No costly sacrifice nor offerings given
Can change the purpose of the powers of Heaven;
Whatever Fate ordains, danger or hurt,
Or death predestined, nothing can avert.-Theognis of Megara

IF you have read this chapter before I started Consorting Jordan, I recommend you read it again. Because I updated it and matured it. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then just read along!

Skarlet's Pov.(not edited)

I always managed to get myself in these types of situations. I couldn't even begin to explain how I did but I always did.

"Can you extend my deadline by another year Mrs. Rushmore? Please? I promise to have the best story I can possibly produce on your desk." I didn't usually grovel, but this was my job on the line.

"Because I like you Skarlet and I believe in you, you have one more year, starting next month" before I could squeal in gratitude and cry happy tears there was always a 'but'.

"But?" I asked dryly preparing myself for an ultimatum.

"But," she smiled, "I need a plot synopsis on my desk in two months' time. Just give me something. It can be a cook book, a love story, a book about water guppies! Hell, it could be about dog poop. All I know is that a summary should be on my desk within that time limit." She then walked out of the room her small black heels clicking against the hard marbled floor.

I let my head drop on the wooden desk underneath me. I was between a rock and a hard place and there didn't seem like there was an option on getting from in-between them. What story could I come up with? What possibly could I write about?

I had no inspiration, no muse, no anything.

"Knock knock," My best friend Ashana voiced at my door. I pulled my head up from the now heated wood and looked her in the eyes.

"Yes?"

"Did you get the extension?"

"Yes." I mumbled my bottom lip jutted out, sulking in misery.

"Then what's the problem?" Ashana asked her medium length black hair swaying a little as she sat in one of my red leather office chairs.

"I still don't have any inspiration! That's the problem."

"You are one of the best ghost writers I know Skar, just put your heart into something."

"Again," I pointed out. "The problem!"

"Let's go all out tonight! Get your mind off of it! Then tomorrow, we work on your inspiration!" She twirled her long straps on her jacket fluttering around her as she did.

"You know I'm not into partying," I sighed leaning back into my chair and closing my eyes.

"Who said anything about partying? I was talking movie marathon with giant root beer floats and popcorn. We all know you can eat like a pregnant woman." She laughed and pulled me out of the chair, whisking me away from the office.

I joined in on her laughter, the rest of the people in the office building already knowing how weird we were, so they paid no mind to our skipping through the carpeted floor in the once quiet establishment.

I worked at Coleman's Publishing and it was basically a close-knit office at this particular branch. It was an organization ran by two of the biggest production teams in Southern California; Ford and the Colton's.

But I was a nobody when it came to corporate ladders and all that junk. We left that to our corp. representative Courtney Kaman. She was the smart business woman type. She had short precise bobbed light brown hair; she always wore power suits or pencil skirts and maintained the utmost tact possible. She wasn't a terrible person; she just didn't understand a concept besides work.

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