Two

"Where are all your bags?" Susan stormed into the parking lot below her apartment complex. Joanne was waiting for her, her arms wrapped around herself and her head bowed..

"Where are they?" Susan insisted. Joanne unlatched the trunk of her whitewashed Cadillac. Her mother had had it long before she was born, and let it sit outside for some handsome amount of years. It was the kindness of a neighbor that fixed it up and got it ready for her, just before she left her mother for good.

The car looked to be on its last legs, as the suspension creaked each time Susan removed a bag. "Is that all?" Susan asked after removing the third and last bag.

"Everything to my name. " Joanne managed a fake laugh. They carried the three relatively light-weight bags up the concrete steps for 3 floors before getting to Susan's bedroom. 

In the small studio apartment 3 floors high, and overlooking the abyss that was the city of Madrid, Joanne felt a strange  sense of wonder. Susan turned to her.

"So. What do you wanna do?" Joanne's heart sank. A large portion of the reason she had chosen to come here was a sense of direction. A sense of direction so strong in fact, that Susan would end up  telling her exactly what to do.

"I-I thought you might....have an idea." she squeaked.

"Oh. I have a million ideas. One of them involves me going to my cousin who's a parole officer. " Susan took a deep breath. "But I have to consider your feelings ,Jeeji. We can talk shit here for hours, but what do you want? Should I get a divorce lawyer?"

Joanne bit her lip, and silently cursed herself. Susan was being immensely helpful, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say. I just don't want to get hurt anymore. Joanne thought. Joanne thought. I want this all to stop.

Finally, she said " A divorce lawyer costs money. I don't have any." Susan's face lights up strangely, and she produces a beige coloured poster.

"I picked this out at a mall. They're hiring. And you don't need a college degree" Susan beamed. It was an ad for a receptionist at an Unnamed news firm.

"I don't know Susie. I'm-" Joanne started.

"Do you know how they get us Jee?" Susan interrupted. "By convincing us we don't matter. That's how they kill us. Don't let it happen to you" she finished in a somber tone.

******

Two weeks had passed after leaving her husband, and Joanne was managing her receptionist job. Miraculously for her, nobody had really taken the ad for a receptionist seriously and only 2 other candidates showed up.

She had gotten the job because the other candidates were disqualified, but things were not so smooth at the job. The company ran a paper-based filing system for reasons best known to them. 

Hundreds to thousands of documents landed on her desk each day to be filed or corresponded. It was not a job for someone with half-a-heart for living, and her supervisor had warned her a few times in the past week.

On this occasion, she stood by her desk, waiting for the meeting in their break room to conclude. After about 30 minutes, a beefy and tall man dressed in a deep blue shirt and beige pants was the first to exit the room.

He walked with lightning in his step, as if there were a hundred of his houses on fire, and he would single-handedly put them out one by freaking one. He stopped to look at Joanne, cocked his head and sauntered towards her.

"The Proposal For Downtown Park. Should be titled: Reeves Park." he said slowly.

"Ok. One moment, Sir." Joanne's eyes scanned through her folders, and they did not fail to observe the enormous stoic fingers that tapped impatiently on her desk.

"By The McAllister Group, Sir?" Joanne said, holding up a sheet.

The man huffed and accepted the sheet.

"Yes. That'll be the one" he said sarcastically.

When Joanne looked up, she couldn't control the flush spreading on her face. The man's beards were not long and stranded, but rather rich and full. He turned to the side, and both his jaws looked pronounced, tangented and powerful. His eyes sparkled a cool shade of blue and reserved intelligence turning page after page. Handsome seemed like a cheap way to describe him, the man felt like a phenomena.

Not like anybody could see her panties, but she crossed her legs and tightened her thighs regardless.  "Mr McAllister! Mr McAllister!" called a middle aged man bumbling after him from the Conference room.

"Mm hmm." answered the man. His name was Charles McAllister, CEO and Chairman of the McAllister Group. A rapidly growing construction group that was about to enter the Fortune 500, despite only being formed three years ago. Charles himself had already appeared on the Editorial Eagles a couple of years back, and now was set to be on the cover of the New York Times Magazine and also featured on Forbes Under 30 billionaires. 

The middle-aged man was the Chief Account for the McAllister group, and their meeting had concerned the company's offshore accounts. They were about to accept an extensive project from the Spanish government for a new urban park.

"Mr McAllister. I have to say it again. This is too risky!" the middle-aged man cried. "With the economy, we don't know how long it would take for a turnover!"

Charles McAllister simply nodded as he flipped over the schematics. "Well, you know me, Mitch. I'll take a little risk for breakf-" McAllister froze. Only his eyes moved, darting around like pool balls. He opened the folder afresh, skimming the pages faster than ever and repeated this for about two more times.

"Mr McAllister? Is something wrong?" asked Mitch. Charles flashed Joanne a dark foreboding look. Like a dark sky before a storm. "Where's my Quantity Bid? Sure as shit isn't in here." Charles boomed.