The Gargoyle from General Management (Claws & Cubicles, #3)

by Kate Prior

“Not you. You’re perfect the way you are,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “It’s just your bag that’s disobedient.”

I’m a little impressed by his general sturdiness. Not that that’s something to be impressed by—that’s not a quality people say they’re looking for, ever.

Man. My telehealth therapist is just going to love hearing about this.

“I don't know if you fully grasp how primal the need for a shiny, little sticker runs.”

Or maybe it’s like the third thing I want, after a raise and one of those really big chocolate sculptures.

I’m just hanging out in an empty hotel conference room, masturbating, pondering my life choices, as you do.

Holy fuck, try to be a little less obviously horny for Mr. Broad Shoulders Department.

Ten minutes later, I'm standing in the middle of a coworker knot. And it’s significantly less fun than the kind of knot you might fantasize about being part of.

I really, really, really, hate every bullshit after-school special that implies that in order to authentically “be yourself,” you need to share every little thing with people. Like, what does that get you? Your identity stolen, usually.

Forget wings and tails, I want to know how his tailor works the fabric of time and space to make that monster hide. I have girlbossed too close to the sun.

Fuck it, I’ll die by getting dicked down. It’ll be good. That’s probably how I was meant to go anyway.

“That first night I didn’t think you’d ever come out of your shell.” “Pssh! I don’t have a shell,” I roll my eyes. I’m here, aren’t I? Pretending to be friendly and outgoing as well as competent. “Your shell is the envy of all hermit crabs,” he says,

Fuck it, show him your tits.

“Do you think if you make it harder for people to love you, and they're still there, that will prove to you finally that you're worthy of being loved?”