When Bexley's editor Eva Mellon tries to dig up secrets on an impromptu 'Office Romeo', whose oblivious 'Juliet' stands in the way of 'her forever' with fellow colleague Josh, she finds herself eerily attracted to the no-nonsense, intimidating (but...
Two blocks to the right from Belle's Cafe stands a mammoth building in the middle of the East Fordshire. The grey exterior in its sleek fusion of modern Greek architecture and British influence made it too exquisite to praise with mere words. Many people had felt a similar appraisal for it, and more often than not, 'the Trivia' as it came to be known turned out to be a popular site for film shootings. As fate would have it, Bexley's Publishing Co. had its office at The Trivia.
The building was home to corporate workers in raven suits making their way in and out of the magnificent complex as they move in and go out of their nine-to-five circus of extravagant money-making. It always demanded more than a moment to breathe in the enormously exquisite sight of the exemplary architecture before I made my way into it. I checked my skirt thrice at the Powder room at Belle's to ensure the coffee stain on my skirt had blurred out, and I looked nearly presentable. The weather was too rash to leave the hair untied, and after a frivolously failed attempt to make a French braid, I settled with a low bun. Who was I kidding? I looked like J.Lo from 'Maid in Manhattan'. I let out a sigh as I pinched the bridge of my nose.
It was strange to see the Trivia on a Sunday. Only the cleaning staff was in the lobby. I jammed the elevator buttons, awaiting the familiar clank sound of the metal chains pulling the vessel down. The doors opened, ready to engulf me, and I accidentally hit my leg against the metal railings.
"Holy son of an-"
I lost my composure, waiting for the nerve-numbing pain to hit my ass when I felt fingers slipping around my back. The grip felt stronger around my waist, tugging, and holding me in place. Another pulled me up.
"So ladylike of you, Mellon." Tyranny Turner smirked through his cold glare. Who told him to play the damned hero when he was sucking my Sundays? Fucking annoying!
"My apologies for the trouble. Good morning, Mr. Turner." I said in a manner way.
It was always like this between us- him trying to scare the shit out of me and I, pouring out the corporate formality on the face of it.Dressed in a three-piece suit, no better than a lion, all set for hunting down his prey, he stood bold with his blonde hair covering the best part of his forehead.
"The trouble would have been to carry you with a fractured leg. Easy there on the elevator," He said, stepping in.
"Get in. We don't have all day."
His cold glare only amplified the itch in my skin. Even my body had an aversion to his touch. The familiar tingle across my back left me dazed.
"I am sorry." That was second sorry in two seconds. I sighed at my ignominious tendencies.
"Maybe if you'd pay more attention, you would say less sorry." He said with a shrug.
I raised my eyes to meet his, a sting of hate simulated in my core. What's his deal? I had been working my ass out to make things work out for the best.
"Well, it's hard doing that with some people breathing down your neck all the time." I said with utter contempt.
"When someone breathes down your neck, you pay attention to your cologne, Mellon." He said inching closer.
"You give them something worth their time..." His voice reduced to a whisper.
"What if I don't think they are worth it?" I asked, looking in his eyes.
"Then you make them realise that." His Adam's apple quaked.
"You know, you don't have to be rude to me all the time. I could use some appreciation." The words came out blatantly.
"That was damn straight." He said in a low voice, and I felt an eerie feeling in my core. He inched closer.
I had never heard of female employees being knocked unconscious in elevators due to rude awakening calls served to their bosses, but this might be a start.
His breath turned heavy as I felt it close against my cheeks. His fingers brushed against my cheeks, holding me up to meet his eyes. I had not known the air he breathed out became the air I breathed in. His lips placed softly against mine as he pressed them in with such finesse. Warm, rough, and burning with fire as they part mine.
Our tongues clashed against each other. My finger slipped into his hair as he pressed me against the elevator wall. Then for a moment, when he moved away, I thought that was the end. But you know what they say about men in power- they are crazy. His fingers placed against my back, making their way down to my skirt. The elevator rocketed upwards.
"Stop." I barely managed to say amidst the loss of breath.
"Please stop," I murmured.
His cheeks flushed as he tried to balance himself in the elevator. The elevator escalated.
"What are you doing?" I screamed in hysterics, getting my senses back.
"Appreciating." He said in pretended innocence.
"Are you kidding me?"
My eyes went wide in horror. Was he high or something?
"Who do you think you are?"
"Who do you think I am?" He counter questioned.
"A psycho." Asshole is the word.
He chuckled, moving to a side as he burst into laughter. Maybe if I kick him in the nuts, I could get on with this. But that would mean losing my all too precious job at Bexley's. I had two options, report this to HR, who would do nothing about it because the fucking head of HR is also the woman who hates me till the end of the world. Second, I will pretend that nothing happened and it was a kiss, a harmless one!
Ting.
The elevator interrupted my thoughts. We had reached the 104th floor, and he stepped out with a stupid lopsided grin.
"Get your act together. The office hours today are extended to ten. If it ain't done ASAP, be my guest and spend the night here!"
Son of a dog! (Why blame mothers all the damn time?)
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