How to Kill Your Boss Read Online Free PDF Page A

guilty for killing Wallace on a regular basis, be it in daydreams or real dreams? Not a chance. Maybe it was my body’s way of purging the pent-up repulsion towards him.
    Despite what it seemed, violence wasn’t my nature. I could barely stand to kill a spider. There was something about the man that drew morbid fantasies out of my psyche. Perhaps I needed to see a shrink. Perhaps not. Dreams were cheaper than therapy.
    Warm sunshine blanketed my living room. I stood at the window and watched the early morning walkers, bikers and rollerbladers. Some moved along with purpose, but most seemed to delight in a casual stroll and revel in the rare, early spring sun.
    An elderly couple caught my eye. The man, although walking with a cane, steadied his wife with his free arm. Their movements were unhurried. They smiled, laughed, greeted people as they passed. That’s what I wanted. That, to me, was true love. Two people who have weathered the storms of life and stuck together. I pictured a similar future for myself. Just had to ditch the curse first.
    They traveled at a tedious pace, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. That couple was far more beautiful than the beach, the mountains in the distance, or the Seattle skyline. Their love story, in my imagination, was rarer than the April sunshine and blue sky, far more fascinating than the man with the bright orange running shorts and tie-dyed muscle shirt who roller-danced with a boom box perched on his shoulder.
    They passed a lamppost and my gaze rested on a man wearing black boots, dark denim, and a dark gray sweatshirt. He leaned against the massive pole, legs crossed at the ankle, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. Casual, yet arrogant. His hood was pulled low, revealing nothing of his face but a pair of aviator sunglasses. Even through the dark lenses, the weight of his glare crushed me.
    Something in my stomach twitched. I placed a hand on the window and leaned against the glass, hoping to get a better look. He was too far away to know for sure, but I think he smiled at me. Not a friendly hi, how are you kind of smile. It was more an I got you, you're a dead bitch kind of leer. I would have been frightened if I weren’t across a busy street, in a secure building, five stories up. I was mesmerized by this stranger. From my viewpoint, I couldn’t accurately gauge his height, but underneath his loose attire, the solid, formidable form was unmistakable.
    Standing straight, he pulled his hood down farther and strutted away, carrying himself with fierce confidence. Badass-motherfucker came to mind. I imagined a gun tucked in the back of his jeans, a knife or two hidden strategically in the sleeves of his shirt. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by his stranger-danger vibe. Each and every passerby gave him a wide berth as he strode away.
    What a way to start my morning. Someday, my vivid imagination was going to get me into a heap of trouble.
    * * * *
    I wrapped up my Saturday morning ritual of coffee and muffins with Jacob. In typical Jacob style, he inquired about the status of my love life. I scrunched my face and told him boys grossed me out. That always made him smile.
    I loved Jacob like an uncle, but there were some things a girl shouldn’t talk about. My romp on Franklin’s couch would be one of them. I sent him on his way with a plate full of leftover muffins, kissed his cheek, and watched him shuffle across the hall to his door.
    I was about to shut myself in when I heard the elevator ding. Being the curious bloke I was, I peeked through the crack of my door to see who was coming. I nearly fell on my ass when the hooded stranger from outside stepped into the corridor. Without hesitation, I slammed the door shut and secured both locks.
    Heart racing, I peered through the peephole. Eons passed before a dark form blocked my view. I jumped back and covered my mouth to stifle my panicked gasps. Shit. Did he hold a finger against the hole? What the hell?