Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

90 - Rebecca

Eventually, Jax came downstairs with news that someone was at the door asking for Ms Woods. Jax was essentially my assistant at this point and I was slowly admitting to myself that I was warming up to him. I didn't even swear when he randomly stuck his head through my office door. "There's a man asking for you, Ms Woods." He said.

"Who?"

"Locksmith." My eyes flicked, alarmed, to the time only to realise that he was early. It had only just started to get dark outside, the sun's disappearance meaning Colby would be awake soon. I suddenly didn't want to be here anymore, but I just nodded at Jax and he slid through the hallway ahead of me.

I followed him, stomping my way up the spiral stairs and into the main studio. Each of my designers stood next to a mannequin of their own, a part of my designs already sewn to perfectly fit or hanging off ready to be sewn. Jax was the furthest in, the top half of the dress already sitting on the torso of the mannequin. It was looking good so far; trusting them with the designs was going to be a good idea.

When I descended the stone stairs, I found a tall man waiting outside with a small toolbox in one hand, his phone in the other. He was looking out at the parking lot when I approached, completely and utterly distracted. It was only when my stomping feet took effect that he jolted and turned to me.

He smiled in a customer service way that I hated and nodded to the door. "Hello. Ms Woods?" I nodded. "I'm here to change the locks. The brief said there would be two changes?"

"Yes," I answered, trying to be polite, "this door and another inside. You can start here."

He nodded and got down on his knees instantly, clicking open his toolbox. I took a step back toward the stairs and sat down; I was going to watch him do this, then receive the key for myself. Being able to gain entry to the studio was absolutely a no-no. With my lockable filing cabinet, my office door didn't mean so much, though.

He glanced at me nervously. "Are you going to sit there the whole time?"

"Yup."

"Okay..." I could tell there were comments that he was holding back about that. He didn't like it, that was for sure, but he distracted himself with working and talking to me. "I believe you need six keys for this door and two for the other?"

"Yes."

"May I ask who will be gaining entry?"

No, I thought, but I replied anyway. Polite, I reminded myself. "Myself and my employees through this door—they can come and go more or less as they please, as can I. Aside from that, I want a spare. The other room is for me only."

"And a spare." He added and I nodded. "You seem young to have employees."

I raised a brow. "Why's that?"

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I'm older than you and I'm still in the bottom ranks of locksmith...ing."

"You don't have an attitude like mine." I snapped. I didn't feel like being polite when he was insulting both my age and my position as a manager. My need for Colby increased tenfold. "What does being part of the locksmith business even fucking bring you?"

"Good question." He laughed sadly. "I like a girl with an attitude—no wonder your boss put you in charge here. He probably—"

"Excuse you!" I exclaimed at him. I was just about ready to punch him in the face as I leapt up to my feet. "You better be fucking careful what you say before I fire you and take down your whole company."

He raised a brow. "You could do that?"

"I have plenty of powerful connections." People did cower—including his bosses—at my surname, after all. My attitude just made them tremble and cry out of fear. I was certainly the infamous of the newest generation—my mother's rebellious stage used to have my place.

The locksmith was quiet for a while after that. He let me sit there and watch him screw every screw and line up every little detail. I made sure he did it right and then I checked every single one of the keys he gave me to make sure they worked. I also checked that my old one didn't before I replaced it.

I led him to my office—he looked at the name on the door and realised that I really was a powerful manager here—before going up to the studio. I handed out the keys to everyone, putting the spare key on one of my many necklace chains. It was the thinnest one, which I wore even to bed. It had a spare key to my apartment and balcony door there too, little differentiation between them.

I soon added the spare for the office out of sight of the locksmith. It was my pride and joy to lead him back out of the studio and slam the door on his back, almost hitting his ass with the premature swing. I wasn't paying him specifically, after all, and he certainly wasn't going to get a tip.

By the time I got back to my office, my phone was ringing with Colby's number. My heart leapt as I flung around the desk and lifted the phone to my ear, pitifully eager to hear his voice. He didn't disappoint. "Hey, Becks." He grumbled, half asleep.

I smiled to myself as I leaned back in my chair. "Hey, Colbs. Just wake up?"

"Mhm."

"I'm not doing anything right now if you want me to come back? The locksmith just left—I had all the locks changed." I explained. I didn't know why I was explaining anything; I must have still had a bit of mother-conversing left in me. I shook it off, the bitch jumping out. "Not that it fucking matters to you."

Colby exhaled in amusement. "I was wondering where my bitch had gone."

"To sleep, just like your lazy ass."

"I'm not lazy." He grumbled, but the tired tone of his voice suggested otherwise. It was later than he was usually up, though I remembered how things had gotten 'ugly' last night and I put it down to that.

I rolled my eyes with a smile. "Go to sleep, lazy, if you're still tired. No point in staying awake. Who's gonna need you?"

"I can't go to sleep now." He replied as I heard shuffling in the background. "Come back here, now."

"Now? Excuse you." I snarled.

His voice turned hard and almost annoyed, as if I had done something wrong and not him. "No, not excuse me. Get back here now, Rebecca."

Colby's sudden change in attitude and tone pissed me off more than I could explain. I didn't need him to ruin my day, not that it had been particularly good or bad so far. I had no problem with telling him how I felt about his lapse in judgement—which he would pay for.

"Fuck off."