Get back to work

Back at your desk, your head is still spinning after everything that has happened this morning, but you have to get back to work if you are going to keep from getting fired. You do your best to compose yourself and stay focused on the spreadsheets.

Not a moment too soon. Your long lunch has Mr. Perry looking for you. He pops into your office just as you open your spreadsheet software. The boss does not resemble his portrait in the lobby. Maybe twenty years ago, but now he's all gray and balding up top and he has gained about seventy pounds with a big pot belly. He sidles up to your desk and leans over, looking at the spreadsheets, breathing the smell of his last cigar on you, looking at your screen, looking down your top, looking back at your screen.

"Is it going to be done?" He demands.

"Absolutely," you say, although you are not sure that's true. It's going to take every free moment. He gives you a thumbs up.

"I know I can count on you." The thumbs up disappears along with his smile. "And if I can't, then I'll find someone I can count on. Like Haley."

Haley? Her? She's the worst accountant in the department. Her mistakes are half the reason this is taking so long. If anybody is fired it should be her. Mr. Perry blusters out of your office to menace someone else. Normally you like him, he's a bit of a flirt and not at all your type, but you always put up with it for the general friendliness and good salary. Something has changed over the past few weeks. He is hostile more often than not and has been picking weird fights, particularly with the women like you in positions with some authority.

You put Mr. Perry out of your thoughts and dive back into your work. You make good headway into the afternoon. By four o'clock you think you might be able to have it by staying just a little late. Then events conspire to throw you off track. First, Wendy, the receptionist, pops into your office carrying a huge bouquet of roses.

"Who brought these?" you ask.

"Delivery boy," she says and deposits them on your desk.

There is a card attached. FROM: YOUR SECRET ADMIRER, ONE ROSE FOR EACH TIME WE'LL MAKE LOVE THIS WEEKEND.

You peer surreptitiously through the blinds covering your office window. You don't see anyone walking around or glancing at your office. There is nobody in the cubicles gophering. You're about to look up the florist to try to call them and wring the truth out of them, when the phone rings. It's Wendy.

"Someone is at the reception desk to see you," she says.

"Who is it?" your heart pounds in your chest. Could it be your secret admirer?

"It's your husband." Your heart flip-flops. Your husband? He never visits you at work! Of course, the one day you finally dediced to cheat on him, and you're swamped with work, and you've got a secret admirer filling your office with flowers.

"What do you want me to tell him?" demands Wendy.