Chapter 4

“Today Alice will be in my office. Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen!” Nicolas informed everyone mockingly and escorted Alice towards his office.

Michael's eyes darkened. He could feel the blood rushing to his head and turning red with anger as he clenched his fists. He abruptly got up from his chair and walked fast towards Nicolas office. Then he felt a kick again on the same ankle and he crouched down in pain. He surreptitiously began massaging his ankle, before properly tying his shoelaces.

At this moment, it dawned on him that he was acting quite hasty in his actions. He didn’t really have anything, a leverage of sorts, to present himself with in front of Nicolas. If he had entered his office and tried to fight for the promotion, which he had already decided was his, he might have turned out to be on the losing end.

How is that? After all, it was he who was to become the deputy in chief! He had even adapted to his new office. Taking into account any future business meetings, he put in two additional armchairs and completed a large assortment of alcohol in one of the cupboards standing there.

“Please do not disturb us for the next hour.” Added Nicolas before closing the door behind him.

Silence had replaced the earlier boisterous airin the meeting hall. It was long, gloomy and terrifying, to say the least. Finally, it was Thomas who broke it.

“Gentlemen, what's going on?” He had an idiotic expression on his face as he said that. “Do any of you understand any of this?” He asked again, completely confused.

A terrifying silence answered him.

“Gentlemen, what’s with the silence? Did you lose your speech?”

Nobody was able to comment on the events of the last few minutes. They couldn't believe what they had just heard. A long-legged bunny with a shapely ass dancing next to the pipe, as they called her a few moments ago, was to become their boss?! How is this possible?

***

Michael returned to the kitchen with his thoughts. Everything was ready to be served. The delicious scent of spit roasted turkey and mushroom mousse was mingling with the scent of burnt caramel hanging around. It was the only thing that caused him problems.

Whenever he started making caramel, he wanted it to be perfect. It was supposed to have a golden color and a glassy consistency. Unfortunately, there was always something else, besides cooking, that at that particular moment, used to occupy his attention. The ending is always the same: caramel has been fraternizing with fire for too long.

Slightly flushed shoots of Spanish artichokes with truffles, baked cheese and cream tempted not only with their exquisite aroma, but also with a delicious appearance. Vanilla cream made of real milk, eggs, a bit of dark sugar and vanilla was chilling in the refrigerator, not some chemical crap from a teabag.

Once he was satisfied that the kitchen was fine, he carried the dark blue candles to the dining area of ​​the living room. Again and again, he made sure that he remembered everything. Especially for this occasion, he took his large table that could easily accommodate twelve people to the basement.

Today, in the heart of his living room, there was a small, square table covered with a navy blue tablecloth, which he had decorated with a smaller, white, diagonal tablecloth. On it, he had placed two navy blue mats with covers. On the left side of each of them, finely rolled white linen tablecloths decorated with navy blue and silver trim were neatly set.

From the basement, he had also pulled out a white porcelain set with a silver inlay that had been laid unused after he had inherited it from his grandmother. Despite its old age, it looked modern, extravagant, even trendy. He didn't like it much though. Seeing it, brought back too many unpleasant memories. That's why he had packed it a long time ago and taken it to the basement. From then on, when he began to serve the dinners, he often used to give it out on ordinary, supermarket-bought tableware. This time it was supposed to be a really special evening.

He had invited a special person, so he had to accept her with dignity. Nothing else matched the silver platters, so he reached for his grandmother's forgotten service. Old cutlery, which he decided to use in today's culinary spectacle, was also taken out. He scanned the table carefully and was still unhappy.

Finally, he went out into the garden to get some fresh air and calm his thoughts where he returned to the memories.

***

On that fateful day, late in the afternoon, Nicholas finally left his office to announce that he wanted to read the texts for the next edition before the end of his work day. He asked them to upload them. He also added that he wanted to talk to each of them separately to recommend each of the journalists to the new chief.

They were overwhelmed. He had never done that before. In fact, he had never even read their texts before the publication was closed. The next edition didn’t close until the next day, so why did he want it today? They had no articles written. Usually they wrote at the last minute. That was their way of writing. Why should they rush and stress themselves? They still had a day and more specifically, the day and a night. That was a lot of time.

The door to Nicholas' office was still open. There was no crowd. The nervous silence was joined by the chill that had developed between ‘the bosses’ and their subordinates, an unprepared and textless team of ‘pen masters’.

Michael has already managed to recover from the unexpected blow, which for the first time in many years gave him a place in the editorial chic. But that wasn't the end of the surprises and the backstabs.

From the beginning of the magazine's existence, he was the one to decide on the content of subsequent editions. Everyone accepted it, and Nicolas gave him a free hand, emphasizing the great trust in him.

‘What is going on?! They're trying to kick me out of the editorial office?’ He wondered. Not only has he not become deputy in chief, but they also want to get rid of him! But for what?

He hasn't failed at anything lately. Well, maybe a few things, but he was generally doing his job. Maybe not exemplary, as he admitted in spirit, but compared to the rest of the team, he was just an ace.

‘What is Nicolas Williams playing at?’ He wondered, falling into a state of severe panic, which he had last experienced in college before the rhetoric exam.

For as long as he can remember, he and Nicolas have been friends. He hoped it still was the same. He was consoled to be one of the best and oldest journalists in the magazine. Readers of the magazine start with his column, while younger colleagues take his opinion into account and respect the decisions.

Besides, even if Nicolas found a reason, due to their long-term friendship, he would certainly not go so far as to throw away their long-standing friendship to kick him in his face. Also, it would also be difficult to carry out without insulting anyone, even the last reporter from the city department, for they know what it is like running around the marketplaces, looking for holes in the road and questioning the guards.

The only thing that came to his mind that might have been the reason for his removal from the editorial office was that he had the habit of consuming alcohol frequently during working hours. However, the word ‘consuming’ is extremely subtle.