Office Warfare    

 

[Estelle]

 

"Don't you have school to attend to?" Damien asked, his tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

 

I pretended not to notice the way his voice was practically shooing me away and instead flipped through a magazine, my expression the picture of nonchalance.

 

"I'm more of a short-course kind of gal, you know? I make my own schedule," I replied coolly, lounging on the soft suede pink chair with my legs comfortably propped up on its matching leg stool.

 

That chair? Oh, I ordered it myself. Damien's office was a tragic wasteland of dull grays and serious leather furniture, practically screaming corporate misery. I couldn't let that slide.