Chapter Two: Office Matters
1274 Words
Chapter Two
By twelve-thirty, I was beginning to wonder if I'd been a little too confident. The report was going well. At least, I thought it was.
I'd spent the first hour going through the company's expenditure reports, then another forty minutes comparing them with the previous quarter. There were obvious areas where costs could be reduced, but I didn't want to make assumptions before I understood why the money was being spent in the first place.
I leaned back in my chair and looked over the spreadsheet again. Everything was where it should be. Numbers aligned. Figures checked. Notes properly referenced.
I smiled.
See? You could do this.
A shadow fell across my desk.
“You're the new intern?”
I looked up. A man stood beside my desk, holding a folder against his chest.
“Yes.”
He looked at my ID.
“Kensington.”
“Yes.”
He gave a short laugh.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He walked away. I frowned after him. Okay. That was strange. I turned back to my screen.
Five minutes later, another voice came from behind me.
“So you're the Cornell girl.”
I turned. A woman was standing there. She looked about my age, maybe a few years older.
“Cornell?”
“Your degree.”
“Oh.”
She smiled. It wasn't exactly friendly.
“Must've been expensive.”
I didn't know what to say to that.
“Excuse me?”
She shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Then she walked away. I stared at her back. What was wrong with everyone?
I looked around the room. Most people were busy with their work, but every now and then someone glanced in my direction.
I tried to ignore it. I had work to do. That was why I was here. Not to make friends. Not to figure out what people thought of me.
I returned to the report.
---
At one, I went to the cafeteria. I had barely sat down when someone dropped into the seat opposite me.
“Elena Kensington.”
I looked up. The same man from earlier.
“Do I know you?”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Okay.”
He opened his lunch.
“I'm Daniel.”
“Hi, Daniel.”
“You really got the internship?”
I blinked.
“Yes.”
He looked genuinely surprised.
“Interesting.”
I put my fork down.
“Is there a reason everyone keeps reacting like that?”
He shrugged.
“Like what?”
“Like I'm not supposed to be here.”
He smiled.
“You'll get used to it.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only one you're getting.”
Before I could respond, he stood.
“Good luck.”
I watched him leave.
I hated that phrase. People only said good luck when they thought you needed it.
---
By two, I had finished my first draft. I printed it, read through it once, then again.
I found two minor formatting errors. Fixed them.
Printed it again.
Better.
I walked towards Mr. Collins' office with the report in my hands. I knocked.
“Come in.”
I placed the pages on his desk.
“Finished.”
He picked them up.
I waited. He read the first page. Then the second. Then the third. His expression didn't change.
Finally, he placed the report on the desk.
“You made a mistake here.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
He pointed.
“Page one. Third column.”
I leaned over the desk. I looked at the figure. Then looked again.
There it was. A misplaced decimal.
My face warmed.
“I'll correct it.”
“You'll have to correct more than that.”
I looked at him. He turned the page.
“This comparison isn't useful.”
“Why?”
“Because you're comparing two periods with different operating conditions.”
I frowned.
“But the expenditure increased by—”
“Yes. But why?”
I stopped. He tapped the page.
“You're telling me what happened. You're not telling me why.”
I nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
He flipped another page.
“This section is redundant.”
Another.
“This could be presented more efficiently.”
Another.
“And you've missed this entirely.”
I stared at the page. I had. I actually had.
Mr. Collins closed the report.
“You have a good academic background, Summers.”
I looked up.
“But?”
“But this isn't an examination.”
I didn't answer.
“You don't get marks for showing me how much you know. I need useful information.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Redo it.”
I took the report.
“By when?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
I walked out.
---
I sat at my desk and stared at the report.
A decimal! One stupid decimal!
I had checked that page three times, maybe four, but still didn't see it.
I looked at the spreadsheet again. Everything seemed fine.
I opened the original figures. Then the report. Then the figures again. I couldn't find another mistake.
I looked around.
Nobody was paying attention to me. At least, I didn't think they were. I turned back to my computer.
A message appeared on my screen.
You missed the point.
I stared at it. Then looked around. The message was from an internal chat account I didn't recognise.
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
This isn't Cornell.
My heart skipped. I quickly closed the window. As I looked towards the other desks. Everyone seemed to be working.
I sat there for several seconds, then I reopened the chat. Nothing.
No name. No profile picture. Just the two messages.
I closed it again.
Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe someone had sent it to the wrong person. That had to be it.
I forced myself to return to the report, but I couldn't concentrate.
---
At five-thirty, people began packing up. I was still at my desk.
The report sat open in front of me. I'd rewritten almost half of it. This version was better. I knew it was.
I saved the document and finally shut down my computer.
As I stood, I heard voices behind me.
“She's still here?”
“Apparently.”
“She'll learn.”
“Or she won't.”
A laugh. I turned.
Three people were standing near the elevators. They stopped talking when they saw me. One of them smiled.
“Goodnight, Kensington.”
“Goodnight.”
The elevator doors opened. They stepped inside while I remained where I was.
I hated this.
Not because they were rude. I could handle rude.
What bothered me was that I didn't understand what I had done.
I had walked into this building that morning knowing exactly what I wanted. I had known what I was capable of. Now, I was walking out wondering whether I'd imagined all of it.
My phone buzzed.
Dad: Don't forget dinner. Don't be late.
I stared at the message.
Then at the elevator doors.
For the first time all day, I didn't feel like answering him. I didn't know whether I wanted to tell him how well my first day had gone. Or whether I wanted to pretend it had never happened.
The elevator arrived, so I stepped inside.
As the doors closed, I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall.
Hair still perfect. Makeup still intact. Clothes still neat. Everything about me looked exactly the same as it had that morning. So why did I feel like something had already gone terribly wrong?
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