24-Story Love Affair
"It's not you, it's me."
His words stung. In a way that I thought: shit, that fucking hurts.
Holding back the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes, I managed to ask—well, demand loudly such that it caused all eyes on us, to be specific, "What the hell does that mean?" Like a child, I threw the seemingly expensive bracelet he got me a week ago, accidentally hitting one of the caterers. Okay, so I can't aim. Sue me.
"That's the crappiest break up line ever!" I cried— out of annoyance of course, not sadness. Well, maybe a bit of sadness but mostly due to rage if the colourful words I was spitting out was any indication. "For fuck's sake, grow some goddamn balls and tell me why, damn it."
I had to admit, that speech wasn't very ladylike or coherent, even. But I was mad as hell. Who the fuck used that line anymore?
"Zoey," Charles Harrison began softly as he tried to usher me to a more private part of the hall, which was out in the hallway where there was only the employees from the hotel that would be able to hear us.
I slapped his hand away. No way was I letting him touch me after that. Not even the materials of my dress. Anyway, I deserve to cause a scene, especially with the bullshit line he was feeding me.
Once we were gone of the public's eyes, I stood up straight, crossing my arms over my chest, hoping that my somewhat nonexistent cleavage would show and hope that my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend now—would take me back and I could politely (or not so politely) tell him to fuck off. "Explain, Harrison," I all but growled. And just to be clear: I wasn't sad, no, I was furious as fuck.
"Well, you're my boss and I'm uncomfortable with dating you," he blurted.
I didn't know how I did it, but I miraculously held back my fist from punching him in the guts. God must be favouring Charles Harrison right now. "Try again," I hissed. If the office sex was an indication of how our office-status bothered him, then I would say that it didn't bother him at all. Not when he got off fucking on the desk in a middle of a call this morning.
Charles squirmed. "You're too intimidating!" he answered loudly, looking all too frightened, "Too strong, not needy enough, dating you is like dating my damn father!"
If it wasn't for the pair of arms that held me back, Charles would have ended up in the fucking ER within a matter of minutes. My nails would have done some serious damage on his face and, fuck, how I wanted rip off that stupid hairstyle of his.
"Let go of me!" I ordered, flailing my arms around but the arms around me was too strong to fight off. Some of the workers in the hotel looked away, trying to ignore the scene I was causing.
"Charles, you're dismissed," came a baritone voice.
"Shit, Harrison, you're not fucking dismissed!" I roared. Profanities tended to slip out my mouth when I was in a rage. I attempted to get away, but inevitably failed.
"Let me go, Blake!" He didn't listen to me, though. Instead, he dragged me up to one of the empty rooms reserved for the party and closed to door shut. "Christ, you let Harrison get away!"
Blake Carlson quickly pushed me back, which caused me to stumble rather awkwardly to the small love seat in the five-by-five meter room. I was pretty sure that this was a closet before the hotel turned it to a small room for the event of two (or maybe three?) people in a desperate need to let some heat out and get down and dirty.