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His fist hit the desk, hard enough to make the structure tremble. “Shit!”
You stupid bloody bastard, he cursed inwardly as guilt and shame raked him with claws of ice and fire, respawning the sicking knot deep in his guts. How the fuck could he have been so stupid to have let that happen, again?
A ping sounded from the computer, making Richard’s heart leap into his throat. His head snapped up to see the icon for the unfinished report flash. The ping was a pre-programed reminder to warn the user whenever a file had been open and inactive for too long.
Richard contemplated it for a second. “Fuck it!”
Tapping a few keys, he deleted his notes, closed the document and forwarded it in an email to Scarlet’s inbox.
They were right. It wasn’t his job anymore. What the fuck did it matter, anyway?
Shoving himself into his trousers and refastening his belt, he grabbed his untouched sandwich and took a bite.
Only, he’d lost his appetite.
“We’re heading off, Dick. Catch you later.”
Richard looked up from his monitor just in time to glimpse McClaine and Sing trot out the office with backhanded waves, like schoolboys ditching detention. “You guys off already?”
“Already? Do me a favour, Dick, take a day off, will ya.”
“Go see the girls at Spearmint Rhino. They do your sort of favours, mate, not me.”
McClaine shot him a look that could curdle custard, then raised his hand, pulled back his cuff and pointed to his TAG Heuer watch face. “See this? It’s past five. That’s clocking off time in my book. You might be prepared to work yourself ragged, but I’ve got better things to do than kill myself for old Walrus Face and little miss Tight Ass. Some of us have a life, ya know, see ya.”
“You live with your mother!” Resisting the urge to flip him the finger, Richard turned back to his desk, his eyes landing on a mountain of paperwork. Work he’d been putting off while obsessing over the Prometheus Account.
He checked his own wristwatch, a Seiko his old man had given him for his eighteenth birthday. Sure enough, it was five thirteen in the afternoon. He’d been at it for five hours, five bloody hours, and hadn’t even made a dent.
Bugger.
Exhaling a long, suddenly exhausted breath, he reclined back in his seat and pushed a hand through his hair. He supposed he should follow their lead and go home. This work could wait a night, and Alice would be on her way home soon enough, after she’d picked up Alex from her parents and battled her way up the stretch of M5 that connected Bristol and Gloucester, through the last of the rush hour traffic. They’d have a nice family dinner before sitting down to… what? Talk about their day?
That’s good darling. My day? It was ok. I struggled a bit with that report, but Rebecca gave me a blowjob when she popped by. So all in all…
The thought had a dry laugh billowing up his throat.
How could he look Alice in the eyes again? Hold their son again?
No, he couldn’t. Not now, not after…
The computer emitted a small double ring and an email notification window popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. It was from Scarlet, though the address attached read Tight_Ass_Bitch.
Officially, no one knew who had hacked her email to change the address. Whoever it was though, their joke had backfired. Far from being annoyed or embarrassed by the stunt, Scarlet practically adopted the title, and never missed an opportunity to live up to it.
True to her unofficial title, the message was brief and to the point.
Dick
Drop by my office on your way out.
We need to discuss Prometheus.
Scarlet
“… Shit,” Richard cursed and looked mournfully back to the paperwork and the potential overtime it offered. “Well, that puts the kibosh on that plan.”
He closed the mail with a click of his mouse.
