The Interview (short romance story) (3 page)

“He’s the handyman,” she said, seemingly enjoying the disappointment on Shirley's face. “Came to fix the toaster or microwave or…” she shrugged apathetically. “Whatever. He’s freelance. We hire him when we need him.”

She nodded, dropped her chin to her chest. The receptionist said something as she walked away, she sensed the sarcasm in her voice but didn’t absorb what was said. She slunk away, back to the elevator, back to the office floor. She bypassed her desk and the lines of nosey faces that glared at her and wondered why she was trudging with melancholically down the aisle.

She sat on the table in the kitchen and sighed. There was no one else in there, the last time she had been in that position she had just finished having sex with the handyman -- orgasmic, amazing sex that had persuaded her to take the job. She looked at the table on which she had been lying, him on top of her, when she had been taken to a place she had never gone before, an ecstasy she had never experienced.

She sighed heavily. Just the handyman, she thought to herself. There were others in the office, including the guy who had flirted with her on that fateful day. He had been flirting with her ever since but she had been preoccupied chasing someone she couldn’t find. He was young and attractive, but he was nothing compared to the handyman.

She wasn’t the boss, didn’t have the authority to hire a handyman when she felt like it. She was an office drone, stuck with the boring and the tedious, stuck doing thing she hated for people she didn’t want to mix with. There as no point in her staying in the job anymore, not if she couldn’t see him--

She paused her thought, a smile slowly creeping onto her face. She took a knife from the drawer, smiled at her reflection in the gleaming blade and then shoved it deep into the toaster, wriggling it around until she heard a few things click out of place. She used the knife to pry off the ‘start/stop’ button on the microwave before slicing through the cord leading to the kettle.

She tossed it into the sink, stood back to admire her handiwork; a wide smile on her face. She nodded approvingly to herself. She wasn’t the boss, couldn't phone the handyman herself, but as long as she worked in this dull, tedious office, she could make sure he was never short of work.

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