Note: **REVISED** So I have watched this movie like 3 times because I'm one of those rom com idiots. Anyways, there might be a few things off from the movie every now and again but this is a fanfic so it's bound to be different in some ways. Enjoy!
Chapter one
Hell in Heels
Click. Click. Click.
Hushed murmurs and the scrambling of feet could just barely be heard over the sound of heels making their way through the office. No one dared cross the woman who owned said heels, as hell hath no fury like Margaret Tate. Rumour had it that the woman returned pent up from the holidays due to the lack of co-workers for her to lacerate.
Trailing after, her ever loyal steed struggled to keep up with her pace but maintained a respectful distance. Andrew Paxton, executive assistant, kept his head down but his eyes and ears sharp. Despite the distracted expression upon his downcast face, his senses were fine tuned after three years of working for the wicked witch of The New York Press.
During his first months as an intern, Andrew quickly learned that asking Ms. Tate to repeat herself was the biggest mistake one could make. Needless to say, the first time he had done so had evidently been the last.
Stepping into her office, he carefully locked the door after her and silently wondered what was the purpose of the glass doors. The function of a closed door was to create privacy but as he glanced through the glass, he caught the countless eyes of his co-workers. Most of them offered a smile of pity but a few silently laughed at his misfortune.
Patience, He told himself, as he placed the witch's coffee upon her desk and faded into the background. Just a few more months and you're free.
"Why, exactly are you just standing there?" Her voice clipped through the air, ripping him right out of his thoughts. She had yet to acknowledge his presence with the briefest of glances but Andrew could care less. In fact, he'd be content if she chose to ignore him for the rest of his dreadfully, sod-ridden career.
A few months was starting to feel like decades.
"Uh...Quinton called. Something about the cancellation from last week and rescheduling for this week?" He answered, hastily. The message wasn't anything of the utmost importance but he wasn't exactly certain what she was asking for.
Usually, she merely expected him to be in her office every morning for a brief follow up of events. Occasionally, he'd be presented with the odd task. The fact she questioned his presence had him realizing something was different this morning.
He would've blamed it upon PMS but that excuse couldn't be used 24/7 with the witch. He knew for a fact, however, that she had just had her monthly visitation two weeks ago when she called him around 3am; the Tampax runs had gotten easier over the years. The shopkeeper he often visited thought he was sweetest. The last time he went, she gave him her number in case things with his current "girlfriend" didn't work out.
Often, he wondered about the extra hours he put into this job. There weren't many who'd do the things he performed on a daily basis for Ms. Tate. He knew there were other positions he could apply. His friends and family never failed to remind him of that. But, he had put so many hours into securing this position. America appeared to be the land of opportunities and fulfilling dreams. He'd be the first to call bullshit on that.
The sheer amount of paperwork it took to get in was ridiculous. Even after all these years, he couldn't be certain that the job would take him anywhere but it was a start, and he was determined not to lose it. He climbed so far up the ladder that he just couldn't afford to go down and start over. He'd move pass the particularly difficult rung that was Ms. Tate. One day.
"You didn't answer my question." The witch merely stated, crossing her legs and finally glancing up from the papers she was looking at. The look in her eyes was a mixture of irritation, boredom and fatigue.
Not wanting to provoke her any further, Andrew stuttered out some nonsense about having to photocopy something and made his way out of the office. Once he was several paces away, he allowed himself to sigh as he headed towards his cubicle. Today was going to be a long day by the looks of it. Fortunately for him he was used to those.
Margaret regarded the coffee cup on her desk, squinting at the flirtatious feminine writing and phone number. She took a sip gingerly, rolling her eyes to find that the cup tasted exactly like her special blend. Undoubtedly, she currently held her assistant's cup. She didn't know -or care about- what happened to her own cup. However, it was incredibly pathetic to learn that her assistant ordered two of the same. Just in the case hers spilled.
Men, she thought with a vague disgust. If you want something done right, you'll have to do it yourself. She made a mental note to chew Andrew out for the little stunt later -if only, to keep him on his toes. She didn't understand how it was possible to mess up such a simple task. Distantly, she wondered if he had screwed anything else up today.
She couldn't afford fuck ups. Not in her company. There had been multiple times when she thought of letting him go. Assistants were fairly replaceable. But, the man never really gave her a true reason to. He was diligent with his results and always followed through in the end. Despite the fact he lacked any sort of spine, she could honestly say that he put in far more effort than most.
Not that she would ever say it. Men had large enough egos.
She tossed the now-empty cup into the small metal bin before standing up and straightening her clothes. This... won't be fun.
Regardless what others thought of her, she didn't exactly enjoy firing people. Yes, there was a certain rush of power in the moment. It reminded her of the authority she held and at times, felt rewarding to know that she had made it so far. At the age of 28, she could make decisions that altered the future of the company. The adrenaline that went to her head was terribly addicting.
However, she did not like sacking people. She knew the pain and loss that came with losing one's job. There were few who knew of her life prior to moving to the States but she had faced similar struggles in Toronto. She knew the shame of being fired. Despite her best efforts, she could remember all her failures and often wondered why she was never given a second chance. An opportunity to improve her performance.
The same couldn't be said for Bob Spaulding.
She had given the man chances. Many chances. With Frank, but also prior to Frank, and if she was honest, it was his attitude that was the most difficult to manage. The man was lazy, unreliable and his unenthusiastic work affected those around him. It was why she was currently on her way to his office. She found no need to beat around the bush but small talk was civil. She made an attempt.
"Beautiful breakfront. Is it new?" She asked ,uninterested as she inspected the new piece of furniture. Well, the furniture was beautiful and interesting but as Bob rambled on about Egyptian architecture, she decided it was best to just cut to the chase.
"Witty." She commented dryly, somewhat registering a joke the man made. "Bob," she sighed, "I'm letting you go."
In the distance, she could hear the comments and gasps of workers beyond the door. Why is it that they always seem to have so much free time...? Andrew, himself, cleared his throat awkwardly upon hearing the news. She made a note to send out an email regarding the tasks expected of each employee. If they had time to gossip, she'd give them additional assignments to fill that time.
She kept a neutral expression, watching as the man before her stood flabbergasted. Really, was it that much of a surprise?
"I-I beg your pardon?" The man stuttered out a nervous laugh. If he was going to play clueless then she supposed she'd indulge him. And here I was, foolishly hoping that I wouldn't have to spell it out for you.
"I asked you a dozen times to get Frank to do Oprah and you didn't do it. Henceforth, you're fired," she continued, bluntly. He opened his mouth to protest but she quickly held up her hand. "No. Don't tell me it's impossible because you know what, Bob? I just got off the phone with him this morning. He's in."
"Excuse me?"
A migraine was beginning to present itself. She resisted the urge to rub at her temples and bit the inside of her cheek, hoping to distract herself. It was better to wrap things up before her grew more irritable.
"I'm guessing you didn't even call him… And I know that Frank can be a little "scary" but being afraid of things isn't going to get you anywhere," she offered, as suggestively as she could. "You need to take risks." The man seemed slightly offended by her last comment and Margaret wasn't all too surprised. When offering men honest advice, she quickly learned that they took it as an attack on their character. Her words most likely went in one ear and out the other.
"Now, I'll give you two months to find another job." Her tone had softened but she didn't think the fuming man noticed. This isn't going to end well... Thankfully, she had anticipated his reaction and was a bit more prepared.
As she left his room, she walked towards where Andrew was standing -trying, and failing, to appear busy with a phone call.
"What's his twenty?"
"He's moving. He has crazy eyes," he replied, hanging up the phone and following her as she headed back into her office.
Come on, Bob. Don't do it, she pleaded, for the man's sake more than her own. She didn't want to have to tear him down in front of his colleagues but if he was going to behave like a child, she would have to reprimand him like one.
"You poisonous bitch!"
A heavy sigh slipped from her lips. The voice had cut through the air, invoking the eyes of everyone present to turned to the situation at hand. Margaret slowly faced the stubborn mule of a man.
"You can't fire me! Don't think that I can't see what you're doing here. Sabotaging me on this Oprah thing and just so you can look good to the board? You're threatened by me, aren't you? You... you monster." He continued his rant and Margaret let him. She brushed off his insults; she had heard worse over the years whenever she passed by the staffroom.
"Just because you have no life outside of the office, doesn't mean you get to treat us like your own personal slaves."
"Bob, stop." She interrupted, pressing the palms of her hands to her temples and rubbing gently. She really shouldn't have gone to bed at 4am. Two hours of sleep wasn't enough to being deal with this.
"You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because you know what you'll have on your deathbed? Nothing and no one."
Now that hurt.
She wouldn't let it show. She wouldn't let this man have the victory of knowing that his words got to her. Those words had been far too close to the thoughts that kept her up at night. She blamed her lack of sleep for the tightening sensation in her chest. Steeling herself, she swallowed the tears that threatened to rise.
She could pity herself later.
"Listen, I didn't fire you because I felt threatened. No. I fired you because you're lazy, entitled, and incompetent. You spend more time cheating on your wife than you do at work." She hissed, taking a few steps forwards. "And if you say another word, Andrew here is going to have you thrown out, okay? One word and you'll be escorted out of here. Andrew will film it and put it on that site-" Fuck. "What's it called?" Unable to think clearly, she snapped her fingers to indicate that Andrew should speak up.
"Uh...youtube?" He offered. Youtube. Fucking hell, I'm just losing it today...
"Exactly. Is that what you want? Didn't think so. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have some work to do." She turned her heel, striding back to her office in search of a distraction. She could not break down here. Damn these glass walls. She had quit smoking ages ago and so, she was glad to hear footsteps following after her. Andrew. For a moment, she pretended that he was following out of concern rather than obligation.
A sick smile twisted across her lips at the pitiful thought.
"Have security take his breakfront and put it in my conference room," she ordered, sliding down into her office chair. Margaret scribbled down a few notices for herself. She didn't care much for the furniture but the man deserved having it taken away from him. She wasn't particularly religious but she found herself praying that his wife found out about his dishonesty.
Of course, she was also taking it because of what he said to her.
"This weekend, I need you to review some files and manuscripts." Margaret instructed, whirling around in her chair and opening the bottom compartment of the dresser behind her.
"T-this weekend?" The man asked and she sighed once again, not eager to repeat herself. Leaning back in her chair, she swivelled around to face him and raised an eyebrow with mild curiosity. Usually, he obeyed her every whim and rarely ever asked questions. Crossing her hands together, she placed her arms along the top of her desk and kept eye contact. Momentarily, she gave him her undivided attention.
"Why? Is that a problem?" She asked, using a tone that would make him carefully consider his priorities. She had just let Bob go and with the Clearwaters project, she was in need of an extra set of hands for the weekend. She wasn't going to let off easy just so he could get pissed at another boys night.
She watched the man fidget as she waited patiently for his answer.
"No. I-Its just my grandmother's birthday. Her 90th... And, I was going to head home. But… uh... it's fine! I'll cancel it. You're saving me from a weekend of misery anyways, so it's…" She tuned out the mumbling, nodded to show brief appreciation and turned back to her work. Typing away, she lifted her head several moments later to realize she was finally alone. It was only then that her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Resting her head back, she stared up at the speckled black pattern of the white ceiling tiles.
You poisonous bitch… You know what you're gonna have on your deathbed? Nothing and no one…
She let out a shaky breath and ran her hands over her face, regaining a thin layer of composure.
She suddenly had to use the restroom.
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