Chapter One

God, the queue is ridiculous.

I mean, it isn't too bad. There are two people ahead of me, an elderly lady sporting a shawl and an extremely… colourful young woman sporting all sorts of brand names. She's at the counter, taking forever to complete whatever transaction it was she is trying to complete. She seems to be searching her bag for something.

I tap my foot absently on the ground. What is taking her so long? I swear, she had already been in front of the counter for a ten minutes. My dark eyes follow her movements as she rustles around her red purse. I squint to check the label. Is that… Prada?

Honestly, the brand names are rip offs. You could get a perfectly good handbag nearly anywhere - I've seen way too many around - yet of course, instead all the girls go rushing to the store with the most expensive handbags - not necessarily the best quality, either. As long as it goes with their particular outfit and has a nice golden plaque with a well known name on it, they'll buy it.

Then again, I don't mind. Consumerism is, after all, an essential part in the economy. As long as I'm not the one a thousand quid in debt, I don't care.

"I swear, it must be here somewhere…" the girl mutters as she rummages through her red bag. I can see the seams just waiting to pop apart.

To be fair, though, that bag does go with her white shirt and beige pants quite nicely. Not the most practical outfit, with the easy to stain colours, but pleasant to the eye.

The girl triumphantly pulls a blue cheque out of her bag and latches it together again. "There!" she says with a winning smile. "I found it. Two hundred pounds." Her enthusiasm is catching.

The lady behind the counter gives her a cautious smile and slowly takes the paper from the girl's hands.

Seriously, how slow can they be?

"Sorry it took me so long," the girl chatters on as the lady tapped in a few numbers on her keyboard. "It's all blue and bland and really boring. It just blends in perfectly with everything else. Honestly, you can't blame me for taking so long to find a slip of colourless paper in a whole handbag of other… various things."

The lady gives her another tight smile. "No worries, Miss Bloomwood," she assures the girl.

"You know, I could probably find that cheque a lot more easily if it was in a brighter colour," the Bloomwood girl says conversationally. "Say, hot pink. It may not be the best colour but it most certainly stands out. Or maybe yellow or orange? Or red, to match my bag. Say, why don't they make cheques in different colours?"

I frowned slightly, thinking about it. It wasn't a bad idea, actually. A bit tedious, but it would make cheques easier to find, wouldn't it? How was it that in the history of finance, no one thought of that?

"If you're truly concerned, speak to the manager about your ideas," the lady in the uniform says politely. She gives the keyboard another tap and looks up. "There you are. Now, which of your credit cards would you like me to put the two hundred in? Or, perhaps, would you rather have it in cash?"

Please hurry up, I think impatiently.

"Put twenty on my VISA card," the Bloomwood girl says thoughtfully. The lady behind the counter begins to tap on the keyboard. "Ten on my American Express. Ten on the master card." She pauses and looks out the window.

I follow her gaze. Across the street was a boutique. Some boutique or shop of some sort. My eye lands on a huge sign with red block letters announcing to the world that there is a 50% OFF SALE TODAY ONLY. PRICES STARTING FROM £25!

Twenty five quid? That is a lot for… whatever it is they're selling. Was that a scarf? They sell scarves at twenty five quid or higher? That was insane. Especially because that meant that those scarves at regular price were fifty pounds.

"Let me have the rest in cash, please," the Bloomwood girl says breathlessly. "There's a sale across the street."

The lady politely follows the Bloomwood girl's gaze and nods. "So I see." She pulls out a couple of notes and hands them to the Bloomwood girl. "Rebecca, please know that you're overdrawn on four credit cards," the lady says politely. "You should probably pay that off as soon as possible."

"Oh, I will," Rebecca Bloomwood promises solemnly. "Just right after I get the darling scarf! Then, I promise, I will."

"It's been two months overdue," the lady says, to drive her point through.

Rebecca isn't paying attention, but nodding absently with her eyes still at the shop window. "Thanks for your help." She gathers her things, leaves the bank, and the line moves up.

Dear God, if the old lady takes this long as well, I might as well go back to the office to wait. There is a pile of work I have to get done before tomorrow, anyway.

Thankfully, she only takes a quick moment to withdraw twenty pounds and it's my turn.

"Hello Mr. Brandon. How may I help you today?" The lady smells like Chanel No. 12 perfume. Okay, so maybe I know my brand names as well. At least I don't go crazy over the smallest sale. Just a couple of suits - five at most, I'd say - and maybe two or three other outfits for other occasions, and maybe one or two pairs of shoes. Expensive, but not if you factor int he fact that I haven't bought any new clothes in a while, and haven't needed to either.

"Yes. I'm sure you have heard of Brandon Communications?" Inwardly, I swell with pride as I hear the words come out of my mouth. My own name and my own company. I've come far without the help of any… useful influences that I didn't establish on my own.

"I most certainly have," the lady says, beaming at me. "I hear it's the greatest new up and coming public relations firm."

"I'd like to make an arrangement with the Bank of England," I say in a businesslike manner.

"Of course, no problem," the lady says as she scribbles something down. "I'll leave the manager a note. No worries, he'll call you as soon as he can."

"Thank you, I appreciate it…" I pause to read her name tag, "Sarah."

"Oh, not a problem," she giggles.

I leave with a flourish and immediately head back towards my office. I've got work to do and not a minute to waste.

—

On my way home from the office - it's well about seven pm or so now - I stop by a magazine stand. It's always good to be caught up on the news, isn't it? And the tabloids, however unhealthy they are. As a CEO, I've got to keep my heads up for any and all warning signs. I grab a copy of the Financial Times, Successful Saving, and The Daily World. As I pay for it, I flip through Successful Saving first.

A name catches my eye.

Rebecca Bloomwood… isn't that the girl who was taking forever at the bank line? And the one who suggested the coloured cheque slips, too. Hmm. I scan the article quickly. Something about investments and their worth… My eyes glaze over. I'll have to look at it in more detail when I get home.

Back at my flat, I make myself a cup of coffee and bring it to my home office. Even though I've left the office, I've still got work to do. Keeping up with the latest and predicting trends for the good of the company is hard work. I may have accomplished a lot by becoming a CEO and essentially being my own boss, but the work doesn't stop here. I've now got more responsibility than ever.

I sip the coffee and flip through the FT. I stop short and reread the lines. SGB planning on taking over many other corporations? Well that's just bad news for the industry. Although I could see it coming, though. SGB had been expanding itself recently. Good for them. I flip through the pages. Rumours… mostly surround SGB, a couple of the Scottish Prime… nothing important or of great notice… I hope the other companies are looking out for themselves. Okay. My eyes scan for other important words and phrases but I can feel myself getting sleepier and sleepier. Staying up until five am working and having to get up at seven to go to the office was definitely not a good idea. Maybe just a quick nap would do me a world of good…