Chapter 6

                                                                        At the O.S. Publishing Headquarters

The President's Office

Noah Creed sat down with his cold coffee, ready to pounce on Bastad, daring to disturb his quiet time. Luckily, no one dared come in. He felt upset after dealing with his mother, who always left him feeling terrible—that vicious, hungry money serpent.

Like forcing him to get married and produce offspring wasn’t enough.

Now he is being forced to marry into the Keyes family of models; their last child, Jesse something, Keyes, who, by the way, is not even up to twenty, given the circumstances, will be old enough to be his daughter.

He already has a lot on his plate to deal with; being transferred here without his consent was already a big problem for him. He wants no more painful trouble but his mother will not let him be. Engaging the young model was the only thing he could do to keep her at bay.

"Oh, damn! My head hurts again." That familiar pain hit him. Since he was a kid, he had these terrible headaches, like someone banging a metal rod on his head. It hurt so much that he often ended up in the hospital. He'd been taking medications for ages, and because of that damn woman, he forgot to take them this time.

Scanning the room, Noah wondered where his darn secretary was when needed. James, his personal secretary, was supposed to be around. "He always acts on his own, that jerk, just because we grew up together."

Grabbing the phone, it rang, and the voice on the other end started, "Hello, you are speaking to the..."

"Shut the fuck up and get me, Secretary James, now." Damn, those voices always got on his nerves.

There was a gasp and a pause on the other end before the response, "Oh, yes, sir, just a second." After what felt like an eternity, "he is on his way, sir," the voice replied.

Eventually, James walked—no, more like strolled in. "Sir, you sent for me?"

"Yes, James! Seriously, do I have to call on you all the time before you do your job? Would it kill you to have a sense of responsibility, huh?"

"Huh..." James stammered, confused. "My apologies, sir. If you could tell me where I've gone wrong, I'd appreciate it." James inquired, puzzled.

What an asshole! 'You were supposed to follow me into the office,'" he said calmly, trying not to trigger his throbbing headache, which seemed to have gone down a notch. "But for some reason, you chose to ignore me. May I remind you, James, that your office is next to mine and not the receptionist?"

"Of course, sir," James replied distantly, then added, "but YOU told me to help out with the new intake. I was just following YOUR orders, sir."

He looked at his secretary confusedly, then sighed hard, realizing, "Oh!" he said with his head down. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, sir, and here are the names." James handed over a sheet of paper.

As he examined the names, something clicked in his head. Just as he was about to take the papers containing the names, he added, "That ogling lady, please remove her name from the retained intake. There's a lot on my mind right now, and I cannot be worrying about some perverted staff."

And here we go again, pretending to be ignorant of his boss's disdain for that sort of thing. "Oh, there was someone like that? I didn't know," James replied with a smile.

"What? You were right beside me, James. How could you not notice her? Anyway, find out who she is and take her name off. I don't want to have such issues here," he said, eyes fixed on James, daring him to argue.

"Sure," James replied, not bothering to look at what his boss said, and walked out. Outside the boss's office, James stood, watching the swarm of staff going back and forth. Noah Creed, a man who despises flirtatious women, especially when they work for him.

This would be the twenty-fourth female staff he dismissed since they transferred here. "If you don't like being ogled at, how about burning your face; handsome bastard," James cursed silently. He's blessed with such handsomeness yet hates being stared at, "while others like us are dying for such attention. God can be so cruel at times." With a devilish smile, he added, "Hmm! I think I'm gonna turn a blind eye to this one. Who knows, this might just be the break I need." He proceeded with the names, just as they were.

***

Grace felt uncomfortable as she sat in one place, then stood and paced from one spot to another, deep in thought. A man wearing a black and white suit came out and spoke to them.

"Listen up! We've concluded only twenty intakes will be fully retained, so please, when you hear your name, wait behind."

There was tension in the air as he called out the names. She could hear many mutters as the man continued calling names. Grace held her breath, waiting to hear her name. But when it seemed like nothing of that sort was happening, he called the last name.

"Grace Bush?" But no one responded. James turned his head around, calling out the name more aggressively, "Grace Bush?" Still, no response. "Is there no one with such a name?" he asked.

"Hey! Isn't that your name?" Susan said as she stood up from her desk and walked over to Grace, whose head was bent down, lost in thought.

"What?" Grace heard the name again. "Oh! Yes, yes, sir, that's me," she said as she looked at him while murmuring to herself, "I've never been so nervous in my life."

James took a long look at her, examining her. "The daydreaming girl, hmmm, not bad looking," he muttered, smiling. Then she added, "That's all; the rest of you can be on your way. Thank you for your time."

Just like that, she was retained. "Oh, yes!" she shrieked in excitement.

While the intakes who were not retained left, they were assigned to various departments. Grace remained in this particular one, and mentors were assigned to them.

She sat on a wooden chair close to the photocopier. "This is unbelievable. I can't wait to inform Mr. Bert and Mrs. Hail of the good news," she said excitedly as she brought out her phone. A voice called out from behind her—one she didn't need a soothsayer to know whose it was.

Susan! What does she want? Way to spoil the mood. Grace then smiled and turned her head. "Oh! Hi," she said, trying her best to remain collected.

Susan laughed, probably noticing her struggle to stay composed. "Congratulations," she said with her hands stretched out.

Well, Grace thought since she was congratulating her, there was no reason she shouldn't accept. So she took Susan's hands and said, "Thanks."

"You are most welcome. Now follow me," Susan said, then turned and walked away.

"Okay," Grace answered, trying not to sound annoyed, and followed behind her.

Susan stopped in front of a cabinet with a big wooden desk and a brand new computer. She turned to Grace. "This..." she said, pointing at the desk, "from now on, will be your office. Mine is over there," pointing at a more polished and presentable desk with a laptop and a computer. Wondering why she wasn't given something like that, Susan continued, "You'll sign in by the front desk as early as 7:30 am, but office activities resume by 8:00 am, shape and..."

Grace stared at the desk, unfocused. While Susan continued speaking, her voice started to fade. Grace was deep in thought, with a lot of questions popping into her head. Like, why was Susan the one directing her? it's supposed to be her mentor, right?

By the time Grace came around, Susan had stopped talking and was now glaring at her. "What?"

"Back from the land of dreams?" Susan asked dryly. "Do you do that often?"

"What?" Grace asked, pretending.

"That annoying thing you do when others are talking to you—your mind suddenly just travels. Seriously, since you keep visiting that dreamland of yours, even when you are working, it must be interesting." Susan, now folding her hands across her enormous round chest, stared hard at Grace.

‘Why don’t you try it? she almost blurted out and choked. She couldn't possibly let them know about that other side of her, the crazy side, at least not now. While she continued glaring at her, Grace kept quiet and just stared back; she was not easily intimidated, sorry.

After a while, Susan sighed out of frustration and said, "Look, Grace; whether you listen to me or not is up to you. Even though we're retaining you now, you can still get kicked out later if you mess up. So I suggest you get your head back to reality before you piss off someone higher in power than me with your constant daydreaming, even if I am your mentor. When that happens, I can't help you, so you need"

"Wait," Grace suddenly said, cutting her off. "You are my mentor?" she asked, shocked.

"Yes, I am. Wasn't that obvious? Anyway, that's enough lecture for one day. Here, take this." Susan handed her an envelope.

Seriously, why would they choose Susan to be her mentor? They don't even agree—no, not they—but she doesn't agree with her. Yet she took the envelope from Susan and opened it. Inside were money and a key. Grace looked at her again, confused. "What is this?"

"Your down payment. One rule of the establishment is that every new employee gets a down payment as soon as he or she is employed. So, even if you are from one of our branches, you are still new here. Tomorrow, you will have to fill out some forms with your bank details and all, in order for the company to pay your salaries through the bank. For the key, it's to your new apartment; every staff is entitled to an apartment as well, and depending on how well you perform, you might even get a car."

Oh! Mr. Bert did mention something like that. But she wasn't expecting it. "Thank you," Grace said, puzzled.

"Not me; thank the company. Come, let's go; I will drop you off at your new place. Oh, and don't worry about your things from the hotel; they're being taken care of."

"Well, hurry for me. Thanks again." This time, she grinned wildly and followed Susan out.

They arrived at an old four-story building; from the look of it, you could tell it has history, and Grace's apartment was the last if you count from the bottom. Ah, there was her arch-enemy—stairs.

There were a lot of stairs. Why can't she just get a normal building? is that too much to ask? She then turned to Susan with the look she was giving her. Maybe she should just stay quiet.

Susan smiled at her. "Go on, and please remember, as early as 7:00 am, to be there. I hate people who don't keep to time." She added, and drove off.

Grace just stood and stared after her for a while, then said, "I hate people who don't keep to time," mimicking her. "Well, I hate you too, bitch," she muttered, and she went upstairs to check out her new apartment.

Her room was number 245. Ironically, it was just a four-story. It was big, with a wide glass window through which you could see the amazing night view. New York sure is beautiful at night, and thank God for the balcony. "I'm glad I didn't ask for a change."

The sitting room was spacious, and the kitchen already had a refrigerator stocked with all you could eat. It seemed like a one-room apartment but with a three-room space. The bedroom was huge and had 'the closet,' a cool one painted with silver and black, and her clothes were already there. Good, because she was too exhausted to lift a finger.

Without wasting time, she took her bath, not bothering herself with food, set the alarm, and jumped on the spacious, inviting bed. "Tomorrow is going to be a busy day," she muttered to herself as she closed her eyes and went to sleep.