She glared at the back of his head, as her head sang a chorus of "He's a prick!" to her. She knew this, of course, yet still couldn't look away. She could see the flashing light on her phone, telling her that she had a caller waiting for her, yet she kept her eyes fixated on the back of his head, convinced that she could set it on fire if she just stayed angry enough.

Of course, it didn't work, and the flashes grew frequent enough that she was forced to look away and answer the blasted thing. At this moment, he turned to her, and smirked, before looking back at his computer. She felt her grip on the phone tighten to a degree that she was worried might just shatter it, and her boss would lose it if she broke the phone.

He was a bastard, she knew it. A stupid, arrogant, self obsessed bastard. With his stupid hair, and his too tight jeans there was nothing about him that didn't scream 'I'm a bastard!'. The worst part was, that he knew it too. He knew it, and didn't try and hide it, because he knew, that everyone couldn't help but love it.

She could though. She couldn't <i> stand </i> him. Yet every time a girl walked past his desk, and he touched her wrist and stopped her to make some meaningless remark, and they giggled and blushed, she felt envy pulse through her. That was the worst part. She'd look away, and type furiously about nothing at all, and when she looked back over her glasses, he'd be smirking at her.

She found herself walking past his desk more than necessary - as much as she hated to admit it. Not once though, had he stopped her. He wouldn't even react, his full focus on his computer screen.

That, was what she couldn't stand. What on earth was his motivation? Was he <i>trying</i> to infuriate her? She couldn't tell. She just knew, that he drove her absolutely crazy, and she couldn't stand it. Not at all.