Peter's Perspective.

I was watching the clock, 11.58am. tic, toc, tic, toc, tic, toc....
It was one of those days where the tics and the tocs seemed to drag on for mini eternities.
All morning, all I'd done was split my favourite trousers whilst setting up the new boy's computer in our cell on the 39th floor.
Brought some new ones, which didnt  at all match, but they were the cheapest, and for the rest of the day walked round sulking.

11.59am, I'd also brought some cigarettes when I got my new trousers. I quit smoking, three weeks ago when Claire had told the whole office smoking was an unattractive trait. I'd almost cried when I heard B.O. Larry laughing at her jokes the week before, that I couldn't quite hear over mine and her padded separation boards. Then to throw the smoking thing in my face.  B.I.T.C.H

I'd never spoken to Claire of course, she was way out of my league, which I suppose is why she got moved to floor twenty-one this morning, instead of being stuck up here with us losers.

12.00pm, practically running out of the office, cha-cha-ing past the men getting up to make there Cup-O-Soups and through the door, down the corridor where women re-applied thier perfumes and to the elevator. The beautiful elevator with my wonderful packet of cigarettes.

Then I saw her, coming out of what we nick-named "The Dungeon"
She was in a beautifully well tailored red suit and her chocolate hair fell just below her shoulders.
Her face was, stunning. She was stunning. I had to turn away to stop my gawping and for me to resist the urge of making a complete idiot of myself.

She was better than Claire. I hope she got Claire's job.
Remembering my mis-matched suit, I was immediately embarressed beyond belief, and when she sympathically smiled at me after clocking on to it herself,  I prayed the floor would swallow me up.

The End

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