Griffonage: A messy or illegible scrawl
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Mr Linton,
Fetch file 189Q
Rikkard Ambrose
I hurried to the box, drew out the requested file and slid it under his door.
Mr Linton,
Bring me file 110B
Rikkard Ambrose
Mr Linton,
File 201E
Rikkard Ambrose
Mr Linton,
Hurry up
Rikkard Ambrose
This routine continued for a good half a day and I groaned. This bastard had refused to see me and kept his dastardly door locked. What was his problem?
Mr Linton,
Fetch box 31IV224
Rikkard Ambrose
Yes! He wants a box!
I grabbed up my trusty fountain pen and composed a message in my best griffonage.
Dear Mr Ambrose,
I will require you to open your goddy door for that!
Yours Faithfully,
MISS Lillian Linton
Somehow that blockhead still hadn't gotten it through his thick skull that I was inevitably woman, even after a few liplocks.
There were times that I was tempted to tear off my clothes and show him how female I really was.
Mr Linton,
I do not recall having a female secretary.
Rikkard Ambrose
That message made me see red. It has been more than one bloody year and he was still as hard headed as ever!
My pen stabbed the paper, almost perforating it.
Dearest MISS Ambrose,
I am very much a male as you are female.
Love, your loyal but infuriating secretary,
Miss Lillian Linton
HA I'll show him! I smiled in grim satisfaction as I placed the the paper roll into the hollow cylinder and chucked it into the hole.
Pressing the side of my head against the separating door, I kept my ears peeled for any sound.
A soft ping! sounded in Mr Ambrose's office and a muffled snarl followed shortly after. My face split into a massive smirk.
There was a shuffle of paper then the sound of his usual cool, uncaring footsteps ― just that they didn't sound that cool and uncaring this time ― made their way to the partition door.
I leapt away as if I had been burnt, and hurriedly settled myself into my chair. He was coming!
A surge of excitement at seeing his expression, or the lack of it, coursed through my veins.
I immediately chided myself for being so eager. What was wrong with me? I felt like a needy hussy. I was a strong, independent feminist! Such behaviour was utterly unacceptable.
I sucked in a deep breath and straightened my back in an imitation of Mr Ambrose's eternal stiff posture. My features settled into a well rehearsed poker face.
There was a jingle of keys and the door flung open.
A myriad of mysterious dancing shadows were cast over a statuesque silhoutte at the door by the dim lighting. The sight of Mr Ambrose's impressive frame struck a dull ache deep within me.
What was this bizzare emotion?
"What, pray, is the meaning of this?" He held up the tiny slip of paper I sent most recently.
A dainty cough escaped my lips and I smiled serenely. "I'm afraid that you will have to elaborate, madam."
He took a menacing step through the doorway, looking slightly more emotional than usual. "You!"
"Yes me?"
His posture suggested that he wanted to grab me by my collar and shake me until my teeth rattled out of my head. Thinking the better of it, he stopped and straightened himself again. The distinguished detached attitude of his returned in a flash as he composed himself. "Bring box 31IV224 now!"
I bounced up from the uncomfortable wooden chair and gave him a mock salute. "Yes sir! Right away, sir! Always at your demands, sir!"
He ignored me and strolled back to his office, leaving the door wide open for me.
I picked up the cumbersome box and stumbled after him.
"Hurry Mr Linton!"
"Yes sir!" I panted, teetering like a drunken sailor. "I'm just carrying a crate of stones. No big deal!"
"Maybe if you keep your mouth shut, you wouldn't find carrying it as tiresome."
I slammed the box onto his desk with a deafening bang that expressed my displeasure. "Hope these give you indigestion!"
He shot me a cool glare. "Respect, Mr Linton."
"Hope these give you indigestion, sir!"
His gaze hardened even further. "You are the single most annoying creature I've ever met."
"Always a pleasure sir."
He grunted and started leafing through the files. I turned to return to my cosy little room when he stopped me.
"What is it sir?" I turned around and awaited his next command.
He looked up at my still figure and opened his mouth as if to say something, then he closed it and opened it again.
I couldn't help but grin. It looked oddly adorable. "You look like a fish, sir."
His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.
Instead of telling me off, he placed his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers together with a look of hesitance and contemplation on his face.
"You better say what you're thinking before clogs your throat and kills you." I advised. "I mean, it's not as if I give a flying goose about your life," I rambled. "but if you die, I won't be able to get my next paycheck."
"Mmhmm." His eyes were locked on mine, but they were distant with thought, as though he couldn't see me.
That was strange, very strange indeed.
I questioned carefully, "Are you unwell Mr Ambrose, sir? You aren't scolding me."
He didn't reply.
I inched forward and waved my hand before his face. Maybe he was sick. "Do you need your temperature taken?"
That seemed to knock him out of his stupor. His eyes darted so quickly from me to a small velvet box on his table that I almost thought I had imagined it. "Nothing. You may return to your office." His chilly tone returned.
I stared curiously at the foreign palm sized case. "What's in that thing?"
Quick as lightning, his hand shot out, grabbed the small square shaped box and stuffed it into his coat pocket. "It's none of your business!"
That fuelled my curiousity even further. "What is it? Tell me!" I took a step towards him, the table and the mountain of files on it separating us.
"Have you ever heard of the phrase: Curiosity killed the cat?"
I returned an impish grin. "But satisfaction brought it back."
He rubbed his temple, his patience reaching its limits, and snapped in annoyance. "Do as you're told Mr Linton. I command you to leave right now." He must have been incredibly flustered as his brows were set in a deep frown and his lips curved into a tiny snarl.
Where had I seen such a box before? I pondered.
The memory came to me abruptly. I saw something similar in a jewelry shop before when my friends and I were strolling down the streets! It was a ring box if I wasn't wrong.
Wait what did Mr Ambrose, the Mr Ambrose who despised anything to do with marriage and commitment and trust, have to do with a ring box?
Could a lady have proposed to him? I shook that idea out of my head. Impossible! No one in their right mind would have the guts or desire to marry him.
Then could it be... Mr Ambrose was about to propose to a woman?
Maybe he is going to propose to Miss Hamilton, that annoying nasty voice that I could never shake off whispered. She's the epitome of feminine beauty and grace after all.
Miss Hamilton! That shrew from the only ball Mr Ambrose and I had attended simultaneously. A disgusting green monster in my belly reared its head.
It couldn't be her could it?
Well it most likely is, seeing that she is richer and more graceful than you'll ever be. And also much more submissive.
"Which wrench are you planning to propose to?" The accusing words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
His eyes widened a fraction of an inch and his mouth parted slightly.
Those lips looked tantalising.
Stop! I kicked myself psychologically. He is going to get married so don't you dare think of such defiling things Lilly!
"Tell me now!"
"No." Mr Ambrose stood up from his chair and raised himself to his full height.
"Is it Miss Hamilton?"
He hesitated and I could see some uncertainty lingering in his stormy blue orbs. "Yes."
A small spark of hope flitted within me. Maybe he's lying?
I immediately crushed that absurd idea. He was most likely uncertain whether to confess his undying love for Miss Hamilton to me. Bah! That female dog could get knocked down by a carriage for all I cared.
"I'm passionately in love with Miss Hamilton, that's why we are getting married."
I didn't understand why, but his words felt like a red hot bullet through my heart. It burned so badly that I almost keeled over in anguish.
What's wrong with me?
My voice was uncommonly soft and shaky when I spoke. "Well then, I hope that you and her have a happy marriage."
Without waiting for a reply, I turned and fled out of the room, bitterness and agony hot on my heels.
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Well who do you think dear Amby is really going to wed? Miss Hamilton or a particular fiery Ifrit? ;)
Stay tuned for my next update to find out!
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PLEASE READ!
P.S. Do you think I update too much and too fast? I can slow down if you guys feel like I'm spamming chapters. I'm posting frantically because I'm really afraid that readers will lose intrest in my (mediocre) story if they have to wait too long.
Less and less people have been reading my updated chapters, thus as an extremely insecure potato, I feel quite worried. (or maybe it's normal to get less reads. I won't know because it's one of my first stories)
Please leave feedback if you have any :)
Yours truly,
Bethany