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11
Delilah
I finish up all of the deliveries that I have set for the morning. My day has gone pretty good besides the small spat with Drake on the twenty-second floor this morning. I am trying to be patient with him because I know that he feels out of control. I couldn’t even stay mad at him when he admitted he was jealous. It was oddly sweet. I don’t picture a man like him ever getting jealous. He doesn’t have reason to. I’m sure he could have almost anything he wanted with a snap of his fingers.
I’ve met a ton of people today. This building has so many floors. Most of the people were nice with the exception of a handful of men that didn’t act so gentlemanly toward me. If I can tame and handle a horse, I can handle any man. That’s what I keep telling myself, at least.
It was some of the women that caught me off guard. Some of them already have their minds made up about me without knowing me. After Drake’s little episode this morning, whispers and catty looks have really picked up. I have a strong backbone and I am here to do my job. That’s what I plan to do. Still, it’s hard when you’re used to making friends easy, especially with girls.
I step off the elevator and push my cart back into the mailroom. Sherile is in there checking off some sort of list. She looks up from the clipboard when I approach her.
“Did you get everything delivered?” she asks, tucking her stick-straight black hair behind her ear.
“I’m all done with everything that you gave me,” I reply. She rolls her eyes at me, making me think I took too long. “I’m sorry. I tried to move fast but everyone here is so darn talkative.” I smile, hoping to perk up her mood.
“Men can spot easy.” She returns the smile but says it like she’s sad for me. It puts me on edge. I thought some of the men were nice; a few I could see right through and tell they were assholes trying to get in my pants. How come with Drake that didn’t bother me? In fact, I enjoyed it when it came to him more than I should.
“Like, Drake. I saw him kiss you, and well…” She plucks his name right out of my thoughts. She leans over the mail table, placing her elbows on it. Her face is showing concern. It could also be pity. I’m not sure. “You know he goes through lots of women,” she whispers. “It’s why I never made a move for him. That type of man needs to sow his wild oats.” Her face scrunches like the words are unfamiliar to her mouth. “Sow their wild oats. That’s what you people say, right?”
“Us people?” What the heck is she talking about? She acts like I’m from another planet. I was starting to feel like it, in all honesty. Some people are nice and friendly, but I felt as if they were talking to me because they found me odd and not because they actually wanted to get to know me.
“You know, he fucks everything that moves.” Her eyes run over my soft white dress that’s paired with ankle boots. “I bet he’s loving this young innocent thing you have going on. Enjoy it while you can because he never sticks around for long.” She looks me up and down as she says it. I know my outfit isn’t exactly what everyone else around here is wearing, but it was cute and made me feel at home. My heart feels heavy when I think of being at home. Dad and Ma would be out and about right now. It’s pig season and I bet there are hundreds of little pigs running around that are annoying Bacon. I miss that brat pig. She’s probably so salty right now.
People here are so hard to read. I’m not sure if she’s being nice trying to warn me about Drake, one girl to another, or she’s just a snake. I know one thing for sure, though: she’s so stuck up, she’d drown in a rainstorm.
I surmised that when she asked if I got my dress at Target and said she didn’t know they made them that short. Even though I knew she was a stuck-up bitch at that point, that didn’t mean everything she said was a lie. Maybe I am just the flavor of the month for Drake but it sure doesn’t seem like it.
What the heck is wrong with Target? My dress isn’t short either. It falls right above my knee. I wanted to smack her face because Ma and I made this dress together and she looked at it like it was cheap. I know smacking her would get me fired, though, and my parents taught me manners. I won’t give this bitch the satisfaction of getting to me.
