in her tight, grey skirt. It didn't matter how horrible of a person she was, Bobbi Nanford was a work of art.
I glanced over at Gerald and caught him staring at the exact same thing and gave him a nudge. He tore his eyes away from the view as if he'd just been caught cheating on his wife and looked at me with a confusion in his eyes that I fully understood.
"I know, man. I know," I said before stepping back into my cubicle and getting to work.
Thirty minutes passed and I was starting to fall into a rhythm, letting the work drown out the fresh wounds Jessica had inflicted on me and the proverbial lemon juice Bobbi had decided to rub in it. I found some sort of zen in staring at rich people's numbers all day and manipulating them to make them bigger. Numbers often made much more sense than people, and they rarely surprised you.
