KICK IT | JENLISA

4

Jennie

Subtle movements shuffled around me. A few women's thighs pressed together, and Mark had stars gleaming in his eyes. I averted mine before all the reminders that attracted me to Lisa resurfaced.

Too late. Weeks of self-loathing were enough. I picked at the cuticle on my right index finger. God, I hated this arrogant scumbag. She deserved my keyed autograph on her car. The idiot held no regard for...

"I've heard about the wonderful work you all at YG Accounting are accomplishing. I speak for all the charities within 'The Lalisa Pranpriya Manoban Foundation' that we appreciate your efforts, dotting the I's and crossing the T's down to the bottom line."

The room hummed with laughter, widening her grin. I gagged. What the fuck did that even mean?

For the next ninety minutes, I attempted my best-focused efforts. Beating myself unconscious with my notepad would have been more productive. Doodling the death of stick figures made me more productive than the room drooling over Lisa Manoban. One particular drawing looked much better with a spear stuck in her purposely small dick.

"Morbid." Mark whispered.

"Well deserved." I corrected.

During the glorified, kiss-up slide presentation to Lisa, she appeared interested to an untrained eye. A glaze shone in her brown eyes and her large fingers threaded through her hair. Oh yes, and she fucking smirked at her phone every five minutes. I wasn't the only one bored out of my skull.

Finally, the last compliments pitched in Lisa's direction signalled the end of my misery and the room stood up. Loud conversations consumed the room. I slacked my head back and rolled it to Mark's smile. "Giant waste of time."

His eyes glowed. "I can't wait to meet her."

I released an inaudible, "Huh?" when a heavy tap bumped my shoulder.

Lisa's mountainous form towered over me, the shoulders bearing the weight of a nearly five-billion-dollar franchise blocked out the overhead lights until she moved, and the glare off my glasses blinded me. "Thanks for coming."

I blinked at her extended fingers, so close the faded white circles of calluses on her fingertips hovered an inch from mine. A crook bumped the otherwise perfect, straight nose she looked down. Too bad it wasn't my fist who broke it. Oh my gosh, my nose was level with her...

"Ms. Manoban, such an honour."

Thankfully, Mark's hand cut off my view of Manoban's crotch... the same crotch my knee slammed into, the last time she infiltrated my airspace. She deserved it, but my body repeated its mutinous response with skittered beats rattling in my chest and a respondent beat pulsing between my legs.

I lifted my notebook between us as a shield, where the flash of orange served as a much-needed reminder: She is a jerk, but one who deserved to know that her charity was a sham. It was all in her name. "Lisa?" I held up my notebook. "Could I bother you for a..."

"No autographs." Her smirk lifted over Mark's pumped shoulder. "Sorry."

I froze, unable to blink. Autograph!? Oh, hell, no. I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or pummel those eye-level avocadoes into guacamole. An unattractive garbled sound rose in my throat, lodging at my jawline. I smashed my lips together as half my brain cells evaporated. Autograph. My grey matter's other half-poofed when Lisa flicked a business card between her scissored index and middle fingers, followed by a fluttered descent ended in my lap.

"Thanks for understanding." Lisa's eyes glinted, sparkling the dark browns with tiny stars. "Always nice to meet a fan. Hit up my agent for a merch discount."

Her agent!? Fan merch!? She... she... didn't know who I was. The hard edge of the card gouged my palm. I crumpled it and expanded my new swear word vocabulary. That sludge monkey assclown shipwreck didn't deserve to know anything.