George is running late for an important meeting, to be late might mean losing the sale, and that's the last thing that he needs. But he is stuck in traffic and the drivers around him are all petty and ignorant. By the time he gets onto a clear road he is very late and furious, now there is another obstacle in his way, a black girl that won't let him pass, she could prove to be the final straw.
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Did She Want It Or Not?
Layout Copyright © 2021 by PMO Publishing. Published 2021 by PMO Publishing. E-book design by PMO Publishing. Cover art by PMO Publishing. Contact: [email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the authors permission.
Authors note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
A note from the Author
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George glanced at the dashboard clock and frowned, he was running dangerously late for the most important meeting of his career.
The client was hooked, he was sure of that, he just had to get to his office and close the deal. But nothing is certain he reminded himself as he checked the time again, for most people buying an expensive holiday home wasn't exactly an impulse purchase, but a great deal of the time it was excitement that fed the urge to buy, and left too long to consider what they were about to do often cooled that excitement as reality dawned. It was a lot of cash to part with just to have a place to stay in the sun, and only for a few weeks each year. Often in the cold light of day they would consider the cost of a two week package holiday, then compare it with the many thousands they had paid to go to the same spot year after year.
Cold feet, or as it was known in the trade, buyer’s remorse, was all too common, and that is why George couldn't afford to be late. His meeting would secure the deal, he would have power of attorney to act for the buyer, and he knew that once he had that document in his hands and the hefty cash deposit the deal would be done. It was very rare for a client to back out after reaching that point, the deposit was like a watershed moment, and once paid marked the point of no return.
But I'm close to late he groaned, the traffic was impossibly heavy for the time of day. All three lanes of the motorway were at a standstill, and in the previous hour he couldn't have inched forward more than a dozen car lengths.
I have to get off at the next junction he decided, maybe the smaller roads would be clearer and he could make up a little lost time. The car in front moved forward, just a few feet, George followed hoping that it might mark the end of the congestion.
Horns sounded as other drivers displayed their frustration. Horn blowing wasn't going to achieve anything, that much he understood, blowing the horn without a clearly defined target was pointless.
If it was one person holding us up then that would perhaps serve some purpose he leaned out of his window and tried to peer ahead, but container trucks blocked the forward view.
Fifteen minutes passed for very little distance gained. George tried to call the client but found that the network was down. So I can't even warn him that I might be a few minutes late.
Five more minutes and he was within sight of the exit ramp, his frustration grew considerably as the car in front drifted, blocking any chance to run up the hard shoulder and gain a couple of vital minutes. George felt his temper stirring, to block him like that was ignorant and petty. Anger flared as every attempt he made to exit was thwarted by the driver in front.
Finally he squeezed past, fuming to see the grin of his tormentor as he hit the off ramp.
Some people are just ass holes he spat as he ran into even more traffic. Quickly he checked the signal on his phone before throwing it onto the passenger seat, it had to be some kind of conspiracy against him, no signal and now he faced another jam.
At a stop start crawl he reached the top of the off ramp and filtered into the slow moving traffic behind a black girl driving a small silver saloon.
Now I'm getting really late George groaned as the clock ticked past his appointed meeting time, and he was still about twenty minutes from his destination.
The snarl up continued into the distance, which would have driven him into a fit of rage had he not known of a back road, that, although considerably longer, would definitely be clear.
And I can really put my foot down he told himself as the turning came into view.
George frowned as the car in front also began to turn, the black girl was also going the same way. But I'll soon get past her he told himself, his BMW was agile and powerful, he just needed a short stretch of straight road and he would be clear.
The road was narrower than he remembered, and twisted and turned offering him little opportunity to pass. The black girl hit her brakes and slowed, George couldn't see any reason except possibly over-caution.
“Come on!” he cried out in exasperation before hitting the horn, just a quick blast to let her know that he was there and wanting to pass. Surely she'll pull over and let me overtake he reasoned. In the rear view mirror he saw her eyes glance at him, then the brake lights flashed red again. George smiled, she'd clearly understood and was about to pull over.
“What the fuck!” He exclaimed as she slowed further and edged out until she was completely blocking the road. George hit the horn again, this time in anger, the bitch was deliberately blocking him and had reduced her speed again, now they were travelling at little more than a crawl.
His phone on the passenger seat chirped twice, the network signal had returned and messages began to arrive. Quickly he snatched it up and felt a wave of nausea wash over him as his worst nightmare began to unfold. The message was exactly what he'd feared, the client had sat alone in his office as he waited, and as he explained, he'd begun to think hard about what he was doing.
“I don't think that this is the right time for me to be making this move.” he'd said, before apologising for wasting George's time.
In that split second of fury George focussed all of his anger toward the black girl that was deliberately slowing him. She wasn't the reason that he was later. She wasn't the reason he had lost the biggest commission of his career... but in that instant he knew that she was going to pay for his misfortune... and he knew exactly how to make her pay.
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