I leaped off of the trolly and heaved my heavy satchel with me to Mulctuary Money Managment, where I had had some tsuris booking an appointment with the incompetent Mr. Arthur Poe. The aforementioned man is one of the key reasons that the two poor Quagmire triplets were currently kidnapped and the Baudelaires were currently living with two guardians who barely meant well and put their absurd interest in fashion over anyone's wellbeing. It baffled me that one person, currently the woman who chose to marry Mr Poe, could sit at a typewriter and make up rules that dictates other people's lives and could change them at the click of a switch. I continued to haul my bag with the strange book, The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations to the eide glass doorway.
"Name." The doorman demanded, blocking my view from the rest of the room. My eyes darted to a number of far more suspicious looking individuals who hadn't been stopped before looking back at him with a glare.
"Olivia." I stated, not particularly liking the sound of my own name. "Olivia Caliban."
"Right this way." He huffed, unblocking my path with his body. "You are quite late."
"Yes," I faltered, my hands moving to adjust the strap of my bag although it was already comfortable. Shuffling had unfortunately become one of my nervous habits that I needed to fix. "I am very sorry," I rushed to tell him, "the trolly was late, it is a miracle I made it here at all..." The man chose to cut me off, which besides probably being a smart idea I chose to take offence to, before following him through a small door which lead to a plain office, a complete juxtaposition of the lobby's elegance.
I was ushered into a seat opposite a coughing banker who barely gave me eye contact before rushing me into my case. I made a few points before showing him an article, one that his wife had written, and read it aloud.
"The Baudelaire Orphans are this season's most fashionable accessories, for the city's sixth most important financial advisor, Esme Gigi Genevive Squalour, centre, who is organising the city's in'est auction with the in-est auctioneer Gunther, left, and her husband Jerome, not pictured. Do you see how many orphans in your care are going into the hands of terrible people?" I caught the whole article in one breath and looked up at Poe to see if he had any input, but his expression was blanker than my list of successes today.
"You're not afraid of foreigners, are you?" He said after a long pause
"What, no?!" I stumbled, shocked by the question. "Mr Poe, if you please have time..."
"I'm afraid I don't have time. I have had to re-schedule a helicopter flight, and you know how grumpy the pilots get." He interrupted me again. Is this what the city is like? Constant interruptions and everyone in a rush?
"I don't care about grumpy pilots.." I started. Mr Poe started speaking over a speaker to his assistant across the room. She looked like a kind but mysterious woman, but stayed at her desk. It was obvious that she did not work with Mr Poe to be his assistant, but who knows what she was meant to be doing.
I walked to the end of the room with an expression that I hoped was determination but rather came out as upset. In a flash, Mr Poe's assistant stood up and began speaking at me. I only caught-
"Stay true to ones philosophical and literary principals."
"What did you say?" I jumped. That quote seemed somewhat familiar.
"In a world too often governed by corruption and arrogance,"
"One can find it difficult to stay true to ones philisophical and literary principals!" I finished. "I have heard that a lot lately."
"There's a lot of cause to say it." She decided, enigmatically. "Let me call you a taxi." I was about to be grateful, before I remembered how low my pay was at Prufrock Prep, and that I was being completely unpaid while I was here.
"Oh, no, I can't afford a taxi on an unpaid sabbatical." Just as the telephone picked up, I noticed the time. "The trolly!" I squeaked. I ran as fast as I could in heels, the same pair that I wear every day in Prufrock Prep. I don't usually do any running in School though, especially because it is against the rules. The trolly started to move just as I came close to it. No matter how much I shouted after it, the trolly wouldn't come back.
SCREECH! A taxi driver slammed on their brakes, just inches away from me. My heart leaped and my body nearly made itself do that thing that scared goats do. Fortunately, I maintained my dignity, with enough strength to yell:
"YOU ALMOST HIT ME!" A charming man my age poked his head out if the taxi window, his little hair blowing in the wind.
"A thousand pardons, ma'am." He apologised. "I didn't intend to scare you, and I will never forgive myself." He really was as charming as he looked.
"Never?" I repeated.
"Well, not for a long time." Handsome, and honest.