Impulse

Sound of Blood

I'm a different image from the vivacious woman in red last night. Spectacles as antique as my grandma's slide down to the small tip of my nose. My hair, already kinking up from the humidity of the summer, is pulled back in a neat bun to the back of my head.

 Very professional and very chic for work.

 Plain black heels only half an inch high hide my French pedicure, and a plain white collared oxford shirt accompanied by a black pencil skirt is my ensemble for the day.

I look like a fucking librarian. A very hot and nerdy librarian.

Such is the life of a secretary.

 It's tricky business but I'm holding a box of a dozen glazed donuts and on top of that four cups of coffee in a carrier box. Meanwhile, my stomach is grumbling like crazy.

"Hey let me get that for you," Meg, she's such a sweetheart;  holds the door to Jensen's & Co Law firm open for me.

"Thanks Meg," I give her my characteristic smile, super peppy and shy like I don't deserve for her to be so gracious to me and I slip on in. My purse swings on my arm, it's a burden, I'm not a purse girl, but I don't have anywhere else to keep the things I need. I don't have a car, so I can't keep it in there and I need my keys so the purse is a must but....I just really really really hate purses. I'm not that much a girl honestly.

Jensen's & Co is pretty chic actually, with its glass doors and beautiful marble tiles and aura reminiscent of an old but affluent Victorian home. I'm into old crap so bear with me.

Susan, this red-headed Caucasian woman nods her head in my direction from the receptionists' desk. I give her a nod as well and make a direct right past her desk. Soon I'm walking down this long hallway dimly lit and as deliciously ominous as the entrance. There's just this mystical feeling to it that I adore, or maybe it's an after affect of reading too many fantasy novels and watching that puke worthy Twilight early in the a.m.

My boss Mav, short for Maverick (he has the weirdest name right?) well he's already enraptured with his mac computer when I tap on his door with my knuckle, "I brought coffee and donuts."

Sometimes I wish the guy were sleazy, or less than proper because he's so gorgeous it hurts to look at him. I have absolutely no idea what his race is, though I guess it doesn't matter, it's just this strange fascination that keeps me up late at night. He has these eyes, grey and blue and then hair that's so curly if you were to put a pen in the black forest it would stay unnoticed. Then his skin, it's tawny....kinda and he has the bone structure of a regal Africa and he's so tall and he's stocky like he works out or something. And he's so informal it hurts, like why does he have to be so buddy-buddy with me all the time? Doesn't he know that he's hot? And young-ish? Ok so he's not a fresh thirty, maybe like a fresh thirty five but who the hell cares the guy is hot.

But we don't date bosses now do we?

"Anya! C'mon in! You're a godsend I was starving. Set them here and get you a couple of them oh and a cup of coffee too."

This is the best job ever. Ok so not really, but he's the best boss ever.

I set the box of donuts and tray of coffees on a table meant for food, it's large, but in this massive office it looks like a tiny bedside table meant for an alarm clock, "No thanks Mr. M, I started this new diet thing and doughnuts are not on the 'can eat' list."

I'm laughing, but I'm completely serious.

There's a stack of plastic silverware propped on the table in a neat fashion. I place three donuts, three napkins with four packets of sugar and three small tubs on the cream for his coffee. In the other hand I walk over the cup of Joe and a stirring stick.