Coarse
1124 Words
Mary's hands tremble as she punches at Mr. Peterson's number. The tea kettle whistles shrilly in the background, a mocking reminder of the impossibly precise task she still needs to complete for Thorne. "Please don't be angry, please don't be angry," she mutters under her breath, a silent mantra against the impending financial doom.
The phone rings three times before Mr. Peterson answers with a curt, "Yeah?"
"Mr. Peterson, it's Mary, from apartment 3B. I got your message. "I'm so sorry the rent is late again. "I know this isn't ideal, and I truly appreciate you being patient with me." Mary's voice is a careful blend of humility and desperation. She needs to keep him on her side, and needs to buy herself some time.
A heavy sigh comes through the line. "Mary, honey, I like you." You're a good tenant, quiet, clean. But I got bills to pay too. A mortgage ain't going to pay itself, you know? This is the third time in six months. I need to know when I'm getting that money."
"I understand, Mr. Peterson, completely. The thing is, I'm expecting a bonus at the end of the month. It should be enough to cover the rent and the late fee, I promise. Would you be willing to wait until the 30th? "I can get you the full amount then, I swear." Mary holds her breath, praying he'll agree. The "bonus" is more of a desperate hope than a certainty, but it's the only lifeline she can think of.
There's a long pause, and Mary can practically hear Mr. Peterson was weighing his options. "Alright, Mary. The 30th. But that's it. No more extensions. No more excuses. If I don't have the money in hand by the end of the day on the 30th, I start the eviction process. You got it?"
"Yes, Mr. "Peterson, I understand. "Thank you, thank you so much. "You won't regret this." Mary's relief is palpable, a weight lifted, even if only temporarily.
"Good. I'm holding you to it." The line clicks dead.
Mary sinks into a chair, her legs weak. She has two weeks to somehow guarantee that bonus. Two weeks to juggle Thorne's impossible demands, maintain her sanity, and avoid becoming homeless. A daunting task, to say the least.
Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to focus on the immediate problem – the green tea. She finishes preparing it, carefully checking the temperature one last time, before steeling herself and heading towards Thorne's office.
The closer she gets, the more imposing the space seems. The double doors leading to his office suite are made of frosted glass, etched with the Thorn Industries logo. The silence beyond them is unnerving, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of ringing phones and frantic typing in the outer office.
Mary pushes open the doors and steps into Julian Thorne's personal domain. It's a space that screams wealth and power, a carefully curated display of success. The first thing that strikes her is the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking panorama of Washington D.C., the monuments and landmarks spread out below like miniature toys. It's a constant reminder of Thorne's position at the top, looking down on the world.
The office itself is enormous, easily the size of Mary's entire apartment. The walls are painted a cool, neutral gray, adorned with abstract art pieces that she suspects cost more than her annual salary. A massive mahogany desk dominates the center of the room, meticulously organized with only a few carefully chosen items – a sleek silver laptop, a leather-bound notebook, and a crystal paperweight.
Behind the desk sits Julian Thorne. He's younger than Mary initially expected, only in his early thirties, but carries himself with an air of authority that makes him seem older. He’s absurdly handsome, with sharp, chiseled features, piercing blue eyes, and perfectly styled dark hair. He could easily be a model, if he weren't so busy running a multi-billion-dollar corporation.
But it's not his looks that are intimidating, it's his demeanor. Thorne exudes an icy detachment, a sense that he views everyone around him as pawns in his game. He's known for his ruthless business tactics and his complete lack of empathy. He’s wearing a tailored suit that probably costs more than Mary’s car.
"Ah, Mary, there you are," Thorne says, his voice smooth and controlled. "Took you long enough with the tea." He doesn't bother to look up from the document he's reviewing. "Place it on the desk."
Mary does as she's told, setting the tea down carefully, avoiding making any unnecessary noise. She stands there, waiting for him to acknowledge her, her heart pounding in her chest.
Finally, Thorne looks up, his gaze sharp and assessing. "The Q3 report. Are you certain these figures are accurate?"
"Yes, Mr. Thorne. "I double-checked everything myself." Mary hopes her voice doesn't betray her nervousness.
Thorne leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "I'm not pleased with the performance in the Asian market. Not pleased at all."
Mary braces herself for the storm. "I understand, Mr. Thorne. "We're exploring new strategies to improve those numbers in Q4."
"Strategies," Thorne scoffs. "I need results, Mary." Not excuses. "My investors are not interested in 'strategies.' They're interested in profit." He takes a sip of the tea, his eyes never leaving Mary's face. "This tea… it's lukewarm. Are you incapable of even performing such a simple task correctly?"
Mary's face flushed. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Thorne. I checked the temperature myself. I can make another one."
"No," Thorne says, waving his hand dismissively. "Just… try to pay attention, Mary." I expect a certain level of competence from my staff. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mr. Thorne. Perfectly clear."
He stares at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Mary feels like a specimen under a microscope, every flaw and imperfection magnified. Just as she thinks she can't take it anymore, his phone rings.
Thorne glances at the caller ID, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He picks up the phone. "Yes… speaking… What?… I see… Inform Mr. Davies said," I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He hung up, his jaw tight.
He stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket. "Cancel my afternoon meetings, Mary. Something urgent has come up. And make sure that report on the Henderson acquisition is on my desk first thing tomorrow. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Thorne." Mary scribbles down the instructions, trying to keep up with his rapid-fire commands.
Thorne strides towards the door, pausing briefly to look back at Mary. "And Mary… try not to disappoint me again." With that, he's gone, leaving Mary standing alone in the opulent office,
The silence amplified the dread churning in her stomach.
- Writer
