Love in Colour by JA Low

I will not kill my boss.
I will not kill my boss.
I will not kill my boss.

This is the mantra I tell myself every day.
Because I know I won’t survive jail and orange clashes with my strawberry blonde hair.

It’s just for the summer, Emily, it will fly by.
Lie. Time has stopped. He is probably controlling it to torture me.

You are working in the South of France.
At least there is wine and cheese.

He is the artist of our generation.
Before he became a washed up has-been whose ego is bruised, and now he’s self-destructing with wine and women.

He’s hot.
Okay, well I have nothing.

The man looks like Michelangelo carved him with his bare hands. And that French accent, those soft lips, and that giant um…never mind. It’s still connected to him and no amount of magnificence can take away that it’s connected to the biggest jerk in history.

So, I tell myself again. I will not kill my boss.