Whitney rolled her eyes and gave a polite grin as she took a chocolate from her colleague. It was the dreaded Valentine’s Day at her work. Le sigh. Every year there was the abundance of women going berserk over what their husbands or boyfriends gave them or the single women on the verge of suicide because they didn’t have one. It was never a happy medium.

Valentine’s Day. It consisted mainly of chocolates, jewelry, and expensive dinners. Maybe a 'thank you' blow job or two. It’s the one day every single woman hopes she wouldn’t be alone and attached men dread for the guaranteed drain on their wallets. Depending on whom you asked either St. Valentine created it or Hallmark and Russell Stover conspired to create a monopoly on that single holiday.

Valentine’s Day never meant anything special to Whitney. It wasn’t that she was anti-Valentine’s Day but she wasn’t blown away by the hoopla. Chocolates melt. Flowers die. Money is spent. To Whitney, Valentine’s Day was a waste of time, money and effort. She was perfectly happy being at home with a bottle of wine and a nice vibrator. Her battery-operated boyfriend never disappointed her.

“Whitney, you have a delivery!” The receptionist called overhead.

Another set of invoices. How fucking romantic. She made the usual long trip from her desk to the to the reception area. She bypassed the huge flower delivery and went straight to the front desk. “Hey Maria, I heard my invoices came in,” Whitney greeted.