Animate Me / Chapter Twelve / A Very Small Banana

“There’s a very logical explanation for all of this.” ~Velma, Scooby-Doo

“Nathan,” she sighs.

I’m rubbing her back, and I feel her relax the more I touch her.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly. “You really do look beautiful you know.”

She looks up and smiles. “Thank you.” She closes her eyes and leans into my chest.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“Yeah, I do. Let me take the dress off first.”

She turns and I carefully unzip her, stealing one more glance of her flawless, alabaster skin.

“I’ll be right back,” she assures me.

I settle back down onto the couch. Only a minute later she returns, having changed back into her yoga pants. As she sits down next to me, I realize her expression has changed. There is fierceness under the outer layer of sadness. She leans towards me and puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Promise me something, Nathan.”

“Okay?” I respond, wondering where this is going.

“When you’ve got your girl, promise me you’ll treat her right and support her in feeling good about herself.”

“Of course,” I say quietly. “Isn’t that what you do for someone you love?”

I feel her fingers tighten over my shoulders as if she’s bracing herself for something that’s building inside of her.

“Don’t tell her that her ass is getting big and that she has chunky thighs, even if you think it. Just don’t say it. Okay?”

Stupid ass, Arnold. “I would never do that, Brooke,” I assure her. If you were with me, I would worship every perfect part of you, every day.

She finally relaxes and sags against the cushions, as if the air has gone out of her.

I reach forward and grab my beer off the coffee table, then hand it to her. “Here, I think you could use a drink.”

She turns the bottle in her hands as she continues. “I’ve always believed that a woman should never let a man affect the way she feels about herself. So the irony of what his words do to me…”

“But it’s hard not to be damaged by the things the people you care about say and do.”

She nods slowly. I watch her take several long sips before she sets the beer back on the table.

“He wasn’t always like this, you know,” she says, a faraway look in her eyes. “He can be incredibly charming…he used to constantly tell me how beautiful and talented I was. In the beginning he swept me off my feet. No one had ever treated me the way he did, and he’s still very charming at times. In fairness, I’ve only told you about his dark side. He’s a complicated man.”

“Yeah, the things you’ve told me make it very hard for me to understand why you’re still with him,” I admit.

“The way things have shifted between us…well, it happened so gradually that it’s taken a while to realize the extent of it.”

I look at her, noting her sad expression. She must still care about him.

“How have things shifted?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

“He’s taught me so much about the business, and has given me opportunities no one else would’ve so soon in my career. But it’s almost like the more confident and successful I become, the more critical he is.”

“Do you know why he’s like that?”

“Maybe he feels threatened. Maybe he was more comfortable when I looked up to him and was less of an equal. But the biggest turning point was when he demanded that I move in with him, and for us to be exclusive with each other.”

I’m shocked and my stomach sinks, as I grip the edge of the couch. “He did? When was that?”

I don’t know whether to be sick about the fact that he wanted more with her, or happy that she apparently turned him down.

She nods slowly. “Late last year. I’d gone out with this guy he apparently had issues with, and in a drunken tirade he proclaimed that our open relationship was over and that it was time to move in with him. Among many other issues, I was so pissed that his change of heart was prompted by jealousy and not by any desire to really develop our relationship further. Even if I had wanted more of a commitment, I knew he didn’t really mean it. I didn’t trust his intentions and refusing him is what started all the passive aggressive behavior. I think it made him crazy that he couldn’t control me. So he’d do things like promote me, then criticize my work…tell me he loved my body one week, then buy me a gym membership the next.”

“That’s awful,” I say quietly.

“Honestly, it wasn’t until I met you, and saw the way you made me feel so special and appreciated, that I realized how much had changed.”

As glad as I am to know that I’ve helped her, I’m still really concerned about her situation.

“Can you tell me what he said to you specifically to make you so upset when you tried on the dress?” I ask carefully, each word measured.

She looks away and her expression gets angry again. “He’s pushing me to get lipo. He insists on paying for it so he doesn’t understand why I won’t do it.”

“Liposuction?” I ask alarmed. “But your body’s so beautiful, Brooke. Where would you possibly have lipo? Why?”

“My hips, thighs and ass,” she explains. “He wants me to look like one of those skinny models. He did it for his love handles that he couldn’t exercise off, so he thinks it’s no big deal.”

“What, no!” I respond alarmed. “Show me what he’s talking about.”

She gets off the couch and stands in front of me. But then she seems to have a second thought, and crawls onto my lap so that she’s straddling my knees, facing me. “Starting here,” she says quietly, as she takes my hands and runs them along the smooth black Lycra covering her inner thighs. She then drags my hands over her hips. “All along there.” Finally our hands settle on the round part of her bottom. “And a lot here.”

“No!” I moan loudly, without thinking. “You can’t let him take your curves, Brooke! Is he nuts? You’re perfect and sexy, and I’ll never forgive you if you agree to that.”

“This is who I am,” she says quietly as she strokes her hips. “I used to like my curves.”

It doesn’t escape my notice that my hands are still on her butt, so I squeeze it gently. “I love your curves. Why do you think I appreciate these yoga pants so much?”

She smiles sadly at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll never agree to it. But I can’t deny that it’s getting to me hearing him suggest it all the time. And that’s not all, you know.”

“What else?” I ask, not sure I can stand to hear more.

“He wants me to get my breasts augmented…you know, bigger.”

“Why? They’re perfect,” I huff.

“How would you know, you’ve never seen them,” she teases.

“No, but I’ve held them. Well, technically one, but that gave me a pretty good indication. It felt so perfect to me.” I grin.

“Well, to be honest, I’ve always loved my breasts. I think they’re really pretty. Lately though, he seems to get off on huge breasts, and has no qualms telling me that.”

“I bet your breasts are much higher ranked than pretty…more like stunningly beautiful or fucking unforgettable. And being a bit of a breast aficionado I think my opinion holds more weight, than Mojo Jojo’s.”

She grins and I’m encouraged that her mood seems to be brightening.

“So now you’re an aficionado?” She teases.

“Well if you count studying them very carefully and drawing breasts thousands of times.” I pause and move my hands to rest on her thighs. “You know you could show me if you want a second opinion on how spectacular they are.”

“You want to see my breasts?”

“Yes, of course I do.” My heart is pounding.

“Are you going to touch them too?”

I swallow hard. “If you’ll let me.” Oh, please let me, Brooke. Please

She leans back and eyes me playfully. “Is this educational?”

“If you want it to be.” I’m getting nervous that she’s changing her mind. I can’t get this close to the Promised Land, only to find out that it’s closed for business. I reach up and tug on the edge of her T-shirt. “Don’t make me beg,” I tease.

She smiles and grabs the hem and starts to slowly pull it upward. Her torso is just as glorious as her back, creamy dreamy smooth. My fingers itch to glide over every plain and valley of her body. But when the shirt finally peels away from her chest, my heart stops. Mojo is clearly on crack because these are the most exquisitely beautiful, lusciously plump, bewitchingly bodacious breasts I’ve ever seen.

“Oh, my.” I state weakly. The sight of her without her shirt completely overwhelms me, and I’m rapidly losing my super powers. I’m now a mere mortal in the presence of perfection.

“That’s it? After all that build up?…Just an ‘Oh, my’?”

Has she not noticed that my eyes are bugging out of my head and I’m swallowing every ten seconds to control my salivating?

“Can we take this off?” I whisper, weakly pointing to her bra.

She smiles. “You want to help?”

I nod and as she reaches around to unhook the back, I gently slide the straps off her shoulders. She waits patiently for me, and my trembling fingers slide under that part in the middle that brings the two worlds together. I pull until the pale blue symphony of lace and straps falls away from her.

I can sense that she’s fighting shyness, a temptation to fold into herself. But she stays strong and sits tall, with her shoulders pulled back.

“Oh, Jesus,” I moan. “Oh my God.” Evidently I’ve suddenly found religion. That’s how incredible her breasts are. I glance once more at the perfection before my eyes roll back in my head.

I hear her take a deep ragged breath.

I reopen my eyes just in time to watch her slide further down my lap. Instinctively I react by pushing my hips forward to seek friction for the battle my hard-on is fighting with my jeans.

And as if that wasn’t enough, she smiles and takes my hands, pressing them softly against her.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” I gasp. I have never felt anything so wonderful as her naked breasts, full and warm in my hands.

“I didn’t know you were a religious man,” she says with a sly smile.

“I wasn’t. But I am now.” I sigh as I marvel at them again in my grasp. I could sit here all night and just hold and admire them.

She laughs softly. “Are you all right?” She notices the serious look that has just flashed across my face.

“Never, ever, ever, let anyone tamper with this perfection,” I insist.

Her smile is so happy, like I just brushed all the darkness and self-doubt right out of her mind.

“Promise me, please, Brooke,” I beg.

She smiles. “I promise.” She looks down at how I’m holding her, and then runs her hands along my forearms. “See, this is what I’m talking about,” she explains. “This is making me feel really good.”

Let’s look at that scoreboard, I think to myself. A touchdown for me, and Mojo has been sidelined. Looks like I’m winning and we haven’t even reached half-time.

Newly confident, I let my fingers explore, feeling the weight, and firm softness. My fingers circle her nipples and I notice that her body reacts in a really good way.

“I have to warn you Nathan, my breasts, especially my nipples are super sensitive. Don’t be alarmed if I get carried away when you touch me.”

Is she kidding? All I want right now is to make her get carried away. I want it really, really badly.

She scoots even closer, pushing herself firmly on top of my erection, finally giving me the friction I desperately need.

From the looks of how she’s arching her back, she wants me to take her nipple in my mouth. My tongue leads the way, and after its tentative introduction with a circle and a flick, I surrender to my instincts. Brooke wasn’t kidding about being sensitive. The minute my lips wrap around her she starts moving over me.

I guess in the back of my mind I’m always convinced that each time will be my last intimate experience with Brooke—that my lucky streak is finally over. So I’m hyper aware of every feeling, the way my heart skips when she winds her fingers through my hair and pulls me closer…the sounds she makes as I work my tongue over her, making me feel like I’m doing something really right.

Unlike Rachel, whose eyes were always closed, Brooke’s eyes are open and she watches me doing everything I can to please her. Watching seems to arouse her even more.

Her fingers grasp my hair and she pulls hard as she rocks back and forth on my lap. I want to be inside her so badly, but I try to stay focused on not losing control. If she keeps rubbing against me like this I’m going to lose it for sure.

“Nathan?” she whispers, her voice hungry and raw.

“Mmmm?” I respond, as I look up, her nipple still in my mouth.

“I think I should warn you…I mean, if you keep doing that I’m going to come.”

In that moment it hits me that I’m making her feel this way. I pull back and look up at her while my fingers tighten over her nipples. I’m arousing her to the point that she may come undone in my arms, and I want that so badly.

“I really want to make you come, Brooke.” I insist, surprising myself with my boldness.

“You do?” She considers my expression while running her hand down my chest. “Is it turning you on to see what you’re doing to me?” Her face is flushed and her breathing fast and shallow.

I nod. “You’re so beautiful.” I take her in my mouth again, with a desperate urgency and she groans, her head falling back. “…and sexy,” I moan. “I’m so excited right now.”

“Believe me, I know how excited you are. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I’m not going to be able to hold on much longer,” I warn her. I sink into her cleavage and my hands cup her bottom and help guide her rhythm over me. My heart’s pounding.

But luckily I don’t have to worry about jumping the gun because her erotic dance suddenly becomes a powerful force. Watching her orgasm is like taking an advanced course in the power of female sexuality. The look on her face alone could make me come.

“Nathan,” she cries, her eyes fluttering, her body electrifying.

Oh man, I’ve never seen or felt anything like this. I just hold on tight and give her everything I have. I’m so focused on Brooke that my climax sideswipes me, hitting me with sudden impact. I gasp and surrender, as the wave hits me with astounding force.

I’m in the final moments of settling when I feel her lips against mine. The kiss is sensuous as her breasts graze against my chest.

“Good?” she whispers as she runs her fingers through my hair.

I grin. “Oh, yeah. You?” I’m so comfortable with her now that I’m not even embarrassed.

“Really great. I feel amazing.”

“You do?” I ask, knowing, but wanting to hear it again anyway.

She takes my face in her hands and looks into my eyes. “You make me feel amazing.”

She kisses me again, and as much as I don’t want to delude myself, I know I feel something else, another feeling in that kiss—something sweet and tender.

When I go into the bathroom to clean up I’m so happy that I don’t even care what a mess I’ve made getting off with my clothes on. I wipe up as best I can before I wash my hands and return to the living room.

Brooke is sprawled across the couch, and I smile at her. “Sorry about this, but I really need to take a shower and change. I can’t work on the website like this.”

“All messy from our fun?” she says, looking blissful.

“Yeah, pretty much,” I admit grinning.

“Don’t worry, I’m too relaxed and happy to focus on work anyway. I’m going to take a long hot bubble bath and go to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

She takes my hand and leads me to the door before hugging me.

With my hand in hers I realize that Arnold’s lingering presence from earlier has completely faded.

“I’m sorry we made you messy.”

“I’m not,” I insist. “It was worth it.”

“You are really something Nathan Evans. I hope you know that there’s nothing more sexy than a man who makes a woman feel beautiful.” She gently pushes my messy hair out of my eyes and off my face.

“So I’m sexy now?” I tease.

“You’re a sex God, and I’m honored to be in your good graces.”

“Gee Brooke, you sure know how to make a guy feel great.” I grin. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Feeling entitled with my sex God crowning, I lean down and gently kiss her, savoring one more taste of her sweetness. When we part she smiles up at me. “Okay, tomorrow…I’ll be waiting.”

Between my thrill of pleasuring Brooke and anticipation of my meeting with Sharper Edge Comics tomorrow I can barely sleep. I pull out my iTouch and listen to Wayne, reliving every perfect moment with Brooke until I finally doze off.

• • •

There’s a mile stretch on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City where just about every fifth storefront is a sushi restaurant. I get so confused by their similar names that I’m almost late for my meeting with Chris from Sharper Edge Comics. It doesn’t even matter to me than I had sushi for dinner with Brooke last night because I’m probably going to be too nervous to eat.

Luckily when I get there Chris seems cool and laid back, not one of the “suits” who make a sport out of raking artists over the coals. He’s even wearing jeans without his shirt tucked in, so I immediately feel more at ease.

After we’ve ordered and gone through formalities, he asks me what my long range plans are for both my career and the B-Girl Series.

“The thing is, Nathan, you’re unique. You have a distinct, modern style with your art, combined with a very strong story sense and great character development. There’s a need for people who can create compelling characters and story lines….it’s a rare talent; where there are lots of ‘hands’ that can draw.”

He’s repeating what several of my Cal Arts professors told me, when they assured me that story and character development were my greatest strengths.

“But I like to draw,” I insist.

“You haven’t jobbed out any of the B-Girl pages yet to other artists?”

I shake my head. It seems sacrilege to have someone else draw B-Girl besides me.

“Well, that’s impressive, but you’ll have to when we pick up publication. It’ll be impossible for you to keep up with the schedule otherwise.”

“You’re going to test it first for a while, aren’t you, to see how it sells?” I ask, still tentative.

“Oh, it’s going to sell. We’ve done our research. We’re great at marketing and finding the book’s audience. I think you’ll be happy with what we can do for you.”

All the way back to the office I allow myself to imagine what the future could be, huge B-Girl banners at Comic Con and fan girls walking around wearing home-made B-Girl costumes. That’s when I’ll know for sure that I’ve really made it.

• • •

That afternoon on the way to Starbucks, Nick breaks away from the group and walks with me. I’m wondering if he’s going to say something nasty about the caricature that Andy did of Dani and I with Nick scowling in the background. But he surprises me instead with a compliment.

“You look happy, dude,” he comments.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I’m having a good day.”

“Is it true you missed Kevin’s birthday lunch because you had a meeting with a company about your comic book?”

“Uh huh, Sharper Edge Comics. I can’t believe it but unless the lawyers get stupid, I think this deal can work out.”

“Wow,” he says slapping me on the back. “That’s great, I hope it happens for you.”

“Thanks.” I say quietly as I smile at him. I know it means a lot for him to say this considering he’s still not sure what to make about Dani and me.

His face suddenly looks troubled. “But does this mean you’ll be leaving us?”

“I doubt it, and definitely not for now. It’s going to take a while to see if the story has the potential in the market they think it does. But printing and distributing them myself has been tough for me to do. I’ll never reach a broad audience unless I do a deal like this so I want to try it.”

He nods and gets quiet, so I try to continue the conversation.

“Hey, how did it go with Dani after we all went out? She was so happy when you offered to take her home.”

“We talked a little but she still seems very unsure about me. Maybe she thinks she can’t trust my intentions.”

“Well, then you’ll have to prove to her that she can,” I suggest.

“So, when did you get so fucking wise about women?” he teases.

“If I were wise about women, believe me, my situation would be a lot different right now.”

“Really?” he asks, curiosity written all over his face. “Hey, has Brooke been helping you with your B-Girl comics? You’ve been spending time with her. I notice that you always bring her coffee now, and you’re taking her to the Emmys and everything.”

“No, she hasn’t even seen one,” I admit nervously.

“Really?” he asks, too shocked for my comfort level. “I almost called her B-Girl the other day cause she looks so much like your main character.”

“Ahhh, please don’t do that. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea…I mean, it’s just a weird coincidence.” I don’t even look him in the eye, fearful that I’ll give myself away.

“Yeah, sure…coincidence.” He laughs. “Well, good luck explaining that one.”

Later when I walk into Brooke’s office and see her dressed in a pretty navy dress that wraps all around her and shows off her curves, all the B-Girl panic is forgotten.

“Hey, you’re dressed up. You look really pretty,” I say as I set the macchiato down on her desk.

“Thanks.” She smiles sweetly. “Arnauld took me to a nice restaurant for lunch. He’s still trying to make up for the Vegas thing…and guess what?”

“He’s not going to Vegas?” I ask, my nerves shattered to think I won’t be her Emmy date. I knew it was too good to be true.

“No!” she huffs like that would never happen, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

She sits up straight and throws her shoulders back proudly. “I read him the riot act. I warned him if he tells me one more time that my ass is too big or my breasts not big enough, that it’s the last time I’ll be around to hear it.”

I grin, happy to see her standing up for herself. “Oh, that’s great. What did he say?”

“He was speechless. For the first damn time I can remember, he was completely speechless. He just nodded his head and kept eating his osso bucco.”

“Ha! I’m sure you surprised him.”

“That I did,” she laughs. “You really inspired me. When I woke up this morning, I laid in bed and ran my hands over my body…and I felt so good…you know…sexy. It was the best I’d felt in that regard for a long time.”

I swallow hard and look down. Does she have any idea what saying things like that does to me? Now I’m going to be distracted all afternoon imagining her in bed touching herself.

I clear my throat and look up. “Well, you’re the sexiest woman I know, so I’m glad I could help. I’m also really happy that you set him straight.”

Wow…if he keeps screwing up, maybe he’ll be out of the picture soon.

She reaches across the desk and squeezes my hand. Her warmth lingers even after she pulls away to pick up her coffee. No matter how or when it happens, I love it when she touches me.

“Now what do we have today?” She turns the cup until my drawing faces her. This cup is so special that I had Starbucks give it to me empty ahead of time, so I could take my time rendering the image.

“Oh my God, Nathan! You need to draw this for me on good paper…I love it!”

I’m so happy she likes it; I put extra effort in to my illustration of an Emmy award and even used gold and bronze markers to fill in the drawing. In my version Brooke has replaced the winged bronze woman who normally holds up the sphere of metal. Brooke’s little feet are attached to the base as she stretches upwards, her hair flowing behind her. I paid particular attention to capture all of her curves. Brooke is the prize I would be so happy to win.

She reads the line I wrote small, underneath. “You’re always a winner to me.” She puts her hand over her heart and takes a sharp breath. I’m surprised by the sudden emotion.

“Nathan.” She sighs.

“Yes?” I ask tentatively. I hope I haven’t upset her for some reason, or stepped over some boundary I don’t understand.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I hope you know how much I adore you.”

I smile, relieved and excited. I’m kind of flying and I’m going to need some time to think about what she just said.

“Well, I feel the same, Brooke.”

Unfortunately, just then Morgan comes in with several messages and Brooke nods. I stand up realizing she must need to get back to work.

“So Sunday, at five.” She smiles warmly.

“I’ll be there.”

On my way out of her office Morgan stops me. She looks concerned.

“Arnauld wants to see you. Go check in with his assistant.”

“What does he want?”

“I have no idea,” she insists, giving me a look. “He usually doesn’t confide in me.”

Great. It must be bad. She hasn’t been sarcastic with me like that in at least a week.

“Okay, thanks,” I respond politely, not wanting trouble.

“Oh, and you got the info for your hair appointment tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Now, make sure and tip Bradley twenty percent and give whoever washes your hair five bucks. I told you the consult and cut will be a hundred, right?”

I nod, still marveling at how a haircut could cost so damn much. But I’m not going to say anything because I’ve got to get this right for Brooke. “Is it really Arnauld and Brooke’s stylist?”

“Yes, so be careful what you say. What are you going to have him do anyway?”

“I was thinking about a mohawk,” I say with a perfectly straight face.

She laughs, or snorts. It’s hard to tell. “Yeah, you do that Indian boy, and I’ll pull a Pocahontas and nail you with an arrow from my bow on Monday. Now get your ass over to Arnauld’s before he starts yelling.”

I thank her and turn to head down the hall. What the hell does Arnold want with me? He knows I’m taking Brooke on Sunday so how bad can it be? It’s not like he’s going to fire me or beat me up until at least Monday, when I’ve completed my task.

I approach ice princess, Alana’s desk. “I’m here to see Arnauld. I’m…”

“Nathan,” she says with a pinched face. “Wait here.” She stands up and moves with great efficiency into his office. A moment later she steps back out.

“Wait over there.” She points to a chair in the waiting area. “He needs to take care of something first.”

Okay, then what was the rush for me getting over here? Oh yeah, that’s what “suits” do to toy with you.

About ten minutes pass where I imagine every possible horrible thing he could say or do to me before Alana picks up the phone. She does a hand motion like those guys on the tarmac giving signals to planes. “He’ll see you now.”

When I walk into his office he’s tapping away on his Blackberry and doesn’t even look up. So I pause in the middle of the office and wait. The only noise besides his tapping is the sudden closing of the door behind me. How did he do that?

I study him, marveling at why he pays so much for a hair stylist when his hair’s so short—practically shaved. Joe, the guy I see on Magnolia in Burbank would charge about ten bucks for that. I note his strong features as he continues to text. I guess he’s what women would call handsome. If only they could see his back right before waxing.

The ass who wanted some doctor with a mechanical straw to suck Brooke’s perfect bottom away, finally looks up at me.

He gestures towards a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat…” He’s searching for my name.

“Nathan,” I reply.

“Yes, Nathan.” He pushes his chair away from the desk and leans back. “So I wanted to make sure things were set for Sunday, that everything is in order.” He studies me for a moment like he’s trying to figure something out. He finally seems to have an idea.

“Where are your glasses?

“I got contacts,” I reply, watching him continue to study me carefully. “And yes, Morgan helped me with the arrangements.”

“All right good. And you weren’t full of shit when you said you had an Armani tux, right? Because I picked out my girl’s dress, it’s an elegant black Valentino and I don’t want you showing up in some burgundy polyester number.”

So if you’re so concerned about how Brooke and her escort are going to look, why don’t you take her yourself, Mojo?

Then I remember the red dress. I internally smirk about the change in dress plans, but bite my tongue. If I tell him he’ll surely harass Brooke about it.

“I wasn’t lying, it’s a black Armani tux.”

“Make sure you comb that crazy hair too, you look like a rag-mop.”

Gee thanks, asshat. At least I don’t have a receding hairline forcing me to go for the Bruce Willis look.

“Yeah, I’m getting a haircut. Anything else?” I’m getting pissed and don’t know how much of this humiliation I can take.

“Just don’t do anything stupid. If you don’t know what to say, stay quiet.” He folds his arms over his chest. “This is a big night for Brooke, and I want it to go well. I have no fucking idea why she thought you should take her…you seem to be her latest ‘project,’ but I couldn’t talk her out of it, so I’m just warning you.”

Project? I feel a wave of panicked insecurity, but then remind myself that he doesn’t have any idea about what is between Brooke and me. My back bristles but I force myself to speak.

“Warning me?” I grip the handles of my chair so hard my knuckles are white. “Is this a work related issue? If so, I think someone from HR should be here.”

He gives me a threatening look and ignores my veiled threat.

“Don’t fuck this up for my girl, Nathan. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” I say looking down so that I don’t give him the death glare. If I were the Green Lantern mister big shot would be on his knees now, blinded by the rays from my powerful ring. “Can I go now?” I ask as steadily as my fury will allow.

“Yeah, get back to work.”

The entire walk and elevator ride back to my cube I plot my revenge. The first gesture will be executed on company time.

Too bad he won’t be seeing the caricature I’ve got planned for him. It will definitely be a pre-waxed Arnold in the Amazon, swinging from a vine with one hand, and a very small banana in the other.