The day starts out as any other. Birds chirp and sing like there lungs can hold gallons of oxygen. Birds, I have discovered since moving to this crazy little town are very happy creatures.
Unfortunately, cute as they are, birds still happened to be one of several species I hate with an unending passion. Not that they are ugly or anything really. Matter fact, birds are very pretty. So pretty that they almost always come in all colorful shapes and sizes.
Take for instance this miget looking blue-brown tiny ass chirping away at my window. And why for the love of God why are they always singing or chirping, whatever the hell you call it. What reason do they have to always be so fucking happy every damn time.
I should be the one chirping.
"I mean happy"
I mutter lazily as I turn my head to the bedside drawer were my alarm sit still unmoved. And by unmoved I really mean unmoved because when my alarm starts to ring it shifts all the way to the edge and eventually falls to the floor.
This is my fourth night in the new house, and I haven't slept past five AM. Not for a lack of trying mind you. I love to sleep. There is nothing I love more than my bed and cellphone.
Okay, maybe I do have someone I would wake up early for.
But damn these fucking birds. It's like living in Lochinvar national park. And yes, I say that because I have been to the bird place. Not because I like them, however.
Anyway, today I have four clients scheduled from morning to noon. So hopefully I can get it done early and get back home for some much-needed sleep. If the birds aren't chirping of course that is.
As every other day, I get out of bed and proceed to empty my bowels. Then downstairs for a much-needed cup of coffee and start on my house chores. I grew up in an orphanage. so, I have always pretty much done everything on my own. Even now with all my accomplishments and money I still do my house chores myself.
Not that I don't want the help but because I hate people.
Especially the ones who like my personal space.
It's like a personalized phobia. Actually, screw that I honestly just don't want anybody in my house.
Anyway, By the time I finish cleaning my four bedroomed house, which I occupy all by myself yes. I am about eighteen minutes into my working hours, and my secretary has left me about six voicemails and eleven text messages.
But to my luck or lack of it. The residents in this little ghost town were not timekeepers. Of all twelve appointments I had since coming here, all my clients had been running late.
Which was odd because on the one day that am actually late, my first appointment comes in thirty minutes earlier. And I curse the woman all the way to the moon and back.
My phone rings and I pick up to my frantic secretary on the other side. Tracy seemed like a good sport initially, spoke well if not a little too well. She was the one Patrick had arranged for me out for the main time and she hadn't disappointed me. She was calm and professional most times. She was very good at handling clients and keeping her calm. Which was a surprise now that she was freaking out over one random idiot.
"Why are you freaking out for?" I frown and listen to her labored breathing. Funny she sounds like someone having a panic attack, which shouldn't be the case because why would be my secretary be freaking out so much on my behalf.
"Your clients have been waiting for a while now sir" She mutters softly seemingly trying to find her calm.
I stay quiet and think of why she's so upset. I mean, I know some people take their jobs very seriously but come on.
"Sorry about that, had a slight headache in the night so am just catching up to myself now. Am actually just about to leave the house so I should be there in fifteen minutes max." I lie as effortlessly as it comes.
She mutters some sympathetic nonsense and whatnot, and I dismiss her as I find my way to the shower, where I take a cold ass one and then dress up like I actually make sense and that my job isn't really just a way for me to survive.
I don't want my job, but I need it.
Huge difference.