Kiss My Name by Calvin Wade Page B

about Mr.Brazier’s office was that he had loads of family photos up. I had been in there many times before, but I suppose every time previously had been before Christmas, so the photos were saying something different to me now.
    ‘This is the wife I cheat on whenever possible’ and ‘these are the kids who I am going to see one weekend a fortnight once my wife discovers that I have a wandering eye’, were the two central themes. I reckon married men who sleep around are either very arrogant or very unhappy or both, but the family photos seemed to show Mr.Brazier was just arrogant.
    “Miss Phillips, please come in and make yourself comfortable. What can I do for you, young lady?”
    Mr.Brazier was always calling me Miss Phillips. At first, I thought he must have just mixed up my surname with someone else’s, but then Flo explained it was because of the showjumping, Royal Zara. I asked Flo if that is why Mr.Brazier said things to me like,
    “You like a good jump, don’t you, Zara?” and “You’re always up for a ride, Zara!”
    Flo said it probably was because of the Royal Zara which made me laugh, as I’d always presumed he was talking about sex! Easy mistake to make though, as whenever I was around, Mr.Brazier always seemed to be talking about sex.
    I took a seat on the opposing side of the desk to Mr.Brazier, who sat down too. I had never felt more ready to deal with him. I cleared my throat.
    “Mr.Brazier, do you like me?”
    Mr.Brazier sort of closed one eye and twitched a little, a bit like that bloke who hated Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther films
    “What exactly do you mean by ‘like you’, Zara?”
    “Fancy me.”
    “No, of course I don’t! Why are you asking me such a ridiculous question? You are just a valued member of my staff. If managing Penny Pinchers is like having a cup of tea, you, Zara, are my two teaspoons of sugar.”
    Mr.Brazier was a creepy sod.
    “Why do you say things to me that you just don’t say to the other girls?”
    “I don’t! I treat everyone the same. What have you come to see me for, Zara? What the heck is the point of all this? Is it a period thing? Are you pre-menstrual?”
    Stupid men tried to blame things they did not understand on female hormones. Not all men, just the stupid ones. I wasn’t Alfie Einstein myself, but Mr.Brazier was stupid.
    “No, I am not pre-menstrual, Mr.Brazier. I know you probably think I’m stupid, but I’m not, I notice things, I notice how you treat me. You definitely treat me differently to the other girls.”
    “In what way, Zara?”
    “You make fun of me in a sexual way, Mr.Brazier.”
    “I most certainly do not!”
    “Mr.Brazier, you do! Yesterday, when I came into work, you asked me if I was raised on a farm. When I asked why, you said because I’m really good at raising cocks.”
    “That’s just a joke, Zara. It’s just me being playful, that’s all.”
    “Well, it isn’t funny!”
    “If you don’t find it funny, then I apologise, Zara. I j ust single you out for a bit of extra Brazzer fun, because you’re my favourite.”
    “That’s what I said, you like me, Mr.Brazier. You’re old enough to be my Dad!”
    “Not quite and anyway, Michael Douglas is old enough to be Catherine Zeta Jones Dad. Age is immaterial once you get beyond a certain age.”
    “But you’re married, Mr.Brazier.”
    “Zara, I am happily married. I just like you as a person. You’re my favourite member of staff.”
    He di dn’t look happily married when he was groping Sylvia at the Christmas party. I wasn’t exactly his favourite then either.
    “Do you think I’m a nice person, Mr.Brazier?”
    “Yes, Zara, of course you are.”
    “I’m a happy, kind sort of person, aren’t I?”
    “I would say so.”
    “’Cos you’re not, Mr.Brazier. Now I’m going to apologise for swearing in advance, but you’re fucking horrible, Mr.Brazier !”
    “I’m what?”
    “You’re horrible. You give me the creeps, Mr.Brazier! You touch me