Tristan
I stand in the elevator and turn up my nose.
What is that smell?
I got up and left early, trained with my personal trainer, and got dressed in the bathroom at the gym. I look around at my surroundings. This elevator stinks. What the fuck cleaning products are they using?
The doors open, and I stride out. “Morning,” I say to the girls at reception.
“Morning,” they all reply.
I can still smell it. Ugh, it’s horrendous. Must have permeated my nostrils.
It’s foul.
What the heck is it?
I walk into my office and begin to sniff around. Is it the carpet? I push the intercom. “Sammia, what is that godawful fucking smell?”
“What?”
“Can you smell something?”
“No.”
“I can smell something.”
“Maybe you wore too much aftershave.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Can you make sure my car is here to pick me up right at nine, please? I need to be early for my meeting this morning.”
“Already booked, boss.”
“Thanks.” I walk into my bathroom and wash my hands. Maybe I touched something at the gym?
I take a seat at my desk and turn on my computer. I wince from the odor.
“Oh my God, this is intolerable,” I mutter. I push the intercom again. “Sammia, can you come here for a moment, please?”
She sighs. “Fine.”
I go back to my computer.
Moments later she walks in. “Yes?”
“What is that smell?”
She screws up her nose as she inhales. “Hmm . . . I can smell something.”
“See. I told you.”
She sniffs . . . and sniffs. She walks around and then leans in toward me. “It’s you.”
My eyes widen in horror, and I sniff the sleeve of my suit. “What?”
She leans in and sniffs again. “Smells like cat piss.”
“What?” I explode. I jump from my chair and tear off my jacket. I glance down, and I see a faint mark on my shoes-my four-thousand-dollar fucking shoes. “That fucking Muff Cat has pissed in my overnight bag!” I scream.
Sammia puts her hands over her mouth and bursts out laughing.
I kick off my shoes, tear off my socks, and take off my shirt and tie and throw them into a pile on the floor. “Burn these fucking things. All of them!” I yell. “I don’t have fucking time for this.” I march out of the office and down past reception.
“Hell yeah.” Mallory from reception giggles as she sees me shirtless. “Boom.”
Sammia laughs out loud behind me. “I’ll say,” she chimes in.
“Not funny!” I cry as I storm into Jameson’s office.
He’s just arrived and glances up from his desk. “What the fuck are you doing?” He frowns.
“Give me your clothes.”
“What?”
I hold my hand out. “That Muff Cat pissed on my clothes, and I have the most important meeting of the year. Give me your fucking suit.”
He bursts out laughing.
“I’m not joking,” I bark. “Give me your clothes and shoes. Right now.”
Sammia and Mallory are laughing hard at the door.
“Not fucking funny, you two,” I cry. “Sammia, call Claire and tell her the cat is going to hell. When I get ahold of that thing . . . tick fucking tock.” I punch my fist hard.
The three of them burst out laughing again.
Jameson stands and begins to unbutton his shirt. “I thought Elliot and Christopher were coming in today. Take their suits.”
“They won’t be here until after ten. They have a breakfast meeting.”
“Sammia, can you find Jameson some clothes, please?” I stammer.
“Do I have to?” She sighs dreamily.
He hands over his shirt, and we suddenly become aware of the three reception girls standing at the door watching, and we both glance over.
Sammia gives us a goofy smile and shrugs. “Don’t mind us; this is the most exciting thing that’s happened in the office for like . . . forever.”
I glance at Jameson, and he rolls his eyes. What must we look like, both shirtless and half-undressed in the office?
“Fucking perverts,” I huff. “Go watch some porn or something.”
“This is better.” Sammia sighs again.
“Jesus Christ,” Jameson mutters under his breath.
The girls all giggle and slowly return to their desks.