Classy Lady Chapter 1: Mean Editor Calls Me Cliché

"Cautious, careful people always casting about to preserve their reputation or social standards never can bring about reform. Those who are really in earnest are willing to be anything or nothing in the world's estimation, and publicly and privately, in season and out, avow their sympathies with despised ideas and their advocates, and bear the consequences." Susan B. Anthony

A high-pitched screech bounced around my ear drums. I rolled to my right side and batted an eyelash halfway open, and squinted until I made out the digitized red numbers. 7:04.

"Shit," my sleep deprived voice croaked loudly. Keeping my rolling motion from before, I tossed myself off my feather comforter, and stepped my small feet onto the floor. The oak hardwood was freshly cleaned, and extremely icy to my touch.

After shaking my right foot awkwardly in the air to jerk it awake, I carried myself to the bathroom. Bright beams of sunlight shot through the skylight and outlined my silhouette in the mirror. I traced my raccoon eyes, realizing I should have taken time when I got home last night to wash my eye makeup off.

Thirty minutes later, my heels clicked on the hardwood as I chatted on my cell phone, and simultaneously brushed my teeth. I am not exactly the best multi-tasker, but I attempted.

"'Ello, love, running late again?" I could almost picture his smile, and what a divine smile it was.

"Don't make fun of me, you ass. You know perfectly well I would wake up late, and yet you didn't even have the decency to call me. What a gentleman you are!" I gently teased him. He laughed again, one of those laughs I could picture going straight to his mocha orbs.

After cursing at him once more, I hung up, finished my daily brushing, and stuffed my black cell in my oversized purse. "This is going to be a ridiculously long day."

8:15. I sat at my large desk, black pumps tapping away at the flooring impatiently. How does this man think he can go into marketing with such a pathetic pitch towards a top-notch editing company? He has absolutely no tact. Look at his face, does he actual think he's nailing this interview? That thought made me narrow my eyes towards the young man. He has another thing coming if he thinks I'm going to let him step out of this office with a signed contract in hand.

I was pulled abruptly from my thoughts as Mr. Johnson, as he called himself, pulled out a manuscript and smiled charmingly my way. "Well, what do you think? Pretty creative ideas I have, don't you think Miss? It is Miss, isn't it, I don't mean to assume, but it seems to me like a woman of your class would have trouble finding a man to equal up to your standards."

That ballsy son of a bitch! How dare he assume anything about me? I'll tell him exactly what orifice he can shove his manuscript.

I could be cruel, I knew, but I couldn't help my train of thought at this man's audacity. Then he winked at me. That pompous ass! I launched myself up, startling him as my heels beat harshly against the flooring.

"Mr. Johnson, if you would please escort yourself from my office," I said dryly, hoping I left no room for argument.

He looked befuddled, amusingly enough. "Miss, I'm afraid I'm confused, aren't I meeting for an agreement? I was under the impression that this was a final interview to meet with the man in charge to sign my book contract." I raised my right eyebrow up briefly.

"Excuse me? I don't know who in the hell gave you that information, but there is no "man" in charge, I am in charge. My name is Kagome Higurashi, and I am the CEO of Higurashi incorporated, hence the name Higurashi!" My voice was still the same level of volume, but more frigid by vast degrees.

He stared at me incredulously, big blue eyes of charm now switched to shock. Good, it's about time he realized who he was flirting with. I'm absolutely not in the mood.

"Also," I continued impersonally, "we've never met before, so why exactly did you think you would pass by the preliminaries to a signed contract?" He at least had the common sense to look somewhat abashed after my words.

"We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss," his charm came back. Strained somewhat, but it had returned none the less.

"No, I think your inappropriate behavior towards someone you thought was a mere employee just goes to show why I'm not pursuing this interview. It doesn't much matter though, with your cliché ideas, I'm sure it would be absolutely dreadful for me to sign you anyway." My cheery smile was bitter, and I loved the satisfaction I was getting from the look on his face. Somewhere between pissed off and horrified. (Which one it resembled the most, I will never know.)

Briefly after, he stomped out, manuscript in hand, biting curses towards me. This was such a usual occurrence for me; I supposed it was easily amusing. I, respectfully, am an experienced editor and business major at 29 years of age, and I sure as hell didn't go to college for ten years to be treated like I'm insignificant. Business running smoothly, and highly successful, I wasn't about to let some egotistical, untalented writer test my success.

9:00 a.m. A gentle knock woke me up from my cat nap. I raised me head gently, and beckoned for their entrance. Miroku walked in, not looking as happy as he sounded on the phone this morning.

"I'm going to assume you didn't come here to chat," I stated innocently. He balefully glared at me, but he was one of the few I accepted that from. One of the few I respected even minutely, in fact. Obviously, my personality had so much attitude and independence, that there was no room for patience. I believe I had an ounce of space in my body reserved in that department, and Miroku held about half of the ounce.

"This was his second book, Kagome. We were really looking forward to keeping him as a client. What were you thinking? I know that you're in charge now, but this is absurd. How do you expect to keep our top clients if you insult them every half second?" He lectured me like a kindergarten child. I could picture Mrs. Fulton, my kindergarten teacher pointing her ruler at me and scolding me before I burst into tears. Tears were one thing I had outgrown, if not lectures.

"I didn't really insult him per say, merely spoke the truth," I replied evenly.

"Ha! You told an already published author that he was cliché, for the love of God Kagome, what has gotten into you?" Miroku seemed cross, but pleased anyway.

"Oh please, he was rude, disrespectful, and hit on me, all of the things I hate about men. Besides, maybe I'll get my own article in People," I smiled wickedly; "I can see the headline now, 'Mean Editor calls me cliché.'

A smirk rose on his lips. "Okay, okay, but you can't keep this up. If we go out of business, you still have to pay me my salary, no exceptions."

I laughed out loud at that, "Miroku the Hentai, lifetime employee, to pamper me at my will. You sure you're up for the job? You'd be surprised what you could have to do to earn your keep." I winked at him jokingly. His smile widened at the insinuation.

"Oh, you old folks, so naiive to young people and their intentions," I sighed.

He made a choking sound in the back of his throat akin to a snort. "I'm 35 years old Kagome, it's not like I'm a geezer," then he beamed briefly, "Besides, I may like that new job offer, maybe I should get fired," he returned my wink suggestively and walked out of my office.

The two floors below me had to have heard me laughing, and I soon realized how long it had been since I had been so humored, as sad as that thought may be. My soul was being warped by my pessimism. "Damnit, I need a vacation," I groaned.

Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Obviously this isn't exactly based off of the anime/manga, besides the characters names and a few mannorisms. Kagome's persona is how I'd like her to be, and Sesshomaru's will be as in character as I can. Speaking of that demon, he will appear in chapter two, if my story is deemed worthy of continuing. I would Appreciate any and all reviews. (they make me smile) Thank you!! Toodles! Keitorin