Morgan-Grace (REVAMPING)

CHAPTER 1

Whitewater was a few acres down with a large swathe of land and enough profits for their inputs. They sold regularly to food distributors and were the most successful farm in the area. That's why it surprised both Morgan and her father to found out they had been struggling.

"Well, I'll be," she commented.

He nodded slowly in agreement, slight worry etching into his wrinkles.

"What's wrong, pa?"

Offering a warm smile, he folded the newspaper and tossed it on the counter. "Nothin' kitten, we'll discuss it later."

Though she was suspicious and a tad worried, she needed her mind to be focused on the job interview.

"Well, alright then. I have to head out now, but I'll be back at one."

"Where ya goin'?"

"Another interview. Hopefully somethin' good comes out of this one."

He shook his head. "I told ya before, I can handle the expenses—"

"Pa, it's fine. I have a good feelin'."

With another peck to the cheek, Morgan galloped to her room, took a quick shower and threw on her one and only pair of white-collar attire. She pulled her overly dry ginger hair in a ponytail and slicked back the flyaways with gel.

Giving herself a once over in her antique mirror, she took a deep breath.

"Ya got this Morg. Ya ain't need to be nervous. Just walk in there and be yerself ."

Ready for yet another anxiety crippling interview, she said goodbye to her parents, started her rusty pick-up truck and took off down the serpent road.

• • •
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Birmingham, Alabama
Eskinson Towers
_____

"Ms. Blaire?" A slender woman in a formal suit stood erect at the double doors. "Mr. Koshka's ready for you."

Leading her down a thin hallway, Morgan followed closely behind her. She looked at the exemplary artwork hung on the walls as she passed and her mind began to wonder. She tried to gauge the worth of each, and losing herself in her own train of thought, she became absentminded to the fact that the assistant's pace had slowed. If it hadn't been for the clearing of her throat, Morgan would have surly knocked into her.

She tapped her heel against the tile of the floor. "It's not wise to waste our time, Ms. Blaire. Mr. Koshka is on a tight schedule."

With an apologetic look, Morgan nodded and quickly took a couple of steps back, her wedges sounding out a couple of clunks.

With a daggered stare laced with contempt, the assistant pursed her cherry lips. "And do keep it down. This is a workplace after all."

"Sorry," Morgan whispered, finding the floor a lot  more comfortable than her inhospitable eyes.

She silently prayed that she hadn't begun on a bad note and hoped the rest of the interview went well.

They walked further down the hall until stopping at a frosted door with a bronze plaque. Unlike Morgan's brittle and bitten nails, the assistant pressed a well kempt one to the intercom button.