GET READY TO BE LAID
1026 Words
AMELIA'S POV
I arrived at work around seven-forty, leaving me a precious five minutes to grab my coffee. I hurried to the company cafeteria, placed my order, and by the time I reached my office on the twelfth of the building's fifteen floors, my boss was already there.
"You're late," she stated. I checked my watch. Two minutes past the exact time.
I didn't argue, not because I couldn't, but because I knew her. She was a woman who never wasted a second. Beyond her financial acumen, her impeccable time management was a cornerstone of her success.
"I'm sorry," I said, but received no reply.
She handed me a stack of spiral-bound books. I took them, looking at her expectantly.
"Go through these and draft a report of all money spent and received. I want absolutely no mistakes. Do you understand?" she instructed.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied obediently. I couldn't afford to be rude to my boss; she was the sole reason I still held this job. One word from her, and I'd be out. Her authority as merely the financial manager always baffled me.
"Once you're done with that, prepare a speech for the monthly financial project. I assume you've already worked on the project I assigned you?" she added, more a statement than a question.
"Yes, ma'am," I confirmed, and she nodded.
"Email everything to me once you're finished. And when I say 'today,' I don't mean tomorrow or the day after. I need everything today," she emphasized.
"Yes, ma'am," I repeated.
"Alright then," she said, turning to leave. I watched her depart.
I sank into my chair, exhaling heavily. Placing my coffee on the table, I took a few deep breaths, a small calming ritual. As I'd said, I was ruthless and nice. Being mean to my family didn't extend to others. I gave respect where it was due, and my boss certainly earned it.
As I opened the first page of the spiral-bound papers my boss called "books," something clicked in my mind. She always asked for a "draft" of money received and spent, but despite that, I always submitted everything neatly calculated. She'd often complain, calling it a waste of resources.
Whenever I submitted my work, she never seemed to review the process. She'd always flip to the last page, find the final answers, and it always baffled me. There was a point when I thought she'd already done the calculations herself and simply wanted me to re-do them for the sake of it. But then I noticed she always took my work with her to the monthly conferences. If she was using my work for the conference, did that mean she hadn't done it herself? Or had she?
I pushed the thoughts aside and began working. First, I cross-referenced the numbers in the books with those in my own ledger. Finding them all accurate, I dove into the task.
I became so engrossed that I didn't realize it was lunchtime until my friend, Jasmine, came to find me.
"What's up?" Jasmine asked, poking her head through the open door.
"Nothing much," I replied, not looking up from my work.
"It's lunch time," she announced, and then I finally raised my head.
"Oh, f**k," I muttered, standing from my seat.
"Let's go," I said, and we headed to the cafeteria together.
We picked up our food—the company offered a free food policy, so neither of us had ever paid for a meal or coffee. We found a table and began to eat.
"What's up with your father?" Jasmine asked.
Jasmine was my only friend from college. We attended the same school, though in different departments, meeting on a school trip where we were teammates in a game. Since then, we'd been inseparable. She was the only person I still considered family; she understood everything happening in my house. She was also from a wealthy family but disliked showing it off, a trait that made me love her even more. As fate would have it, we ended up working at the same company—she in marketing, me in finance.
"He's still the same old fool you know," I said.
"Stop calling your father a fool," she cautioned me.
"Why? Isn't he?" I countered, not expecting a reply. She simply sighed.
"Don't you think it's high time you left them alone, gave them their space?" she suggested. I looked at her.
"Their space? That house was never his. It was my mum's. The company, everything he thinks he owns, belonged to my mum. That's precisely why he killed her," I spat.
"Lia!" she exclaimed loudly. I gave her a 'what' look.
"Stop whatever you're doing. People are listening," she hissed. I barely suppressed a sigh and continued eating.
"f**k the people," I cursed under my breath, hearing Jasmine sigh again.
"Well, forget about that. There's a party happening in two weeks," she said, changing the subject.
"A party in two weeks, and you're telling me now?" I asked, amused.
"I know it's early. But I know you, you always use the 'you should have told me earlier' excuse. So, I'm giving you a two-week advance notice," she explained with a smile.
"Come on. You've been single your whole life. Don't you want to get laid by a guy who's freaking hot and handsome?" she pressed.
"What kind of party is it?" I asked, her question about "getting laid" making me realize this wouldn't be just any casual get-together.
"You'll know when we get there. But we're getting ready at your place. Your house is closer to the location than mine," she decided.
"Really?" I asked, and she smiled.
"Come on, Lia. Just this once. If you don't like the party, I'll never force you again," she pleaded.
"Okay," I agreed after a moment's thought.
"That's my girl!" she shrieked, drawing the attention of other diners. Noticing the stares, she gave a slight bow, apologizing, and I smiled.
Soon enough, we finished our food and headed back to our respective offices.
"Get ready to be laid," she whispered into my ear as she stepped out of the elevator. I simply smiled.
- Writer
