“Miles, we need to talk.”
Great. She’s going to try to be professional.

I watched her straighten up behind her desk, making her already ample chest more flattering. She was like some animal in the wild, puffing up to intimidate. I wasn’t intimidated. Not even amused. Just annoyed.

Behind her deep red lips, she cleared her throat. It was the throat that got her into her current position, though her position across various managers desks probably helped too.

“Your performance on this project is lackluster, Miles.”
Lackluster. Bet she read that off her Starbucks coffee cup this morning.

“I expect high quality from my employees.”
Well, Stacy, you can’t expect quality when you give shit ideas.

She straightened out her business suit in the front. Nervousness? No, almost the opposite. It’s like she wants to draw attention to every perfect curve and mound on her body. Beautiful and in power. Shitty distribution of resources, Universe.

It’s OK, pal. I rule the Universe of the paperclips I swiped from her desk.

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