The Other Side {bellarke fanfiction}

Dangerous Workaholic

Chapter 11:
Dangerous Workaholic

CLARKE'S POV:

In the next couple days, I declare my acceptance of CEO at my father's company. I call on meetings and appointments to get myself comfortable in the position I now hold. My father's colleagues and business associates take in the position until I get my bearings.

I quit from my previous acting position on a rising tv show called Sedona. I was a leading role up for awards and a face in magazines, talking about the next hit tv series.

Instead of my Sedona photoshoot, I've got photoshoots lined up for all the highest magazines, from an actor to multi-billion company owner. It's the talk around all of NYC.

I've officially broke it off with Finn, telling him I was much too busy to have any time for him. He didn't react well, but he's kept his distance.

And now I sit in my dusty apartment, quiet and low music playing through my speakers and financial paperwork, graphs, statistics, everything for the company sprawled across the floor around me. It's not the only mess in this room.

I was suppose to undergo training and college courses before I was to co-own with my father.

I breathe, chewing on my pen. I stare down at all these numbers. What if I let my father down? What if I run this company into the ground?

I stand up, setting the papers down. I grab my empty mug and head to the kitchen for another refill of coffee. It's my fourth cup. That last couple days have been extremely tiring, and that's ironic to say since my old schedule was just as jam-packed. Meetings on meetings and numbers everywhere. It's overwhelming, to say the least. I'm just tired.

I have no time to be tired, I hardly get any time to myself. My father had many clients and many people working for him, but he did a lot of the work himself. I want to be strong for him. I'm just scared. I'm not cut out for this. I'm not prepared, and I'm hardly qualified.

I hold the counter top as my water heats up from my coffee machine. I stare into the floor, feeling that ache rising again. It's the self-doubt and sadness inside of me.

A tear drops from my eye, then another, and another. I squeeze my eyes shut, and hear my coffee is ready. I take it black, one sugar. It was his favorite, Bellamy's. I never liked it like this, and I still don't. I can't find myself making it as I used to, I don't even remember how.

I return to my papers, glancing at the clock. It's nearly one in the morning, and I don't feel tired. I am tired, but the coffee has definitely depressed the urge to sleep. I curl into the couch, grasping a pillow. I stare into the night sky, watching the city lights.

The following day, I wake up in haze, a slight pain in my back from the slumber on the couch. I travel to the bathroom, absentmindedly going through with my daily routine. A short shower, with cold water.

I decide on a dress for the day, staring into the mirror. I run my hands down the side, and stare at my dark circles.

I turn around, looking at my butt," Does this make my butt look big?"

I pull my hair into a messy bun. Let's pretend it's stylish. I get ready in a flash, running late for a meeting.

Getting dropped off from my driver, I hurry to the door.

" Miss! Miss, this is you," I hear in a New Yorker accent. I turn, noticing a newspaper vender a few feet away. I stare at the building, then to the vender and decide to buy a magazine. It's the one I'm wearing a mahogany colored sweater and white blouse with patterned fit jeans. My hair is curled and I'm pursing my lips, holding a briefcase. I'm on the front page?