Dirtbag

“Jack?” a small voice calls out. I turn around and find Heather. She’s the Assistant of the Week. My dad likes to switch it around. Calls it “keeping people on their toes.” It’s code for getting tired of people and finding someone new to entertain him. Heather obviously hasn’t taken his bait if she’s talking to me. This makes me nervous.

“Uh, hey, Heather,” I manage to stumble out. Heather’s pretty but it’s in that too much hairspray and eyeliner kind of pretty. More of Hanson’s type. I try to distract myself from her cleavage by straightening the folders on my desk. She comes closer. “Something I can help you with?”

“I was wondering,” she says in a low voice, “if you wanted to go out.”

“Go out?” I repeat. This is why I don’t get girls. I’m always a nervous wreck.

“With me.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a yes?”

I sigh. “Heather, that’s inappropriate for work. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Are you joking?” she hisses. “Fucking Christ, Jack, your father practically forced me to get with you. Something about ‘making you a man’ or some shit. Trust me, tall and lanky isn’t my type. Inappropriate for work…”

She’s mocking me with the last three words. Just like old man Trenton.