Following an imaginary line of trail into my boss' office, I silently close the door behind me, hoping deep down that this conversation doesn't take any longer than a few mere survivable minutes, as I'm un-confident I'd be able to survive any longer than the suggested time without the utter need to rip my own eye lashes out of their secured place, taking a downer on my feminine beauty.
Emerson is your typical alpha-male asshole of a boss: believes he walks on crystalline water, every other person, besides the poor unfortunate souls who he manages to push aside his inhumanity for, should bow at his feet, begging to be worthy of his astounding presence, all created from his 'spoiled-little-rich-kid' upbringing, which is one more would pity than envy. "What is it, Emerson?" his green, seemingly angry eyes flick up to mine, a direct journey intended to cause an abrupt flinch from myself, a journey that seems to have failed him greatly.
It's 10 o'clock on a Friday evening, the moon is hung loud and proud in the Chicagoan night sky, and the obvious tiredness plastered across my droopy face is screaming some foul words due to the fact that I'm still standing here...with him. I'm in no absolute mood to be my usual politely-mannered self. But nevertheless, it appears as if he reciprocates my attitude himself, shown by the heavy bags sewn below his eyes, weighing down his facial features massively. "I was unable to complete the interview with Sloan Mendez, my father called me in for a meeting and I still have a large amount of questions left on my list to get through."
Oh, for goodness sake...you can't be serious...
I continue to wait there, endlessly waiting to find out what role I play in this scenario for what seems like an eternity that will never come to a gratifying conclusion. Despite my bad mood, I refrain from speaking the exact words on my mind in front of my boss' son, as other employees who have dared do so have found themselves being escorted to the front door, left without a job to earn a stable living income from, and never to be let through it again. "I need you to go to the building where her firm is and conclude the interview for me. She's expecting you to be quick, even a woman of her calibre has a home to go to at the end of the day."
Using every fibre within my being, mustering them up to a point of ridicule, I hold in the utter urge to allow every critical thought come spewing out of my mouth, finding the prospect of being overworked beyond the line I drew for myself when I took this job two years ago past the point of absurdity. "I'm very aware, Emerson, because as have I. I've already completed my overtime and was meant to arrive home hours ago." the blonde man before me elevates to his 6'5 height, towering over my much smaller and thinner carcass, in an attempt to hoarsely dominate my womanly figure, as well as my outspoken words of firmness, words that I refuse to retract from the world's exposure. "You're doing it, Juliana. I'm your boss, I pay your wages, so you listen to me, or suffer the consequences. Understood?"
I begin biting down harshly on my thick pink tongue, holding it shaking my still as I pierce it's meaty thickset with my dulled teeth, preventing any unsanitary words from escaping my gape and being exposed to the tense air clouding our bodies, the oxygen which we inhale and exhale in stout intimidation driving me to cripple beneath the heavily-applied pressure. I've found during my uneventful life, that sometimes, the easier option is the option labelled 'best to go with', in order to be successful in gaining what you truly want as an outcome, which is a peaceful solution ending in your statutory happiness.
Besides...seeing one half of the women I've found difficult to eradicate out of my minds home wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, now would it?
Deze afbeelding leeft onze inhoudsrichtlijnen niet na. Verwijder de afbeelding of upload een andere om verder te gaan met publiceren.
