Predictably Perhaps

It wasn't possible to like to millionaire more than he liked himself. The gardener was gorgeous, but, attached.

I was stood in my work receptionist this week, for the second time, saw a guy who looked very much like my least fondly remembered boyfriend. Lest you should think this is an exaggeration, let me elaborate.

I went out with Dylan, at a time when my self-esteem was lower than now. I didn't fancy him, but every time I tried to brake things, he cried. I'm a sucker for tears.
After a few months of his tantrums and aggression, I realised I just couldn't do it. Called it off. A few weeks later I got a letter from his long term live in lover telling me she'd found letters from him to me and thrown him out. I didn't know about her. She thought I was a 'lesbian friend, dying from HIV'. Nice excuse for weekends away, she said, with a really rubbish taste in her mouth. Turned out he was sleeping around, big stylie, on both of us with a host of others.

After we split, Dylan turned up on my doorstep, crying. Later that night he climbed into my bed and despite some serious struggling and protestations, refused to get out. Until he was finished with me.

I hate him.
I checked on the staff directory.
He works in my building.

I saw him in the canteen today.
Have decided the only course of action is to do totally deadpan and pretend I don't remember him.
Actually, I want to ring him up, tell him I'm the bomb, and he's a junior contractor, and frankly, if he wants to ever work for the government again, he should leave right now before I post this post on the internal discussion forum.
Only, then he'd know he got to me.
I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Resolve instead to climb back into my happy clappy, dixie chicks, place, and not let him do so again.