Page 2 of Company Ink

"You!" I jump up, dusting my hands against my cream-colored pants suit. "You killed Stella."

"I beg your pardon?" the man asks, confusion capturing his ruggedly handsome features.

"My plant!" I point to the ground, my blood boiling with grief and anger.Peace, who?

"Oh," he hums with a faint smirk. "Perhaps in the future, you should watch where you're going. That way you can avoid any more...botanical deaths."

"You crashed into me!" I exclaim, crossing my arms. The nerve of this gorgeous oaf! I will never be able to look at Armani suits the same ever again!

"Prove it," he demands with a hint of amusement in his voice. "What is your evidence?"

I huff. Evidence? Is he serious? "I can requisition the CCTV footage if you'd like." I point to the cameras in the front of the office tower.

"Please, go ahead," he responds confidently. "I'll wait here."

He knows quite well that I'm not actually going to go through with it. "Can't you just say sorry?" I ask, glaring at him, my reflection visible in his sunglasses. I tuck a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. Goodness, I look like a mess right now. I'm going to have to get my hair done later this week. My ash-blonde highlights are starting to look a tad brassy. Maybe I'll get a massage as well, for the sake of restoring my Zen.

The man chuckles lightly. What?! He's laughing? Clearly, he's a sociopath, feeding off of my distress. "I am so sorry for your loss," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

This guy! I scoop up what's left of Stella and place her beside Stanley. Maybe I can re-pot her at home. Perhaps she still has some life left in her. Grabbing the handles of the box, I turn on my heel. I've had enough of this asshole.

"Good day, sir," I seethe. Before I can take a step forward, the bottom of the box gives out, littering the ground with all my stuff. I freeze and stare off into the distance, trying to fight back tears.

Today is not my day.

On the corner of the street is a flower kiosk, I slowly walk towards it, my body limp with defeat. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why...?

"What are you doing?" the man asks in a concerned tone.

"Oh, you know, just going to walk into oncoming traffic," I answer, completely deadpan.

"What?" The man grabs my shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed. "Please don't do that! I'm truly sorry about your plant." Sarcasm replaced by alarm.

"I'm joking." I roll my eyes, shaking off his large hand. "I'm getting a plastic bag from the florist."

"Oh," he hums, following me to the stand. "You really shouldn't joke about things like that."

"Whatever," I sigh, turning my attention to the young woman with a Lord Farquaad haircut selling bouquets of flowers. "Hi, there. Can I please have a plastic bag?" I point to all my shit sprawled on the sidewalk. "My box broke."

"Awe, that sucks! For sure you can. It'll be twenty-five cents." She holds out her hand.

I miss when bags used to be free. I fumble around in my purse. Damn it! I sheepishly meet her eyes. "Can I pay on Visa? I don't have any cash."

She sucks in her breath. "Oh, sorry. We don't take card payments under five dollars."

"Okay." I force a smile, my entire body tensing. "Is there anything here that I can buy five for dollars?"

"Unfortunately, all of our arrangements are twenty dollars and up."

"What?!" I blink rapidly, my vision slowly turning red. "You're telling me that I need to spend twenty dollars on flowers, I don't need or want, just so I can have a plastic bag?! Are you serious?!"

"Here." Stella's murderer holds out a one-dollar bill. "Please take it. Consider it compensation for your troubles."

"Why are you still here?" I ask, my irritation flaring. "Perhaps you'd like to destroy allthesepretty flowers as well," I say, gesturing to the floral arrangements.

"I'm here because, and I mean no offense, you seem slightly unhinged," he says in a low voice so only I can hear him.

My jaw drops. "Unhinged?!" I exclaim, every fiber of my being jolted inextremeoffense.

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