Instead of talking, she leaned over and pressed her powdered sugar fingers all over my leg. I rolled my chair back away from her.
“Go over there,” I muttered to her, then proceeded to attempt to rub off the white sugar from my black pants.
“I want to sit on your lap,” she said in a loud whisper.
“Not now,” I hissed.
She sighed and shuffled over to her table.
Throughout the whole conversation, I was distracted. I stumbled over the numbers for the client and had to ask him to repeat himself several times. By the time I hung up the phone, I was spent. And it was only eight-thirty.
Something crashed outside of my door, and both Gina and I looked up. The temp, a young girl in her early twenties, didn’t seem like the sharpest girl when I met her earlier. And I didn’t want to get involved with her destroying Allison’s desk, so I left her to clean up whatever she’d done.
I flipped through the stack of paperwork in my to-do file and started with the most pressing work first.
It was only five minutes before Gina was at my desk again.
“Daddy, look, I drew the beach and all of us on it.”
“Gina,” I said, without looking at her picture. “You need to go sit down. I’m working.”
“But look!”
“Not now,” I said, trying as hard as I could not to lose my temper.
Gina stood there for a moment before going back to her table.
And as if she were a goldfish, she returned to my desk every ten to fifteen minutes, wanting to show me something else.
“Do you want to watch cartoons?” I said to her, seconds before I was about to blow.
“Come color with me,” she said, ignoring my question.
“I can’t right now,” I said, standing up. I lifted her from the ground and plopped her onto the couch. I grabbed my tablet and found one of her princess shows on Netflix. “Stay here and watch. I need to work.”
“I’m hungry,” she said.
I ground my teeth together and checked my watch. I had blinked a few times before I registered it was almost noon.
“I’ll order some food.”
“Chicken nuggets, please!” she exclaimed with a big smile on her face.
“Okay,” I said. I went out of the office to the temp. “Elizabeth—”
“It’s Liz,” she said, attempting to hide her cell phone under a stack of paper on Allison’s desk. I didn’t have the time or patience to reprimand her.
“Sorry, Liz. Please order from Anthony’s. A kids chicken nuggets and fries and a Cobb salad.”
“Where’s that?” she asked.
“There’s a stack of menus in the middle drawer.” I pointed at Allison’s desk for emphasis.
“Am I expected to pay for it?” she asked.
“No,” I said, los
ing patience. I opened my wallet and handed her a fifty. “Get something for yourself and tip the rest to the delivery person.”