Shining Distraction [slow updates]

.ONE.

"I was terrified and would you mind if I sat next to you and watched you smile?" -Fall Out Boy, Pretty in Punk

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I hate being late. In my opinion, if you aren't at least ten minutes early, you're late. Being late is annoying. It's inconsiderate and, frankly, immature. Honestly, how hard is it to be on time?

That's why, at this very moment in time, I hate myself because, boy, am I running late. And I do mean running. The soles of my shoes slap hard against the pavement as it disappears beneath me, crunching over yellow and orange leaves along the way. I try my best not to run into any of the people I pass on my way while also desperately attempting to send a text message containing my coffee order. I am lucky enough to live only a few blocks away from my office building but, let me tell you, running through the crowded sidewalks of downtown Chicago, on a Wednesday morning, in three-inch heels, no less, is not something that luck has anything to do with. 

Naturally, I only have my boss (and the fact that I neglected to check my email before going to bed) to thank for my current situation of utter distress. My alarm clock this morning was my phone vibrating angrily on my night stand with an incoming call from the woman who has driven me mad for the last three and a half years. Don't get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful to her for taking a chance on me and giving me all of the opportunities to advance my career but, my goodness, the woman was undeniably intimidating.

"Hello?  Matilda?" I had answered the phone while still buried underneath my warm, cozy comforter, sounding rather groggy. I hoped she wouldn't realize she had woken me and that I remained comfortably in bed. When I heard her on the other line, I cringed.

"Charlie?  What the devil- you sound like you're still asleep." Her tone was incredulous and dripping with disdain. "Even so, you'd better get here as quickly as your feet can carry you," she demanded, her British accent having done nothing to soften the screeches of her voice that early in the morning.

On any other day, rushing to the office at seven in the morning would make me extremely early. Today, however, is not a normal day. Before ending the call, Matilda informed me she has a very important client coming to town for an interview and can only trust a select few of us with the information. I never realized I was part of the privileged crowd. Go me? After I hung up the phone, I flew out of bed and scurried around my apartment, frantically, trying to get myself ready as quickly as I could in order to get to the office in record time.

When I finally make it inside the doors of the building where our office is located - situated comfortably on the eleventh (top) floor - I need to take a moment to catch my breath, as well as attempt to correct my disheveled appearance. I smooth down my pencil skirt and swoop the blonde hair out of my eyes before making my way to the elevator. I catch one of the security guards watching me, amused smirk plastered on his face, and, with the mood I'm in, not to mention I haven't had a single drop of coffee yet, it takes everything in me not to flip him off. I simply press the button to the eleventh floor and smirk right back at him as the doors close in front of me.

While the elevator ascends, I take the time to peek at my phone only to realize I've missed another call from Matilda. Knowing I don't get any service in the lift and that I will be there in a matter of seconds, I huff out a breath and hope that, by some miracle, this elevator will move faster.

I'm filled with panic and a tinge of curiosity when the elevator finally stops on my floor and I'm out the doors before they are completely open. My thoughts are all over the place trying to figure out who could set my boss into such a frenzy that she'd feel it necessary to summon me here before the sun was up. We've dealt with many high-profile individuals before today.  We are a magazine, after all. A decently popular one, at that.