God I Hate that Man

I think it would be easier to get donations if her charity was based somewhere slightly more flashy.

I imagine my grandpa watching me, laughing at my discomfort, taunting me from beyond the grave. The thought of him enjoying my discomfort forces me inside the building.

The lobby is tiny, but thank God, it’s nicer inside the building than outside. Everything still screams cheap though. The chairs for visitors to wait on don’t match each other and the table placed next to the chairs is far too low for the height of the chairs. But I have to admit it also looks scrupulously clean and tidy. Even the floor is shiny. And the air smells of freshly brewed coffee, always a good sign in my book. A large vase of artificial flowers stands at one end of the reception desk.

Behind the desk is a woman who looks to be in her early twenties, pretty with curly blonde hair and perfectly applied makeup. She’s wearing a tight fitting black polka dot top. She looks up and flashes me a friendly smile.

I feel a spark of hope. If this girl’s attitude is anything to go by, maybe Ashley will be easier to persuade than I’m thinking. I flash back a smile and move towards the desk. “Hi,” I say. “I’m looking for Ashley Winters.” I wait for the girl to smile again, maybe even blush a little, as she tells me I’ve found her.

Instead, she nods curtly towards her left. “Down the hallway, third door on your left,” she huffs sourly.

Oh well, looks like Ashley is not popular with her. I start down the only hallway I can see. It occurs to me that this is part of my grandpa’s plan. Ashley is probably one of those hippy types who doesn’t shave her armpits and refuses to shower until there’s world peace or some shit like that. My grandfather always seemed to want to throw me into the worst situation. He thought it was good for character building, but he wouldn’t choose anyone too far outside what he considered feminine and socially acceptable.

Or would he?

My grandfather had always been interested in making money, lots of it, not the scene that went with it. It was my mom’s side of the family who’d been interested in impressing society. Grandpa was self-made and he instilled a sensible work ethic in my dad and a furious one in me. I think he picked me to succeed him a long time ago. My mom was old money, more interested in how she was perceived than anything else. Maybe my grandpa who never got on with her has chosen a tree hugger type just to horrify her.

I guess I’m about to find out because I’ve reached the third door on the left. The hallway is far from fancy. There’s no carpet, just ugly, cracked floor tiles. The walls are painted a disturbingly bright white. Let me put it this way. If there’d been the smell of boiled cabbage in the air, I’d be hard pushed not to imagine it belongs in a third-rate hospital or a prison. But I guess if you’re homeless, then this would seem like heaven.

The door to Ashley’s office is ajar and I tap on it, then step into the tiny room. It has a threadbare brown carpet and the same brilliant white walls. They must have gotten the paint cheap in a job lot or something. Not only on Ashley’s desk but all around her on the floor is stacked with files and papers and I honestly cringe at the sight of it. I’m a minimalist. I hate mess and excess. How can she work in that kind of chaos?

She is on the phone and waves me towards the lone chair opposite her.

I take a moment to study her.

She is twenty-seven, but she looks more like a teenage boy. Petite, thin, seemingly flat chested and around five foot three at a guess. NOT my type at all. I’m a simple man, I go for chesty, blonde girls with mile-long legs. Ashley looks so thin I imagine a good hard fucking would break her in half, something I tend to avoid in women. I don’t want to take a woman to bed only to have to hold back in case I hurt her. Anyway, we won’t be fucking so that’s a relief.

Also, her dark brown hair is in what I think is called a pixie cut. I instantly hate it. The style is unflattering and not in the least bit feminine. Admittedly, some women can pull off short hair. Unfortunately for Ashley, she’s not one of them.

I take in her face. She has lost her glasses which is a good thing. She has full red lips and warm brown eyes, and granted, she’s not completely unattractive, but would it kill her to wear a bit of makeup? It’s like she has no interest in how she presents herself to the outside world, which for me, is a major turn off.