My mouth opens in exasperation. “You think my bed position is the reason I have an issue with you? Oh no, I assure you, this,” I say pointing between us, “didn’t start with which side of the bed I got out of this morning.”
His smile widens as he realizes I’ve let my guard down again. “Careful. I see some emotions coming out. May want to hide those back away for a rainy day. I’m dying to know, though...”
“To know what,” I snap at him.
“Why aren’t you prim and polite to me like you are to other people in the office?”
“Because you don’t make me want to be polite to you, Croix.” I sneer.
“Harsh.” I look up to find… no, there is no way that my saying I couldn’t be polite to him would ever hurt his feelings, right? I mean, we’ve had this mutual hate game with each other for months now. I didn’t think he gave any shits about my opinion of him, but the flash of a look he’s giving me suggests otherwise.
I’m just getting backfrom lunch when I notice something is off about my desk. My bobblehead turtle collection is missing one of its peers, and I suspect it’s Weston who’s behind my turtle abduction.
I’ve got half a mind to walk over to his desk and yell at him about it, but that’s what he wants me to do. He wants to rile me, and today he will not win. Today is my day.
He’ll leave for lunch soon, and then my plan can take flight. Decision made, I straighten out my other turtles and go back to reading through the article I’d been editing before going to grab lunch. It’s an article about networking with other young professionals in your area. It’s a well thought out piece, but it still falls flat for me, and it’s my job to figure out what’s missing.
Fifteen minutes later, I watch as Weston’s IM goes yellow signifying he’s away from his desk.
Showtime.
I give it a couple of minutes before getting up. Leaving my corner office, I glide down the hall and cross to his desk. At first glance, nothing looks out of the ordinary, other than the obsessive amount of Princess memorabilia littering the cubicle. Becausethat’s not weird at all. Except it is, creepy, even.
Continuing my search, I find no missing turtle… but he wouldn’t make it obvious. He’d have it hidden with his creepy porn stash, waiting for me to find it. My eyes scan the room. No one even cares to deem worthy a glance in my direction, so I do what I came for… partially because I’m curious, partially because I’m looking for my damn turtle.
Opening the top drawer slowly, the scene plays out in front of me. Warrior Mickey holds a spear to my bobblehead turtle while Minnie with a musket holds them both at musket point. It’s a hold off with figurines.Real mature, Weston. Real mature.
I growl in frustration, picking up my turtle to go, but before I leave his cube, I notice a note. “Turtle Games.” Is this asshole referencing the Hunger Games? Messing with people’s shit is unacceptable and I won’t tolerate it. Not even from him.