Friday, August 10, 2018

The Reluctant Bezonian 21-40

The Twitter story goes on! Here are posts 21 through 40, combined for your reading pleasure and ease. Enjoy!

    "Poor little Sammie. The innocent, naive young girl caught up in things she doesn't know how to handle." Shaking his head, Bryce reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, ignoring her look of disgust. “But you're not innocent at all, are you?"
    Sam jerked her head away from his touch. "What are you doing here, Bryce?"
    "Whatever I want, Samantha, as always."
    "Don't bullshit me. Tell me why you're here."
    "Or what?"
    Sam jerked her knee into his groin, leaning out of the way as Bryce doubled over. "Or that." She stepped past him, finally getting out from behind the desk.
    He glared at her from the floor, pain evident in his eyes. "B*tch!"
    "F*ck you."
    "It was just a test."
    She was nearly to the door when his words made her pause. "What?" She didn't turn around.
    Bryce slowly pulled himself off the floor. "You know my dad, always wanting to push his assets to the limit."
    "Tell your dad--" Sam stopped, unsure. There was no escaping the power this man had over her. "Tell him I aced his test." She walked out the door, leaving Bryce to stumble after her. "And try not wasting my time next time."
    Sam made her way to her vehicle as quickly as she could without drawing suspicions. Tossing her pack in the back of the van, she climbed into the front seat and let her head fall back against the seat. "I hate this."

    Sleep was being coy. It needed to stop avoiding her and get back to bed so she could actually get some rest. Sam groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. When was the last time she got a decent night's sleep?
    Had to have been when she was a kid, before she was practically owned by a conglomerate, when she still thought there was light in each heart, and all you had to do to find it was look just a little closer.
    "Ugh." Sam sat up and shoved the pillow to the side. There was no point in trying anymore. She'd already gotten all the sleep she could. It would have to do, as it always did. She groaned again and shuffled to the bathroom.

    Fresh out of the shower, Sam patted her hair down with a towel. Maybe she should cut it short; cut down on upkeep. Not that she did much to it anyway, her dark curls spurned brushes and were only really tamed by braids and very strong hair ties.
    Lots of hair was easier to put into different hairstyles for disguises, but with short hair wigs were easier. That's a toss up, really. She'd probably keep the long hair a while longer; it's served her well so far.
    Her phone dinged as she was preparing breakfast. Sam glanced at it warily, then groaned. Today was supposed to be her off day. The day after a job always was. The last thing she wanted to do was go into the office and talk to the boss.
    Probably had something to do with what Bryce said about a 'test'. She had failed, and they were going to fire her? At this point though, that wouldn't even be bad news. This horrible situation would end, one way or another.
    After switching out her comfy clothes for something slightly more professional, Sam resigned herself to the familiar confines of her tiny sedan and headed for the office. Small but sufficient, that was her car.

    "Good morning, miss." The receptionist was a mix between a proper butler and somebody's grandpa.
    "Morning, Jones. Eleventh floor?"
    "Indeed, miss."
    "Stay shiny, Jones." Sam grinned despite herself.
    "Of course, miss."
    Sam often had to refrain from asking what a nice guy like him was doing working in a place like this. Did he know how devoid of morals his boss was? But that was often the case with corporate moguls, she supposed.
    The man's gotta make a living somehow, as do we all. Ideally, however, you pick your own way to get that coin. But not when you're practically owned.

    Sam huffed. This always seemed to be the slowest elevator. The door inched open and Sam saw blond.
    "Samantha, darling." Bryce leaned against the receptionist's desk like a model for spoiled brat office wear.
    "Not your darling, Bryce." She brushed past him and addressed the receptionist. "I was summoned?"
    "Ah yes, Miss Webster. Please, this way." The woman behind the desk stood up and clipped her way over to a door that Sam knew well. "Enter, please, he's expecting you."
    Sam took a steadying breath and grasped the ornate handle. The weight of the door always seemed ominous, like entering a dungeon. She half-expected to see a burly guard holding a large set of keys, but the only person inside was a different kind of jailer, and his keys were not so easy to spot.

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