Percival and the Manhattan Minotaur

“Stage this house properly, and you’ll bring in the big boys.”

“But ma’am, I’m just the advertiser.”

Mrs. Gallagher, aka the Manhattan Minotaur, gave me an icy glare. “Everyone is responsible for closing a deal. If I lose the sale, you lose your earnings. Capeesh?”

In an instant, she was ribbons and curls. She flipped platinum blonde embellishments — victims of chemical injection and flatiron mutilation could never be deemed real hair — and stomped to the balcony.

What happened next wasn’t my fault. The minotaur tripped and toppled over the wintry ledge.

I felt gleeful until a new thought entered my brain. There goes my reputation and good name.


Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Micro Bookends:

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