Nice looking chauvinist pig

By the time I get the mail I'm tweaking the slides. I was so engrossed in preparing the slides it took 5 rings to pick up the phone. 'Raphael Sinclair's office. How may I help you?' It is one of his more high-maintenance clients, who couldn't-or didn't want to-grasp the fact that he was currently in a meeting. By the time I wrapped up the phone call, all but signing away my firstborn on the promise that yes, he would call her back as soon as possible, I'm more than exhausted. I'm definitely underpaid for this job. It will serve him right if I send her a call through. At this rate, I would be fielding calls from his conquests in the near future. Though thinking about it, there was never such a call since I started. Note to self- indulge in office gossip related to Raphael Sinclair. I worked through the lunch finally wrapping up the presentation slides with an image of Butler bowing to his lord in the end. I will delete it before the actual presentation takes place. No big deal. I knocked before entering the lord's office. 'Mr. Sinclair, the presentation is ready. I booked the refreshments from the downstairs cafe. The conference room will be set in 10 minutes. The copies of the presentation have been placed before each chair. Anything else Mr. Sinclair', I asked my voice laced with boredom. I can guess the twitch in his jaw under that beard. Good, huh, take that. 'Also, you got a call from Ms. Gisele, again', I reminded him about his high-maintenance client. 'Schedule her in my lunchtime', he grumbled. I can imagine a small whine in his voice as though he doesn't want to meet her. Obviously, if that woman can irritate me on the phone, I shudder to consider what she can do with a face-to-face meeting. 'Ok. I would book a table in a nice seafood restaurant', I pencilled in my pad. 'No seafood' 'Trust me. This place is elegant. The decor is superb. It doesn't even smell like a restaurant that sells seafood', I said trying to reassure him. 'I'm sure the place is great Ms. Anderson, however, I'm allergic to seafood', he clarified. Allergic to seafood. An idea formed in my mind. I can clearly see myself cackling with glee as I rub my hands, preparing the concoction of coffee and prawns. Not too much, but enough to land him in a comatose state. Ah, the joy of it. 'Don't even think about it', he said without even lifting his head. Spoiler sport. What? I can't even have fantasies anymore! It's like saying- there is no Santa Claus to a kid. I want to stomp my feet saying it's unfair. It's uncanny how he knows what I think. I should try that boredom look he aced sometime. 'I don't know what you are talking about Mr. Sinclair', my voice subdued, quiet, giving the impression of a perfect slave. See I'm already learning. I want to pat my back saying- good job. He gave me a look. Just a look. Not even an eyebrow lift. It totally says- you want to go there! Ook. It happens. I will just polish my theatrics. That's it. There is still hope for me. Right, RIGHT? At this rate, I can get an Oscar. (I don't know how much of this is true but when you type 'Oscar idiom' in Google and press the first link you will get Oscar meaning- the penis. That's just yuck) ' Take your time wool-gathering Ms. Anderson, we still have 2 minutes before presentation' he said, checking his watch. I coloured at his prompting. ' Shall we Mr. Sinclair?' I stammered pointing to the door. 'I was just waiting for your invitation', he replied sarcastically. The presentation went without hitches until the last slide. Just as I was saying 'Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your cooperation. Any questions?' Mr. Sinclair asked, ' what are you trying to say through this slide, Ms. Anderson?' His voice boomed in the quiet conference room. I turned to look at the animation of butler bowing to his lord elegantly. Shit, I forgot to delete it. 'To say that we are at your service, symbolically, of course, Mr. Sinclair', I replied quickly thinking on my feet. And... wait for it.... wait for it... There it is. He lifted his eyebrow. Translate- is that so? I didn't ponder this with a reply, instead changed the subject asking questions. Monday set the pace for the remaining week. By Friday I'm ready to kill Raphael Sinclair. He checks every report I type. 'We don't want the repeat of that presentation' he says wryly. Though nothing happened with the presentation, I thought it was funny. Obviously, the lord here didn't like it. He probably just wanted to make sure I didn't mess anything up. He seemed very meticulous. In other terms, he is a chauvinist pig. A nice looking one, nevertheless a chauvinist one. It was 7 pm. I'm probably the only one left working, of course, the lord is also there. But he doesn't come under the human category. So, it's just poor me when a ping of a message woke me from my reverie. Fight tomorrow. Come to the club through the back entrance at 7. Yes. Finally, some action.