Hazel
12.
I had a fairly good idea of what I was doing. It seemed even with a college hiatus, the information was still there. After finding a small problem in one of Mr. Wright's reports, I was suddenly thankful for all of the business classes I took. I didn't need the computer to remind me of what I didn't know.
It was almost easy to ignore Mr. Wright. With each stack of paper he slammed on my desk and each grumbled order, I found myself jumping in fright a little bit less with the frequented, angry words he spat at me each time he came barging in.
Although we spoke minimally, and I saw Mr. Wright even less throughout the days, I couldn't help but begin to wonder how his secretaries all lasted as long as they did. I had never felt more like a punching bag.
I remembered what Dee told me that first day. How none of the secretaries had lasted, the rumors. Now I understood a little of what she was talking about.
Bitter words that left me feeling cold as I slaved away at the workload that continued to grow taller on my desk with each passing second.
The men and women that came in eyed me sympathetically as I ushered them into Mr. Wright's office. I barely paid them any mind, but there was one that lingered, her hand positioned on the knob of the door.
She was a middle-aged, but classy older woman, with a plaid, blood red business jacket and pencil skirt. There was a hint of curiosity that had me furrowing my brows, awaiting whatever it was she was going to ask.
"Are you the new assistant?" She asks, her sea, green eyes searching my face. I didn't like the scrutinizing gaze she gave me, like being examined under a microscope.
"I am." I responded, forcing a smile on my face.
"Is it...Hazel?" She continued.
Nodding, I said, "Hazel Morgan."
"Aren't you a little too young to be Mr. Wright's secretary, Ms. Morgan?"
"I didn't...I didn't know that there was an...um...age limit."
"Oh, no," the woman said, as if it's obvious. "But I'd watch your back if I were you—you just never know."
I nodded my head as if I understood what the woman was saying, and watched as she slipped out of view. I wrung my hands underneath my desk as my mind spun in circles.
Maybe Dee was right and I wouldn't last long. If the rumors were true, there was only one way to find out. And although it scared me half to death, a part of me was determined to prove Dee wrong. Prove myself wrong. If this could bring me closer to what I wanted, how bad could it get if I stayed?
Hunger presented itself in the silence of my work. At just the same time the door to my office flew open. Startled, I whipped my head up to find Mr. Wright standing in the doorway. Embarrassment heated my cheeks, wondering if he had heard me. I did my best to hide it as I took in my boss's face.
I didn't know what Carter Wright looked like on a daily basis, but I couldn't help but notice the red-rimmed, green eyes under his long lashes. They flit around the room, once, twice, before landing on my face. I could see dark, scruffy stubble along his cheeks and on his chin.
"Leave."
Mr. Wright's eyes narrowed at me as he said this, as mine widened. I felt something plummet inside of me, trying to search my brain for anything that I might've done wrong. I didn't think it was possible to get any more red.
"W-What?" I stuttered out. I searched Mr. Wright's face for any kind of hint to what he meant, I came up with nothing.
"Are you deaf? I said leave." His green eyes drilled into my face, the corners of his lips curling downward when I didn't move.
Was he firing me already? I glanced down at the paper in my hand, afraid that I might upset my boss even more.
"Are you firing me already?" It's nearly impossible to keep the unsteadiness out of my voice. I had to know.
Could he even fire me if he was forcing me to work for him?
Where could I get a job if I was being fired? I knew Mr. Riley would take me back in an instant, but the thought of seeing Chase again made my stomach flutter nervously.
"I might as well." Mr. Wright snapped.
Before I could think to open my mouth, he was gone. My gaze lingered where Mr. Wright had left, the words on the edge of my tongue.
Normally, McDonald's would be one of the last choices on my list of foods, but having not eaten all day aside from a granola bar and a Dr. Pepper from the vending machine, I was starving. The moment I went in to order my double-cheeseburger meal, eyes spun on me.
"Look, that's Carter Wright's new assistant." Someone beside me whispered.
"Really?" Another voice chirped. I could feel eyes boring into the side of my head.
"Yeah, I recognize her from that picture."
The dining room fell silent as the onlookers took me in, and it took everything in my power not to turn and stare.
Only a few days in and people already knew who I was? I tugged at the hem of my dress, suddenly wishing I was back at home.
"...coffee on his suit? I feel so bad."
When my food finally came, I was no longer hungry. Instead, anxiety was quick to replace it as I glanced in the direction of the whispers. Eagerly, I took to my car, my heart in my throat as I pulled out my phone.
My name was the third one to pop up in my search engine, and Mr. Wright's just above. My lip curled in distaste as I read the words that lit up my phone screen.
'The Girl Who Spilled Coffee on Carter Wright's Suit...Oops!
Clicking on the link, a picture I thought I had ridden from my mind, popped up underneath the news article. It was one from the side, my hands propped up on Mr. Wright's knees—the hint of a coffee stained suit and my eyes wide with horror.
I didn't have to read the article to feel the embarrassment as it spread through my stomach. I drove home in silence, but it wasn't until I got home that a thought formed in my head.
Mr. Wright still had to be at the office. At a quarter after four, I was almost certain that I'd be able to catch him. Quickly, I searched the company webpage for a number, finding his office number on the webpage and pressed the phone to my ear.
On the second ring, that familiar gravelly voice answered, and I took a shaky, deep breath. It would be fine.
"Was it you?" I did my best to hide the nervousness from my voice. With just a simple hello, there was no doubt in my mind that Mr. Wright would hang up the phone.
There was a pause on the other end, and then, "who is this?"
Confidence filled me as the frustration took over. "Is this your way of getting back at me? I'm sorry, but it wasn't my fault that I tripped."
"You think I did this?" Mr. Wright blew out a breath on the other end, clearly just as frustrated. "I don't need another news article that has my name on it."
"Seriously?" I muttered. "I can't believe that's all you care about."
I stepped into my apartment, welcomed by the silent darkness that enveloped me when I shut the door.
"I'm not the one who made a fool of themselves." He said.
"Is there any way to take it down?"
The fact that I could count the number of days I'd been in New York on my hand, and people already knew my name, it didn't sit well with me.
"No."
About to call it quits as the frustration grew, to hang up on Mr. Wright, I made my way to my room and flicked on a light. A gasp slipped past my lips.
"Oh my gosh...?" I trailed a hand over my lips, my heart pounding as I took in the scene before me.
My room was not just wrecked, but looked as if a tornado had torn the whole place apart. A chill raced down my spine.
"Hazel?"
I barely heard Mr. Wright's voice. And at the sound of crunching, I jumped.
But when I glanced down at the floor, it wasn't the piece of glass I stepped on that caught my attention. Rather, it was the clothing laying in a heap on the floor, most of it shredded in half or completely destroyed.
"W-What...?" I whispered, dropping to my knees to pick up a dress. I hissed in pain as it shot through my skin, and this time I did glance down.
Pieces of glass littered the floor, shattered into millions of pieces from the frames that used to be sitting on the wall.
"No." Tears prickled my eyes, threatening to spill over the longer I stared.
"Hazel?" Mr. Wright's voice cut through the silence, for a second time, firm, yet the syllables were slow and drawn out. I swiped hastily at my cheeks.
"I think someone broke into my apartment," I found myself saying, my voice barely above a whisper. "I-I have to go."
Without waiting for a reply, I hung up the phone.
Suddenly, my heart dropped into my stomach when a thought filled my mind. Moving towards my bed, my knees stinging with pain, I held my breath as I peered underneath.
The plastic bin was still there, tucked away in the corner with a bunch of other unpacked, miscellaneous cardboard boxes. With a relieved sigh, I went to reach for the bin, but stopped myself on second thought.
I hadn't touched my sewing machine since I'd left home, my portfolio of sketched ideas almost completely forgotten. Maybe it would be better off if it was destroyed.
If whoever raided my apartment didn't check under the bed, maybe they wouldn't think to do it the next time?
I shuddered at the thought of there being a next time.
Maybe I did care.
Even though I was wrapped tightly in an afghan on the couch, I didn't sleep that night. Every bone in my body was awake and alert, checking for noises or sounds that weren't even there. It was dead silent, actually.
Dawn pressed it's warm fingers against my lids when I finally felt the familiar tug of sleep. But the thought of facing Mr. Wright late forced me to get ready in spite of my zombie-like state.
The sight of my room only made me move slower. Discouraged and disappointed all over again, I carelessly get ready for another long day.