"Eira, what are you saying?"
My red leather pump tapping, I answered simply, "I'm saying that I want you to clear out. Now."
"I'm afraid I don't understand. When I handed over the store, I did so under the impression that I would keep my job as the executive manager of Priss."
"Well, why would I buy the place if I wasn't going to have anything to do with it?"
"I don't know. Could you have bought it as a supplementary source of income?"
Such a condescending, piggish bastard! My coral-lined lips pursed in a frown, I placed my hands on my hips, "Fine, you can stay in this office. But only as my secretary."
Those fierce gray eyes of Valentin Lennart bore into my soul. Just like any man of his nature would, he tested my resolve. Such piggish bastards! Not that I care, I've had my fill of men—for three months this Tuesday. Yes, three months after purchasing Priss I still have not instated my new world order or found a replacement for Char. But to be forthright, Valentin has fought tooth and nail to make sure that nothing changes on his watch. And it is that sort of determination that is driving my store into the dirt.
Okay. For three months, I tried to deny the fact that Priss was fading fast despite my multi-million dollar bailout. Then I got my wakeup call and morning newspaper.
Priss—A Play Toy for the (Former) Princess Eira
Quite simply, I could not stand by and watch my name go down for the sake of Valentin's ego. I did not fork over enough money to keep a small country in clothes just so that this spoilt little shit could go on as if nothing had changed!
"As in answering phones, taking messages and fetching lattes? You want me to be that sort of secretary?!"
"Is there any other kind? You'll be a proper doll and all the other executives will be so very jealous."
As I rushed to embrace him, Valentin drew back, waving his arms and shouting, "Wait a second! I haven't agreed to a thing!"
"You have until tomorrow, bright at eight, to decide."
With that I bid him good bye and went on to my next appointment. I walked down the beige hallway toward the elevator lobby. At their neat little desks, receptionists waved at me with great big, toothy smiles plastered on their faces. Only one had the balls to wave the morning paper in my face. But instead of blowing up, I took the higher road. Well, higher than telling her that her bald spot was showing for the world to see, though not much.
Twisted into a cruel smile, my mouth opened to spew venom, "We have a special on control top stockings over in lingerie."
Her jaw sagged and I patted her hand in mock apology. My good name intact, I waved good bye to the whole lot of them.
"You're wasting your time, Blanche! The answer's 'No!' " Valentin called from the threshold of my office.
"Sleep on it."