Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I add it to the collection, which I’ve arranged in the window. I keep waiting for someone to give it a certain look when they’re in my office, or avoid looking at them altogether, in a way that will tip me off to the sender’s identity, but that hasn’t happened.
I feel very weird about receiving all of these figurines. They’re beautiful, but the mystery behind them is beginning to give me a bad feeling, like there’s too much buildup now that this person has sent me so many of them.
Surely, there will be an inevitable reveal at some point, and I’m starting to feel like I’ll owe the person something I’m not prepared to give, like agreeing to go on a date with them, for example. It will be rude to try to give the gifts back, but simply saying thank you is going to seem awkward and inadequate.
Hopefully, I’m overthinking the situation, but I wish I could find a way to make the gifts stop.
When I go to the break room to store my lunch—which, of course, I’ve clearly marked with my name—there seems to be a special buzz in the air, which at first I assume has to do with the new year, and everyone still being in a festive mood, but it turns out there’s another reason.
“Have you tried the new beans yet?” Gloria asks. She’s just one of several people crowded into the room.
“What’s that?”
“We’re trying out a new blonde roast today. Derek and Jansen want to get everyone’s feedback.”
“Oh …” I know I’m not required to try it, but ever since my interlude with the men in the coffee-scented storage room downstairs, the aroma in the break room, with its freshly-ground beans, has been doing funny little things to my belly, as I remember how the men made me feel that day. “I guess I’ll try some.”
She reaches for a cup. “How do you like it?”
I glance at the screen, hoping options will appear so I can sound like I know what I’m talking about, but it’s just displaying size selection. “I’m in the mood to try something new. What’s your go-to?” I ask.
“I’m a girl who likes a little coffee with my cream and sugar, so I usually have a latte and add a lot of syrup.”
“Sure, a latte. That sounds good.”
People around me are sipping their morning beverages and talking about how they spent New Year’s Eve. Several of them went to special events and parties, and I’m grateful when no one questions me, because I spent the night at home reading.
“Do you want vanilla or caramel or …?” Gloria gestures to the rack of syrups, where there are several more options, but I opt for vanilla.
When she hands me the drink, I thank her and inhale the scent of it before taking a small sip. My pussy clenches as I remember my bosses fucking me so good up against that storage room wall that I was walking funny the next day. How odd is it to get turned on by the scent of coffee?
“Oh, this is good,” I say, surprised.
“Right?” Gloria says, sounding excited. “This new roast is going to be a great addition to our line.”
I meander back to my office, greeting people along the way, and stopping a couple of times to take more sips of my drink. Apparently, I’ve been missing out by not trying a latte sooner, because all this milk and sweet syrup makes a really tasty drink.
As the morning goes along, I find myself being extremely productive, but I suppose that’s typical after having time off. I feel refreshed and eager to tackle more goals during the remainder of my time here at Community Bean.
At lunch, the break room is busier than usual, with several people brewing more of the new coffee. I see a lot of the same energy and enthusiasm I’m feeling reflected in others, and maybe it’s the shared excitement of the new year.
On the way back to my desk, I hear strange sounds and identify them immediately. It’s Rob, singing, though it’s very different from before. He sounds like he’s having a fight with someone … in a vaguely rhythmic way. “I want to kill you … I’m going to smash you … you’re gonna die, die, die, motherfu–”
Before I can reach him to put a stop to his singing, two other people’s heads pop over the wall near his cubicle and yell, “Shut up!” at the same time.
Then Rob’s standing, too, yelling back at the people who complained. “You can’t talk to me that way!”
I’m afraid they’re about to get into a fight, but luckily, Charles hurries over from the other direction and gets involved, calling for everyone to calm down.
Since telling someone to calm down can sometimes have the opposite effect, I hurry over, ready to help diffuse the situation. I tell Rob that he probably didn’t realize how loud he was being, and to my relief, he mumbles an apology, sits back down, and returns to his work.