Love is crazy, and so are the two of us when it comes to Stella.

THE END

BECS

Rage bubbles inside me as I look at the imposing double doors of his office. They reach all the way to the high ceiling, and look like you’d have to use all your weight to push them open. On the other side is an arrogant asshole. If you push the doors open he is probably sitting behind a giant desk, or maybe on a throne like a king. I guess he’s king of this building. Mr. Vanilla, as I like to call him just to piss him off, owns the place. I work in the coffee shop downstairs in the building’s lobby. Well, I did until about fifteen minutes ago. I know he’s the reason for my quick termination today, and I’m here to give him a piece of my mind.

No way am I going back to the shelter. The coffee shop job barely afforded me enough money for the pay-by-the-week motel my older brother and I are staying at. We've been there for the past few months, but anything beat staying at the shelter. One week without a job, and it will force us back there. That’s not something I can handle.

“Is that asshole boss of yours in there?” I snap at the woman sitting at the desk in front of the double doors.

Jerking her head up, she looks at me in shock, but her face quickly turns to disgust. Of course he has a perfect-looking assistant sitting outside his office. Sun-streaked blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, crystal-blue eyes with thin black-framed glasses, and a low-cut top. Very low cut. She looks like she could do the whole sexy librarian turned seductress thing at any moment. Maybe that’s what she does.

I can tell from the scrunch of her nose she finds me repulsive. I’m her polar opposite in every way. We might both have blonde hair but it clearly ends there. My blonde is a brighter shade than hers, but mine is also streaked with pink and purple. The dye makes my eyes appear more purple than they really are. I can see her long legs under the desk, and shoes that probably cost what I make in three months. If she stands up, I’m sure she’ll tower over my five three height. My black military-style lace-up boots give me no extra help in that department. She’s thin and I can tell she puts time into maintaining herself. Total opposites.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she squeaks at me in a voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. She reaches for her desk phone, I’m sure to call security, because I am after all half naked. I’m dressed only in a bra, black pants and my boots. No way was I letting that dipshit downstairs take fifty dollars out of my last check for my uniform, and I have no plans of ever seeing his face again. He had the balls, after firing me, to suggest I drop to my knees and he’d pay for other services if I needed the money so bad. When I started to unbutton my top the little fucker thought he was getting what he wanted. All he got was my shirt and apron thrown at him. Well, and a black eye. I can still feel the sting on my knuckles from the punch. Oh, yeah, his eye is going to be a nice black and purple come morning. Growing up in foster care, I learned how to throw a mean punch.

Seeing that my time has now become limited, I walk past her and push open both doors.

“Cindy I told you—” his words cut off when he looks up and sees me. Jaw clenching, nose flaring as he takes in my attire, or lack thereof. Today, like every day, he’s wearing a three-piece suit, which is the same grey as his eyes. He’s always so neatly put together. Even his stupid handsome face is all straight, perfect lines. Every time he came into the coffee shop I wanted to mess him up. I always want to run my fingers through his hair and give him that freshly fucked look. I thought about rubbing my lips across his neck, leaving a smudge of my lip gloss there so he didn’t look so perfect. The first time he came in, he gave me a half smile and ordered a plain black coffee. No cream or sugar. Not even a flavor. Seems that’s how he likes everything. Every day he would come in and get his coffee and engage me in a little bit of conversation. I looked forward to seeing him. He was different than the other suits. Most either treated me like I could be a quick fuck for them, or gave me a look of distaste.

Then one day he came in with a woman. I had my back to him, but I could hear them talking. Taking a quick glance over my shoulder, I could see the woman with him was beautiful. She was elegant in a way I can never imagine being. She said to him, “She looks out of place. I’m shocked they let her work here looking like that.” His only response was “I’m sure she would clean up nice if she actually tried.” It had been a long time since I’d been hurt by someone’s words and it pissed me off. So, that day, the games began. Gone were my sweet smiles and my excitement at seeing him. I know I look different. I like my pink and purple hair, my loud nail polish, and lip gloss. It’s me. I stopped trying to fit into other people’s molds when I left the foster system. I didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but me.

I tried to make his life hell whenever he came into the shop after that. Maybe if I was a big enough bitch he would stop coming. I am pissed that I let myself believe that he liked me.

Glancing around his office, it’s all so cold—glass and chrome. It makes goosebumps break out on my exposed skin. Everything in his office is perfectly in its place, just like him. I keep looking around, not wanting to meet his eyes yet.

“Well, Bray, I didn’t know you hired entertainment for the meeting,” says the man sitting across from Mr. Vanilla aka Bray. He never gave me his first name, but I kind of like it. Only after he pissed me off, and I started calling him Mr. Vanilla, did he tell me who he was. They’d poked fun at the way I looked, and I know it was childish of me, but I wanted to do the same to him. So when he asked me why I called him that, I told him “Because you couldn’t be more plain and boring if you tried.” That’s when he informed me he was Mr. Spencer. When I didn’t respond, he added, “Mr. Spencer as in Spencer Holding, the man who owns this whole goddamn building.” This still got nothing more from me than an eye roll. Like I gave a shit.

I look over at the other man, and he looks just as put together as Bray. That guy seems more laid back, with a smile playing at his lips. He’s attractive, but not as handsome as Bray. I’m starting to think no one is.

“I can be some entertainment for the right price, if that’s what you’re looking for. It turns out I’m in the market for a new job,” I say, shooting Mr. Vanilla a hard look before turning back to the other man and winking.

“Is that right? I’d be more than willing to help out a woman in need,” he says as he adjusts himself. I’m not a promiscuous girl. In fact, I’m a virgin. But I know how to use my body to get what I want. A little flirting can go a long way to getting things when you need them. I’m not holding on to my virginity, I just never had a reason or desire to give it up. I don’t think I ever felt attraction until I met Bray. Then he reminded me he’s just like the rest.

Glancing back over at Bray, I can see his mouth has fallen open in shock. When his eyes lock with mine his anger shines through. That’s a first. This might be the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him. I want to push it. I want him as mad as I am. He comes into my job and gets me fired. Well, I’ll come into his office and cause havoc. Maybe even mess up a business deal.

As I make my way towards the other man, I run my finger along one of the shelves that line the wall. One by one I start pushing things off the shelf with a soft shove. The trinkets hit the marble floor, their crashes ringing out in the room. Things break but I don’t skip a beat.