Idiot For Hire [On Hold]

1: It Started with a Latte

A/N: Hey, I wrote! I got a sudden itch to write and this was what came to mind. I'm surprised it actually came out succesfully, but hey, I'm not questioning it. I haven't posted anything in a really long time so I'm putting this up now. Hope you guys enjoy! :) 

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Idiot for Hire

Chapter 1: It Started with a Latte 

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it takes to go to Starbucks and come back with a simple request.

Thirty minutes. That’s how long it took my assistant to go to Starbucks and come back with the wrong drink.

I asked Mousy—sorry, Winnie—to get me a tall iced skinny flavored latte, and do you know what she came back with? She had the nerve to come back with a tall iced flavored latte at a whopping 140 calories—an 80 calorie difference, all because she’d forgotten one word. She was just lucky I immediately realized something was off when I brought the cold beverage to my lips, or things would have gotten ugly, fast.

Seriously, I even told her to write it down so she wouldn’t forget, but she assured me she didn’t need to. Right. “I won’t forget,” my ass.

I shouldn’t have hired her in the first place. I understood why I did, but still. Appearance wise, she was perfect for the job. She had the body of a ten year old, a mousy face, and mousy brown hair to match. (There was a reason my mother and I liked to call her Mousy.) Simply put, I always looked better standing next to her.

Unfortunately, I hated her, and she had to go.

“You know what?” I asked. I threw my fashion magazine on my pink leather sofa and sat up straight. “If you can’t handle a simple job like this, then guess what?”

Mousy jumped at the sound of my voice, and her own voice shook when she built up the courage to speak. I wasn’t sure how she’d managed to speak for me when I didn’t want to take a call or go to an event. She was pretty much spineless. “W-what?”

“You’re fired.” I looked away from her and returned to my magazine. My interest in the conversation had already dwindled, so I decided I was done. Casually flipping through my copy of Teen Vogue, I added, “Shut the door on your way out.”

“B-but I said I’d go get you another one,” she squeaked. “Please don’t fire me! I need this job. I’ve only been here for a few weeks and-and I’m still learning. Please.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” I trailed off, and Mousy’s eyes grew wide with hopeful anticipation. “No. Your final check will be sent to you tomorrow. Anything you leave here or at the agency will be disposed of. Have a nice day.” I smiled sweetly at her before turning back to my magazine.

She stood frozen in her spot for a good thirty seconds before sighing quietly. “I’ll go pick up my things…”

I didn’t look up, but I heard her departing footsteps and the gentle shutting of my door. I think she expected me to change my mind and rehire her, but that certainly wasn’t going to happen. “Good riddance,” I muttered, turning back to my magazine.

I looked through an article on relationships, mentally commentating as I read. How young is too young when it comes to marriage? Ninety would be too young if it meant marrying Mitch. We need to envision our future together? Um, no. I’d rather eat five slices of pizza. There’s a higher risk of divorce if you marry young? There’s a higher risk of divorce if you marry a guy like Mitch, period.

I was pulled away from my commentary when “Roar” began to blare from my cell phone’s speakers. I absentmindedly hummed along to my ringtone as I went back to reading and began to frown after a few lines. It never got through the chorus. Why was it still ringing?