Page 36 of Wild Thing
And if there was one thing I was a black belt at, it was compartmentalizing.
Steven and I were meeting with the executive team—those responsible for hiring Gellar and Summers to design the bridal store headquarters. The pre-planning for the Studio Pase project had been six months in the making, so finally being at this stage felt like an achievement in itself. If I played this right, Omega could become a long term client, giving me the opportunity to flex my design talents across multiple projects, bringing me one step closer to one day working for myself.
So stop thinking about fucking your ex.
Wearing a structured, all black, high neck mini-dress with long sleeves, clear wedge heels and with my long, black hair styled in a high, slicked back ponytail, I slid my iPad into my black Givenchy tote.
Spritzing myself with Armani Si, I checked myself out in the mirror before heading out the door.
It was giving assassin.
I wish Brax could see me looking like this.
My thoughts had continuously wound up coming back to him becauseof course they had.
***
Strolling into the lobby, I spotted the most insufferable human on the planet holding two coffees.
Steven.
Dressed in a shitty gray designer suit, he extended a latte towards me.
“Oat milk latte, extra hot, for the lady,” he said, passing me my coffee.
“Thanks,” I replied, taking an immediate sip. I was going to need thirty coffees to get me through the morning. “Want me to order a car?”
Steven winked at me. “Already got one on the way.”
“Well done. Want a medal?”
“Just a kiss.”
Ew. It was too early for that shit. I would sooner fall into a pit of Black Mamba snakes than ever kiss that man. I needed to steer the conversation away from where it was heading. I didn’t want to get into an argument with him before this important meeting. “We’re meeting these guys at their office right? Not on site?”
“Yep, office. Meeting with Greg Fowler, the CEO and owner of Omega,” Steven said, as if I needed reminding. He took a gulp of his coffee, and some of it dripped down his chin. How this mess of a man had become a decorated architect was beyond me. “He’s insistent on having his project managers present for this initial chemistry meeting.”
What an absurd term. A “chemistry meeting.”
In other words, it was a meeting to see if they liked us enough to work together. Normally, this meant a lot of small talk and a lot of ass kissing on Steven’s end. He took everything personally because his self worth was directly tied to his success. I'd always felt sorry for people who didn't have an identity outside of their job.
Except for Steven. I didn't feel anything except disgust towards him.
“If you’re nervous, just stand there and look pretty,” he flashed me a cheesy, slimy smile. “Which should be easy for you. Let me do the talking.”
Giving him a filthy look, I imagined how satisfying it would be to spit my coffee on him. He thought he was funny, but really he was a chauvinistic cunt.
“It’s really amazing you’ve never been done for harassment, Steven.”
“It’s not harassment if you like it.”
He was vile. Exhausting, and truly vile. Didn't this prick realize we were living in a post “Me Too” era? I decided to give him a little taste of the uber-bitch inside of me.
“No wonder your wife left you.”
His ego made him laugh, but I knew I'd hurt him. His swagger significantly decreased. “Ouch, so mean. You've got a filthy mouth for someone who is so gorgeous."
Cringing, I ignored him and headed outside. I’d rather wait alone for the car then spend one more minute talking to this cretin.
