Forever Pucked(2)

I flip it open, expecting Alex's usual hilarity, which is how it starts,  but by the end I'm about to cry. He really is that damn sweet:



Violet,

A year ago you agreed to go for coffee with me, and then your boobs  agreed to go on a real date. You came into my life and turned it upside  down in the best way. I'll never look at Spiderman pajamas the same way,  or Marvel Comic boxer briefs.                       
       
           



       

I love every inch of you, all your funny quirky ways, all the ridiculous  things you say in your sleep-and when you're awake. Your unending  praise for the MC also doesn't hurt.

I know you don't buy the whole love at first sight thing, but I believe  some people are destined to be together. Maybe we came together because  of lust and Fielding, but we stayed together because of love.

You're my forever,

Alex



I sigh and hold the card to my chest, absorbing his words into my heart.  Not really. I'm actually considering checking Google to see if he  copied this from some sappy love poem site and made a few modifications  to fit us better. However, Alex was an English major in college, so it's  possible he came up with this all on his own.

I save the Google search for later and open the heart-shaped box. I  expect to find chocolate inside, but I'm pleasantly surprised to  discover it's filled with those heavenly maple sugar candies I love so  much. There's also a bag of Swedish Fish.

"You two are the weirdest couple on the face of the earth. You know that, right?"

"I prefer the term quirky, but yeah, I know."

Charlene nabs a maple candy before I can close the box. Granted, there  are a lot of them. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say there's a good  hundred candies in there. I'll be in a maple sugar coma by the end of  the day for sure. I can't stop once I've started.

I grab my phone from the top drawer of my desk, but before I can pull up Alex's contact, Charlene snatches it out of my hand.

"What're you doing?"

"You need to pose with the beaver so we can send Alex a picture," she  says, as if this should be obvious. Which really, it should be. I'm from  the generation where everything we do gets posted online for bored  people to see. Welcome to the wonderful world of well-documented bad  decisions.

I shuffle the beaver around. It's not easy since he's huge, and my  cubicle is small. I back my chair into a corner and move the beaver  between my legs. I shove the beaver down so his head is at waist level,  and Charlene snaps a few pics. Then we turn it over, giggling like  idiots as I arrange my skirt over the top of its head so it looks like  the beaver's going to town on my beaver.

I strike several different poses, including a fake orgasm face, which is the exact moment my boss walks in on our little party.

"Mr. Stroker! Hey, hi!" I push the beaver away from my crotch, but it's too late. He's already seen me molesting it.

"Miss Hoar." He glances at Charlene, then to me. "Miss Hall." His arms  are crossed over his chest, and his face remote. He's giving away  nothing. "You two look like you're hard at work."

We're in so much trouble.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stroker. Alex sent me this for our anniversary-" I  gesture to the gigantic beaver. "-and Charlene and I thought we'd send a  picture so he knows I got it. We're not sure if the team's going to  make it back tonight, because of the storm." I wave my hand toward the  windows. It's snowing like crazy.

Not that it's going to stop him from firing me.

"He sent you a stuffed woodchuck for your anniversary?"

"It's not a woodchuck; it's a beaver," Charlene says.

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want an explanation. Violet, I'd like to see you in my office."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

My stomach does a flip, but I stand and smooth out my wrinkled skirt,  shooting Charlene a look of terror. She mouths sorry at me, but it's not  her fault. I would've done something equally as stupid with or without  her help.

I follow Mr. Stroker down the hall to his office. He closes the door  behind me and gestures to the chair opposite his desk. I'm totally about  to get canned. This is the shittiest sexiversary ever.

"I really am sorry about that, Mr. Stroker. We were being silly. I know it wasn't work-appropriate behavior."

He puts up a hand to stop me. "Violet, have you seen some of the clips  Jimmy and Dean slip into their presentations? You doing whatever you  were doing with that beaver has nothing on those two."

I know exactly what he's talking about. Jimmy and Dean are the other  junior accountants at our firm. They're even more ridiculous than Char  and me. Last week they threw a slide into their presentation with two  hockey players mashed up against the plexiglas with the caption "Happy  Hump Day!" It looked like there was a whole lot more than humping going  on in the picture. And that's one of their tamer ones.
                       
       
           



       
"Still, it won't happen again." I sag in the chair, unable to mask my  relief. I honestly thought he was going to tell me to pack up my office.  Then I'd be a famous hockey player's unemployed fiancée rather than a  modest financial contributor to our partnership.

"Sounds good."

Mr. Stroker shuffles account files around on his desk. I recognize the  one on top as one I prepared, because it's in a violet-colored folder.  Alex bought them for me. He thinks they're cute.

"I've reviewed your file for the Darcy account. I think you've made some  very wise choices in terms of the funds you've selected. The returns  have been high in the past eighteen months, and you've balanced their  portfolio well."

"Oh. Well, thanks." This isn't at all what I thought I was coming here  for. His praise is unexpected. He's a numbers guy, like so many of us in  this department. It's always about the bottom line: whether or not  we're making money for our clients or saving their asses from potential  bankruptcy.

Mitch Darcy plays defense for Chicago. I met him through Alex. One night  after the game his wife was there, and we started talking. She asked  what I did for a living, so I told her. She seemed surprised that I  worked a job other than servicing Alex's amazing dick.

Two weeks later, Mrs. Darcy made an appointment and specifically asked  for me. Mr. Stroker took a risk by letting me draw up a proposal for the  account. Of course he has to review it before anything can be  implemented, but it's an opportunity I wouldn't have without all my  connections. Those sometimes make me unpopular at work.

"This is a big deal, Violet." Mr. Stroker says, tapping his pen against the folder.

"Yes, sir."

"You're aware that Darcy renewed his contract for five more years at four million a year."

"Yes, sir. He also has endorsements with Power Juice and Sports Mind  totaling another two million annually for the next three years."

"Do you think you'll be ready to present this to the Darcys next week?"

I sit up straighter. "You want me to present?"

"His wife is rather insistent it be you."

"But I've never presented to a client this big before."

"You've been managing Miller's account for the past year without an issue," he argues.

Stroker is referring to my stepbrother, Buck, whose real name is Miller.  Everyone has recently started calling him by his given name, but it's  an adjustment for me. I'm not quite there yet.

Usually the accounts I handle are half a million or less. The Darcys'  portfolio is far more significant. Way bigger than anything I've  touched, apart from Buck's accounts, and I've always had Mr. Stroker  look at those before I make any kind of change. I don't want to be  responsible for screwing up Buck's fortune.

"You've got a handle on it. Why don't you call them and set up a meeting for next week. I'm open most mornings."

"Okay, great. I'll consult their game schedule and see what works best."

"Perfect. You arrange it, check the notes I've made on the PowerPoint,  and at the end of the week-say, Friday afternoon-I'll set aside an hour  and you can do a dry run for me so you feel prepared. How does that  sound?"

"That sounds amazing, Mr. Stroker."

"It's just William, Violet. You can drop the formality now."

He's told me this before, but I find his last name entertaining. "Of course. Right, William."

He gives Randy Balls, another one of Alex's teammates, a run for his money with the dirty names.

"Great. Three o'clock Friday afternoon is open for me. Book the  conference room with Edna on your way out." He passes over the folder  and picks up the phone, which means I'm dismissed.

I thank him and stop to set things up with his assistant on the way back to my cubicle.