This is War (Checkmate Duet 1)

I don’t bother turning on my computer before I make my way down the hallway towards Blake’s office. His door is open and he’s busy pecking away at the computer with his pointer fingers. The dude needs to get with the times, but instead of making a slight-handed joke, I just stand in the doorway.

“Sit,” he demands, but continues to type.

I don’t say a word. Instead I sit in the big bulky office chair that’s most likely been in this building since the 1970s and I wait for him to finish. My patience for the day is quickly depleting with every second that passes.

“We need to discuss your new project,” he says with a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“Okay.” I want to tell him to take the project for himself because I know that’s what he wants. While he’s my boss and I respect him because of his title, he’s one of those supervisors that want attention. He wants to be heard in a room full of people and tries to take credit for tasks he didn’t do. But people see through the facade and they talk, and what they are saying isn’t good. The corporate world is a fish tank full of sharks and if you don’t watch your back, it’s easy to get eaten alive. I’ve been crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s since the first day I stepped foot into his office.

“I don’t agree with you being assigned to it. I think you’re a hard worker and have a lot to offer the company, but…”

Usually when people say ‘but’, it’s to negate every positive thing that was said before. He continues on but I stop listening. The last thing I need is to be double pounded today. Alyssa in the front and Blake in the back, it’s miserable.

“…you’ll still be responsible for your current assignments. Sloan agreed that it was okay and that you could handle the marketing research along with your day-to-day tasks, after I spoke to him of course.”

At this point, I’m fuming. My workload has doubled, but my pay hasn’t. I grit my teeth and it takes everything I have to speak calmly. “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

I’m fucking pissed, but try to push it back.

“I knew you’d be able to handle it,” Blake says, but I know his end game. It’s to smear my reputation and change the way the executives perceive me. He’s always pushed me, and has set me up for failure many times, but even with all the bitch work, I’ve proved him wrong. Since my first week at Crawford Marketing, he’s had it out for me. I know my confidence can be intimidating, but he can fuck off.

The conversation is clearly over so I stand and give him a shit-eating grin before I walk back to my office. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me spin out of control.

The best motivation is when someone says or insinuates that I can’t do something. I might be a fucking zombie by the end of the next quarter, but at least I’ll have kicked major ass and shown Sloan that I’m a hard worker in the process.

Nine o’clock rolls around and I’m tempted to cancel the meeting with Alyssa, but the truth is, I need to know what she’s completed and what she hasn’t. So after I send a few emails and try to rush through my normal duties, I stand, grab my laptop and stroll to her office. She’s the only one on our floor with a corner office that has windows that line an entire wall. There’s a small conference table and a couch. Why she needs all of the space, no one knows, and considering her title, she sure hasn’t earned any of it. The managers on the floor secretly hate her, but they put up with it because of who she is and the full helping of tits she provides each day. I’m surprised people don’t offer her twenty-dollar bills when she leaves the building for the show she puts on during business hours.

I walk in and close the door, and she’s sitting at her desk with her silk shirt unbuttoned, displaying her full breasts. I guess she came to work braless today. I’m sure all the women will be talking about her nipples in the break room over coffee. I almost laugh thinking about it.

“Hey baby,” she purrs as she takes a few steps forward. She’s a tigress on the prowl.

“Hey,” I say, but she can tell by my tone that I’m not having it today.

She pouts, sticking her bottom lip out and begins talking like a baby. “Oh no. Someone’s not happy. What can I do to help you?”

I grab her hand, knowing she’s waiting for me to touch her. “I’m sorry. I’m not having a good day.”