The Under Boss's Ballerina [18+]

31

The woman Dr, Mario who I had been introduced to as Genevra, her first name, said, it was alright.

She said it was better out than in and then she offered me some candies that was for younger patients.

I gladly accepted.

But my emotions was still all over the place.

My childhood isn't a place I visit every other day.

Neither do I end up crying like a five year old whose mama won't pay her attention.

Well- maybe sometimes I do.

Not always and not in front of a woman I barely know.

"I think you ought to call his personal assistant for that." I reply, with a smile.

Why can't she just call him and confirm?

I thought Angelo like always will be in the club.

Where we could enjoy our lunch in private and peace.

"Or Mister Giovanni himself, ought you not?" I ask again.

Woman, take the hint and call the man, for God's sake.

"As I said, you are not on the boss's-"

You know what? I will just call him and get myself a fucking visitor's appointment.

Fuck this, company policy or whatever the fuck.

I held up a hand to silence her.

"It's alright." I said to the lady, taking out my phone, dialing Angelo's cell.

"Tadpole?" The man spoke from the other end, sounding slight off the rack.

"Hey." I whispered. "Do you- uh- maybe want to come and get me?"

"Are you downstairs?" He asked, I heard shuffling of pages from the other end alongside his voice.

"Sí." I replied. "I brought Thai food."

"Alright." He chuckles. "Twenty in the lift. 4597 is the code, darling. Come on up."

"Sure." I say biting the inside of my cheek. "I'll see you in a minute?"

"Sí, sweetheart."

I end the call putting the device into my purse and pick up the food bag from the floor, turning to the receptionist.

"Mister Giovanni will be expecting me, if you will." I said.

"I have an appointment now." I add.

"Sure, miss." The lady says. "Let me confirm it with his PA and I will rt you through." She says.

"Sure." I say.

The last whose name I didn't know used a wired telephone to call Angelo's PA and answered him or her with eye rolls.

"The twentieth floor, miss." The receptionist said gesturing me toward a lift.

I unquestionably detest people, judging the other by the mare visual of their appearance or their dress code.

I was looking like a mess, I wouldn't say other wise.

I had a sundress on with my regular flat sandals, my hair was on a low pony, it was super sunny outside, I was feeling hot on top just had an emotional episode.

Forgive me, if I didn't know I would be in presence of an extremely professional critique who would question my life chooses with just a look at me and my sundress.