Xander
“Dude, come on, what’s wrong?” Damien asks for the 100th time.
“As I said, I do not want to talk about it,” I reply, looking out the window.
“Did she crack a male joke that threatened your masculinity?” Charles asks.
“No,”
“Did she touch your stuff?” Damien asks, “She nosy?”
“No.”
“Hungry?”
“No.”
“Then what the fuck is it Xander?” They all yell.
Ring, ring.
Thank you, Lord, for your timing.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Chantel speaking,”
“Chantel, hi, how are you?”
“I’m good, look, I’m just going to cut straight to the point, I know what you saw with Miss Abrahams, and I’d like to apologize on their behalf,”
“What are you? Their PR now?” I spit.
“I understand you’re upset, and I would like to make it right, over dinner, let’s talk about this, please Mr Forsythe,” she begs.
“I – I don’t –
“Sir, please, I’ll pay for everything, and they don’t need to know that we had the meeting, okay?”
