“Yes, darling. Of course, my love”, said Terry warmly, distractedly trying to separate the fingers of his right hand from the ballpoint. “My love, certainly, I do, I do.” He hung up, desperately shaking his hand until the chrome Sheaffer flew off like a bullet to leave a small round hole in the window.
“Miss Roode, could you call Maintenance back?” He looked worriedly at the phone. Not Adelaide from the insurance, not Jill the bank manager. Certainly not Nurse Walter with the mustache, nor Nurse Johanna who looked-like-she-would, and did, but at 22 was too old for his taste.
The secretary, caught his confusion: “Mrs. Hardparcel?”, she cued him. “God no”, he shuddered. “When´s maintenance coming?” he added evasively.
Technical had already been to the office earlier to do maintenance on his desktop, copy some of his secret files, infect it with new trojans and short-circuit the mouse. As an afterthought they left the usual chewing gum on his chair.