The Bucketlist

08| CREATIVE DEVELOPMENT

12 noon

Everyone at Bexley's seemed extra busy. I tried focusing on the jeopardized manuscript for the eighteenth time, but the amount of sweat in my palm was driving me nuts. The air conditioner was up for repair, and I had no choice but to cope with the heat the old way- sweat it out. It was a sign from the Universe that I should avoid Will Turner in the morning at all cost.  

"Hey, where are you off to?" I asked Rachel, who seemed a bit carried away with the pile of files.

"Haven't you heard? There's something big coming up!" she exclaimed.

The enthusiasm was apparent in her voice. She shot me a smile before heading out. That is why you can't hate Rachel. She isn't a sneering jerk like half of the other Bexleyites. She gave me these frequent visits and pep talked when I was bored to my bones. 

I get out of my chair. I had a natural talent for getting tired and doing nothing. I stretched my arms hoping the heat would disappear magically. It doesn't. The manuscript stash on my table stared at me, and I remembered something dreadingly important.

'I need to report to the CEO's office.'

I had done my best to avoid Will Turner after our encounter earlier. I came to work earlier than others, got into my cubicle, and started ticking off work from my to-do list, and after the little coffee break, I made sure not to run into Will.

I gathered the last of my wills, straightened my skirt, and walked  to his cabin. The memory of his red vase breaking, his glares, and the pathetic words from the morning was still fresh, playing on loop.

"Get in!" He said, and I entered. Cold air washed the heat from me. Why did he get to have a functional air conditioner when the rest of us were panting in the heat? He cleared his throat and I took that as a cue to get the hell out of there.

My eyes fixated on the ground. I dumped the pile of manuscripts on his desk. Did Will-CEO-Turner have to work as a senior editor? Fuck his multitasking abilities.I was counting on moments to escape the little room of hell when I heard him.

"Don't go yet. Have a seat." By now, not meeting his eye was inevitable.

I stared at him. He was as normal as he usually is. A black tux jacket, his well-gelled hair, his obnoxious eyebrow scar, and his full lips- all cold and distant. He loosened his tie, gawking at me and I shifted in my pumps. The uneasiness between us chewed on me.

"You're going to fire me, aren't you?" I blurted without a thought, and his jaw clenched.

"I am not going to fire you, Mellon. Now get a seat before I change my mind." He scoffed, removing his tie. Why was he so irritable?

"You are still made at me?" 

"We can talk about stupid stuff later. I have got other things to talk about." He said plaintively.

Of course!

I waited for him to fill me in, but he said nothing.

"Are we done?" I ask sarcastically, and he mouthed a 'no'. Was he sure about what he wanted? I stared at his face cluelessly. 

"Would you like to give Creative Development a shot?" He asked.

My eyes grow wide. That came out of nowhere. Creative Development? Wasn't that the part that often experimented with writing trends and tested upcoming Bexley ventures? How did I look like I was interested? I was sure I was getting roped into something.

"I'll see what I can do," I said, not having a clue.

Maybe if I could shut up and not babble, it would help.