Talk To Me

03-I || Behold, The Target

"And this way is the break room," said Carly, sweeping her manicured hand towards the direction of a cozy looking room that had three vending machines and a set of tables and chairs, I saw, at a quick glance. "It's right below your office."

"Right. Easy access," I said, a lame attempt at a lame joke.

But Carly was a nice person, so she smiled nicely enough. "Yes. Well, that's about it. Hope you enjoy working here at Wallerstein Tech."

I smiled back at her. She was a hair-girl, I'd noticed straight off when we'd first met. A girl who looked drop dead gorgeous with her hair shaped around her face but would look like a malaria victim straight from the streets of Ethiopia if it was all shaved off. At least she was pretty because of her hair. I was pretty because of—what was it? Oh right, nothing.

"So, is Mr. Wallerstein in yet?" I asked, as I followed Carly back to the elevators.

"No," she replied. "But as soon as he gets in, he will be meeting with you."

Good. Very good.

I took the elevator back to my office. Yes, I could have walked the one flight of stairs but elevators are nice and cool and awesome. Wallerstein Tech had the type of employees who smiled and nodded at you when you walked past them, I had to work on that. Not that they were paying me a handsome enough amount to get me to do my least favorite thing in the world: smile and get to know strangers, but considering the place I was going to put their big fancy company in in a few days? I would have to doll out a little bit of courtesy. So they'd know I wasn't the one to blame.

The girl who had this job before me—Jess Olson—was also like me, fresh out of college, just looking for a job until her results came out. She told me that she might stay on, because she had been promised a promotion and a higher pay depending on her results and she wanted to stay because she was so sure about passing with flying colors. Then of course someone nudged her out of this job to a better paying one—me, obviously, I needed her gone, with her skinny ass hovering around there was no opening for me—and the second that post opened up on the website I swooped in like a hawk. They accepted, and called me in for an interview. And boom, I was the top boss's new secretary.

Had my lineage played a role? The thought upset me. Not many were aware my grandparents—in the sense, my late mother's mother and father—had the words "Lord" and "Lady" gracefully inserted before their names. My mum inherited basically everything, being their only child. Call her erratic or scatter-brained or disturbed or whatever you want to call a woman who would take her life by swallowing rat poison, but she was thoughtful enough to invest all her blood money for her only child: me.

See? She wasn't bankrupt. That wasn't why she'd had enough.

The why never stops eating at you.

Anyway, she kicked the bucket. So my bank account cha-chinged. I didn't actually need this job.

I really was stinking rich.

And miserably heartbroken enough to do nothing but scream for sixteen hours straight, but who cared about that? It's the one question in the face of all those obligated people who came to my mother's funeral: you're sad? How could you be sad? You're now the sole inheritor of all of Lord and Lady Bennett's wealth. Surely you cannot be sad when you have MONEY.

People, are hideous.

I liked my work area, a nice sleek DELL computer and glossy files and pens of the best brands. I didn't exactly have an office all to myself; secretaries don't get that luxury. I was in a corridor of sorts, the big boss's office on my right and to my left, separated by a glass wall was a hive of workers who were all too happy to introduce themselves to their boss's new secretary. There was Francis, who was the first to greet me and welcome me to their little "hub", as he called it. His glasses made him look exactly like Harry Potter. Ten bucks says that I would forget this goon's actual name in two days and put on my best Snape voice and go, "Potter!".