Chapter 1
I sigh for the last time as I place my hands on the desk, roll back my chair, and stand to stretch my aching legs. Smoothing my black dress pants to relieve them of wrinkles, I look down at my desk overloaded with unfinished paperwork. I have been sifting through most of it all morning and the analyzing has finally done me in. Of course that is what happens when you work for one of the most prestigious entities in the world right? You tend to get bogged down in paperwork. What is my problem? Well, that's an easy one. I am a major procrastinator. I don't mean to be, that's just how I am and as I look down at all the paperwork scattered across my desk, I wonder if that will ever change. I seriously doubt it.
Glancing from my desk to the enormous window in my office, I decide to take a breather and slowly walk over to the immaculate view before me. Since I am on the fifty-first floor, the people on the ground look like little scattered ants walking down the sidewalk. I notice that some people are rushing by, perhaps on a tight schedule, while others leisurely walk down the crowded sidewalk. Dragging my eyes from the scurrying ants, I look out across the horizon at the other tall buildings hovering in the sky. Light from the sun causes reflections of graying clouds on a nearby building. Perhaps it is going to rain, and perhaps that is the reason for my tired, stressed mood. Though, I really doubt that. I can't blame my own stress-induced situation on a bunch of harmless clouds or harmless for the time being. Rain will be moving into Atlanta soon and the weatherman promised raging winds and pounding rain. I roll my eyes at the thought.
"Great…. Just what I need. A storm to damper my mood," I say to myself as I cross my arms and stifle a yawn.
Drawing my attention away from the window, I sit back at my desk and get back to the task at hand. Lifting the first packet I put my hands on, I read the header to assess who the paper is from. Typed in cursive font across the top of the page is "Atlanta Publishing, INC." I set the paper down in front of me and grab my red pen from my elaborate Eiffel Tower paper weight on the edge of my desk. I begin to scribble my notes along the margins of the paper. It does not take me long to assess the first page and soon I flip it over so that I may continue my notes on the small company. One hour and eleven pages later, I quickly type a report on "Atlanta Publishing" so I can start on the next exhausting report. My hands rapidly fly across the keyboard and my eyes scan for mistakes while I type. I get the report finished but not without the results of a raging headache. Rubbing my eyes then my temples, I work to find some form of release from the throbbing pain in my head. However, I realize that the action is pointless and I am cursed with a headache that will not pack its bags and scramble off to another head.
As I pick up the next report, my stomach releases a loud rumble and I realize that I can not finish my reports for Monroe Industries right now. I am tired. I am hungry and my raging headache has now thought it even more humorous to pound like thunder to the rhythm of my heart. It is pointless to work under these conditions and in response, I lay my head down on top of my cool desk. I am surprised that the cold desk could feel so invigorating. I turn my head so that my heated cheek is now resting on the cool glass top. Yes. This feels good. I close my eyes for a few moments allowing the coolness of the desk to seep through my body. It is amazing that just placing my cheek on the desk would make me feel so relaxed, rejuvenated even. Sitting back up with my eyes closed, I tilt my head back relieving pressure from my neck before staring at my desk once more to tackle the tedious paperwork. My heart drops as I gaze at all the paperwork still remaining. How could I possibly have that much paperwork left? I look at the two reports that I have done and realize that there are still eight of them left! Groaning, I open the top drawer of my desk and reach into it feeling around for something to eat.
"Crap! Where are my meal bars! Have I not left for lunch at all this week?"
I search frantically moving things around looking for that tiny piece of food that would bring some relief to my aching stomach. My quest is unsuccessful and I slump down in my chair when I find that every single one of my meal bars has been eaten!
Eyeing the phone on top of my desk, I contemplate calling my boss, or informally my father and asking if I can leave for lunch. Though, I know he will be very unhappy if I were to up and leave before finishing the reports.
For Christ sake, I really need to learn how to stop procrastinating with my work.
Giving in to the temptation of food, I pick up the dull black phone, dial a number, and smile when I hear my best friend's voice ring through the phone.
"Hannah speaking, how may I help you," she asks and I can tell by her tone that she is in her usual happy mood. Figures.
Hannah is an extremely perky, always happy type of girl. She is all smiles and bubbles and bows. Matter of fact, the world could be coming to an end and somehow she would happy about it. Sometimes, it just seems slightly abnormal.
She is gifted with beautiful flowing waves of chestnut colored hair that every model envies. It stays smooth even when the humidity is a striking ninety percent! Her flawless tanned skin and long toned legs set her apart from every other girl in the world. Not only is she beautiful, but she is overbearingly confident, a good quality when obtaining a boyfriend. It seems she has never been without one. She also has the power to intimidate a person for information which helps in her job. Hannah works as a journalist and because of her intimidating qualities; she always gets the answers she needs. That confidence and intimidation is what landed her as a journalist in one of the best magazine companies in the world!
"Hannah? It's Hillary. I am in desperate need of a nice lunch at the local café. You in?" I remark while twirling my hair around my finger trying my best to distract myself from my raging stomach.
"Oh yum! Absolutely! The café sounds great right now. I am starved! Is your dad going to let you go though? He is the company owner after all and your boss and I know he has a meeting tomorrow. You are probably swamped with paperwork," Hannah states inquisitively.
I roll my eyes at her and laugh just loud enough for her to hear. Of course she would question me about the meeting. Seriously, how does she find out these things? It is not like Monroe Industries openly publicizes their meetings.
"Ever eager for information Hannah? It puzzles me how you manage to find out the things you do. After all, the meetings aren't exactly stated openly. Well, they aren't supposed to be. And my boss will not know. I will be back before he even notices," I smirk stressing the word boss as I stand with the phone still to my ear. I quickly grab my black Chanel jacket and through it over my shoulders.
"You seriously like pissing him off don't you Hillary. It is gonna come back around and bite you in the butt. I am warning you now," Hannah reprimands.
"Relax will you Hannah? Don't get your panties in a wad. The café is a five minute walk and it takes about fifteen to eat. I will be back to my horrendous paperwork in twenty-five minutes. He will not even notice I am gone. But no holding me up with your chit chat!" I scold jokingly.
I hear Hannah gasp playfully as if she is appalled by my statement. It evokes laughter from me. This girl is so dramatic.
"Why do you accuse me of such a terrible thing? Keeping the company heir out for lunch. Why that's absolutely terrible of me. Why I never…"
"Hannah, cut the dramatic sarcasm. The quicker we get to the café, the longer we will have to talk and eat. We are on the clock now! See you in five," I declare defiantly.
I rapidly hang up the phone before she could utter another word. Quickly grabbing my purse, I sprint out of the office towards the elevator and shoot a smile at my secretary. She smiles back and waves as the elevator doors shut in front of me.
The elevator takes off towards the bottom floor making me feel as if I have left my head on the fifty-first floor of the building. I hate elevators especially the elevators here at the office. Being closed up in tight moving spaces makes me extremely fidgety. I tap my fingers nervously on the bar behind me and wait for what feels like hours for the elevator to reach the bottom. The elevator jolts to a stop and I spring out the doors for dear life. The receptionist looks at me a bit dumbfounded and I smile waving off my actions. She shakes her head and continues her work.
Quickly, I head for the bathroom to make sure I look presentable after the long morning of strenuous paperwork. Swinging the door open, the floor length mirror appears before me and I take in my appearance. My black pants are of course a bit wrinkled from sitting in the office chair with my legs crossed, my jacket, however, is flawless. Of course it would be though; it did hang on the back of the chair all morning. I unfasten my jacket and let it fall around my shoulders so that I can make sure my pink blouse looks fine. I brush at the soft fabric and then twirl around in front of the mirror taking in my appearance from all sides. I look fine for going out to the café at least. Looking into my purse, I take out my lipstick and apply a hint of red over my plush lips to accentuate my icy blue eyes. I powder my face then go about fixing my rich brown hair. Wringing it into a loose bun, I clip it up and let a few tendrils cascade around my round face. Pleased with myself, I scramble out of the bathroom and make my way towards the glass doors at the entrance. I have almost made it out of the building safely and give a relieved sigh. I have yet to see anyone who would make a mad dash to my father's office to tell them I have left.
As I round the corner into the main entrance hall, I spot my younger brother flirting with the receptionist. A gasp catches in my throat and I shake my head. Of course he would be there flirting away. What else has he to do?
His light brown hair is cropped short and gelled, meaning he has just returned from the barber. He is wearing a button up green shirt and I notice that the top two buttons are undone showing off his white crew shirt underneath, obviously a way of getting girls to notice him. The shirt hugs his form and anyone can tell that he works out regularly. He shoots the secretary his award winning smile and she melts under his warm gaze. Her blush covers her face and extends down her neck. The boy sure has a way with women.
I shake my head at his attempt to get another woman home. The boy goes through women like he does his clothes. Honestly, it is absolutely ridiculous. I look to the door from around the corner and way my chances of making it out without being seen by Tye. My chances are slim but I am willing to take that chance. My tummy must not go hungry!
I bolt from behind the corner, head down, and purse clutched tightly to me. I will make it out. I will make it out. My unspoken mantra rings in my head and before I know it, my hand is placed upon the cold silver handle of the door. I push it open but as I do I hear my name being called out from behind me.
"Hillary!" My brother shouts out waving his hand around in the air sporadically.
I cringe. Just when I thought I was in the clear, my brother has to go and mess it up. I turn to him trying my hardest not to roll my eyes. Honestly, it is hard for me not to. The boy is such a kid sometimes…. Well, when he isn't womanizing women.
"Yes Tye," I grumble out and he is taken aback by my attitude towards him.
"Something eating at you Hillary," he asks cautiously while walking up to me. His curious grey eyes gaze up into my icy ones.
"Yes, my stomach! I am starving and was trying to get out un-noticed. Something I failed to do because you decided you wanted to flirt with the receptionist," I lash out pointing to the woman behind the desk.
He takes a step back away from me and gives a smile while shaking his head. Obviously he knows why I am trying to sneak out.
"Oh Hillary. Did you not finish your work again? What is father going to do with you," he teased as he folded his arms over his chest.
"Well, if I don't make it out of here he is obviously going to tell me to march my angry, hungry butt back up to my office to finish those reports. Hence the reason for the sneaking," I retort angrily.
"The one job you have and you can't even finish it. How shameful of you," he said continuing to harass me.
"That is not my only job thank you! Obviously your only job is seeing how many women you can bed by the end of the week," I fume at him. I notice that my cheeks are heating up because of his "playful" banter.
Tye gives a gasp and places his strong hand over his chest as if surprised by my comment.
"Why Hillary… that is not my only job. Bedding women is merely a favorite pass time of mine. Besides, it's not my fault that you can't get yourself a boyfriend now is it. Now, I must get back to work. After all, some of us actually do our work and not waste time all week doing other things," Tye says as he waves to me, turns, and stalks off towards the elevator.
"Well it's not like I haven't been in the office working. I haven't eaten out all week," I mumble to myself and roll my eyes at Tye's retreating form.
I can feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest and I shake my head. He always gets me so riled up. What I need now is a nice massage and maybe a pedicure. Sounds nice after my nerves went haywire. But then I think about all the paperwork on my desk and I give an annoyed groan. The massage and pedicure will have to wait. I place my hand on the silver handle once more and hastily leave the office building.