i have a 4th july story planned but anyone wanna collab for anything after that?
- the client list.
I never believed in Monday blues.
Sure, I have days where I'd woken up on the wrong side of my bed mostly because of bad hangovers (those days are rare though) but nothing like a cup of coffee and a good breakfast to blow those blues away.
Then I met him -
According to Google, Andrew's one of New York's hottest bachelor and has made his own million-dollar fortune before he turned 27. He looked like a modern Greek God who occasionally graces Page Six and had been giving my brother Damien a run for his 'NYC It Guy' title.
I still do not get what's up with all these random titles tabloids churn out.
But back to Andrew and how he managed to ruin my Mondays (or any days) since the day I met him.
He's my client.
A very nitpicking and obnoxious one, too.
Nothing was ever right for him.
"The color doesn't bring out my eyes."
"Something's off with the way the pants bulge."
"This shirt makes me look fat."
If you hadn't known any better, you would think he was my Mom.
While I would usually argue with Mom about her complains, I had no same power with him - because he's a customer and well, he's supposedly always right.
Even as he stood in front of me making a fuss about the cuffs of his shirt right now...
"They're too big," he complained, showing his point to me.
I walked over to him and almost cracked my lips as I pulled them into a tighter smile. "But you prefer rolling your sleeves up most times so this will be more comfortable for you..."
"I don't roll my sleeves for corporate events," he was quick to shoot me down. I looked up and caught him rolling his blue eyes at me.
"Okay, then I shall get you a smaller size."
"It'll be too tight."
I stared at him. I pictured pulling his tie up into a noose and that cooled me down a bit.
"I will find another shirt for you, then, Mr. Graham," I said calmly as I faked another smile.
He didn't argue as he disappeared behind the changing curtains. My smile finally loosened into a tired frown as I walked the room and picked out items he'd tossed around earlier.
"Send the shirt to my office by this evening," he ordered before leaving.
Never a thank you or a smile,
this was the Andrew Graham that I met and knew.
"I still think you should go ahead with the tell-all book," Alex teased as he took a big bite of the veggie burger he'd ordered.
Phillip's restaurant was packed with his regulars during lunch time, and we were lucky to still get a spot by the windows.
I fiddled with the greens on my plate before letting out a heavy sigh. "How can a guy be so nitpicking about everything? Nothing ever satisfy him. And I've known him for so many months now but I still do not /know/ him."
Alex looked at me blankly. "You're not his friend or anything to really /know/ him."
"You don't get what I'm really trying to say here," I argued.
He didn't seem to care either as he turned his attention back to his burger, grinning like a kid who just had ice cream.
"I think he's out to destroy my career," I muttered, recalling how Andrew would usually leave unsatisfactory comments to my superior which I would only find out during the team's weekly meetings.
So much for being 'a gentleman who opens doors for the ladies', according to Wikipedia.
I shall no longer trust Google.
"He's young and has a few million bucks to spare," Alex spoke as he sipped his lemonade. "I don't think he's any different than Damien."
I scoffed. "Damien would rather take a sabbatical leave from women than complain about how his shirt doesn't match his eyes."
Alex turned back to finish his burger while I had lost my appetite. I got agitated by the bustle in the restaurant after a while and decided to head back to work earlier.
I still needed a shirt to pick out for Mr. McPicky.
And even after countless cups of coffee, this Monday blues seemed to have permanently attached itself to me for good.