Read Online The Flip by Michael Phillip Cash - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Phillip Cash
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lighting the screen. He pressed ignore and walked toward the stairs tothe attic.
Chapter 8
Julie stared glumly at the computer screen, idly looking at pictures of Victorian homes.
“You OK?” Dulcie slid into her seat, a cup of coffee in one hand, a plate with a doughnut in the other. “Want?” She held up the plate.
Julie shook her head. “I had my quota of cake yesterday.” A faint smile came as the memory of their
Tom Jones
eating frenzy flashed through her mind. “I feel like I’m missing something.” Julie sighed. She pressed Brad’s number again and got his voice mail. “No. Nothing. I think Brad is mad at me.”
“Why?”
“He’s so testy. Every time I call him, he has no patience for me. He’s not even answering my call now.”
Dulcie ripped apart the doughnut, considering it. “Stop running after him. The more you push, the more he’ll pull. Don’t call him fifty times a day.”
“I don’t call him that much.” Julie stood, outraged.
“Oh yes, you do, and more. I don’t call Carlos but once a day, girl. You got to make them miss you.” She looked at Julie, her dark eyes dancing. “You got to play hard to get. You too easy.”
Julie shrugged. “I hate playing games.”
Dulcie smiled, revealing even white teeth. “Isn’t he playing games by not answering you?”
“Huh!” Julie huffed, considering what Dulcie had said.
Her intercom buzzed with the annoying tenacity of a droning bee, interrupting their conversation. She depressed the button to hear orders rapped out in rapid succession. Go to human resources, get the Bailse contracts, stop by supplies, get a new stapler. Julie took a pen, recording the list so she wouldn’t forget anything. With a sigh, she rose, looking at Dulcie for sympathy.
“Better you than me is all I have to say. I got him breakfast, and they put the eggs on thewrong side of his plate.” She laughed. “I got him a new plate, but it had more than eggs on it when I gave it to him.”
“Eeeew. That’s disgusting, Dulce.”
“He deserves it. You can’t treat people like scum and not pay for it.” She harrumphed and turned, her nose in the air, to type the requisition order she had been working on.
Julie giggled and headed off, taking the elevator to her first stop. In the supply room, she found a box to hold all the things Mr. Wilson had demanded. She juggled a heavy stapler, a box of staples, a ruler, pens, and a cord for the new phone. She became aware that someone was in the room but, not feeling threatened, didn’t lookup to identify the intruder. A hand caressed her bottom and she gasped, pushing away. Strong arms grabbed her from the front, one pushing its way down her blouse.
“Julie.” She felt his hot breath heat the back of her neck.
“Mr. Wilson!” She wriggled away from him. He was a short man with a wide belly. Surely, he couldn’t be doing this to her. “Stop! What are you doing?” His pasty bald head gleamed with sweat.
“Julie, Julie, Julie.” He pressed his groin against her. She felt him poking her, and she used her elbow to break his embrace. “Don’t you feel the tension between us? Dump that pretty boy. We could do great things together.” His glasseswere askew on his face, his lips wet with drool, his eyelids at half-mast in what she guessed was his bedroom look.
A giggle bubbled up hysterically from her throat. “Stop that this instant!” she shouted, as his hands groped to separate her white shirt from her skirt.
“I know you want it. Just think of what I can give you. Julie, I can make life very easy for you.”
“I’m married,” she said sternly, slapping his hand away. The box of supplies was crushed between them, some of its contents falling out the sides.
“I…want…you…now!” he spat. “I alwaysget what I want.” His hot eyes devoured her.
Julie looked at his pursed lips and his unfocused gaze and yelled, “I am not interested! I said stop it!” When he didn’t respond, she
Chapter 8
Julie stared glumly at the computer screen, idly looking at pictures of Victorian homes.
“You OK?” Dulcie slid into her seat, a cup of coffee in one hand, a plate with a doughnut in the other. “Want?” She held up the plate.
Julie shook her head. “I had my quota of cake yesterday.” A faint smile came as the memory of their
Tom Jones
eating frenzy flashed through her mind. “I feel like I’m missing something.” Julie sighed. She pressed Brad’s number again and got his voice mail. “No. Nothing. I think Brad is mad at me.”
“Why?”
“He’s so testy. Every time I call him, he has no patience for me. He’s not even answering my call now.”
Dulcie ripped apart the doughnut, considering it. “Stop running after him. The more you push, the more he’ll pull. Don’t call him fifty times a day.”
“I don’t call him that much.” Julie stood, outraged.
“Oh yes, you do, and more. I don’t call Carlos but once a day, girl. You got to make them miss you.” She looked at Julie, her dark eyes dancing. “You got to play hard to get. You too easy.”
Julie shrugged. “I hate playing games.”
Dulcie smiled, revealing even white teeth. “Isn’t he playing games by not answering you?”
“Huh!” Julie huffed, considering what Dulcie had said.
Her intercom buzzed with the annoying tenacity of a droning bee, interrupting their conversation. She depressed the button to hear orders rapped out in rapid succession. Go to human resources, get the Bailse contracts, stop by supplies, get a new stapler. Julie took a pen, recording the list so she wouldn’t forget anything. With a sigh, she rose, looking at Dulcie for sympathy.
“Better you than me is all I have to say. I got him breakfast, and they put the eggs on thewrong side of his plate.” She laughed. “I got him a new plate, but it had more than eggs on it when I gave it to him.”
“Eeeew. That’s disgusting, Dulce.”
“He deserves it. You can’t treat people like scum and not pay for it.” She harrumphed and turned, her nose in the air, to type the requisition order she had been working on.
Julie giggled and headed off, taking the elevator to her first stop. In the supply room, she found a box to hold all the things Mr. Wilson had demanded. She juggled a heavy stapler, a box of staples, a ruler, pens, and a cord for the new phone. She became aware that someone was in the room but, not feeling threatened, didn’t lookup to identify the intruder. A hand caressed her bottom and she gasped, pushing away. Strong arms grabbed her from the front, one pushing its way down her blouse.
“Julie.” She felt his hot breath heat the back of her neck.
“Mr. Wilson!” She wriggled away from him. He was a short man with a wide belly. Surely, he couldn’t be doing this to her. “Stop! What are you doing?” His pasty bald head gleamed with sweat.
“Julie, Julie, Julie.” He pressed his groin against her. She felt him poking her, and she used her elbow to break his embrace. “Don’t you feel the tension between us? Dump that pretty boy. We could do great things together.” His glasseswere askew on his face, his lips wet with drool, his eyelids at half-mast in what she guessed was his bedroom look.
A giggle bubbled up hysterically from her throat. “Stop that this instant!” she shouted, as his hands groped to separate her white shirt from her skirt.
“I know you want it. Just think of what I can give you. Julie, I can make life very easy for you.”
“I’m married,” she said sternly, slapping his hand away. The box of supplies was crushed between them, some of its contents falling out the sides.
“I…want…you…now!” he spat. “I alwaysget what I want.” His hot eyes devoured her.
Julie looked at his pursed lips and his unfocused gaze and yelled, “I am not interested! I said stop it!” When he didn’t respond, she
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