Creed's Expectations by J.D. Hollyfield

Author:J.D. Hollyfield [Hollyfield, J.D.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: hotcom novel
Publisher: J.D. Hollyfield
Published: 2017-09-18T04:00:00+00:00

I loved the movie Groundhog Day, but I seriously didn’t want to live it. But that’s what my job is starting to feel like. Hours of slaving over contracts while starving myself and taking minimal breaths and pee breaks. I never heard back from Creed, which is fine. Totally fine. Okay, lies. I went home last night to see if there was a way to retract a photo message. Once that search failed, I began to Google-search voodoo on how to erase one’s memory. I promise I will never show a man my vagina again.

When I came in this morning, I tried catching Virginia, but she was in a hurry with the newest hire. I just wanted to ask her about the owner before I ran out of time and was forced to submit the Wheatland project.

At the strike of noon, I stand up and do my normal stretch, with no shocker that I am told that something sooooo important is needed. I grunt and sit back down, pulling the homemade sandwich out of my purse.

“You know, Todd,” I start with a mouth full of salami. I think it’s about time to let him know about work ethics and employee rights. “The amendment of work…” I trail off as his phone chirps and watch as he picks it up, reading a message that’s come through. His face scrunches in anger and without replying, he slams his phone back onto the table.

I swallow my bite. “Everything okay?” I ask, being nosy.

“Fine. Take a lunch. Be back by two.”

Two? I look at my watch and it’s only twelve. “But that’s—”

“Is there a problem, Ms. Bishop?”

“Nope. Guess not.” I grab my purse, dumping the sandwich back in and before he changes his mind, I stand. I only need enough time to run to the deli around the corner and grab a fresh sandwich, and I can be back up and finish up my work and hopefully find Virginia, before having to submit the Wheatland project.

“So um, I’m gonna grab a sandwich, did you want me to grab you—”

“No.”

Okay then. Jerk.

I don’t bother saying goodbye and hurry out of the building. I step outside and lift my chin to allow the warm sun to hit my face before I start a slow jog to the deli café. Just as I bring my head back down, I spot Creed, standing outside, leaning against a shiny black car.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, excited to see him, nervous that I didn’t spot check myself in the bathroom first, and curious as to why he’s here.

“I’m feeding you. Get in.”

He pushes off his car and opens the door. I immediately recall him being hungry yesterday until he got what he wanted and blew me off. I want to refuse to get in and tell him what a jerk he is right where I’m standing. Or I can do it inside his car because I find myself climbing in. It smells expensive. Brand new leather, with the lingering spice of Creed.

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