Antonella Chris.
Oh no! I cannot afford to be late again today. Antonella Chris panicked on the bus as she thought about her fate. 'Please, can this bus move faster than this?' she begged the driver.
'Miss, you could have just ordered a cab,' the driver snapped. 'Can't you see there is traffic?'
Antonella checked the time for what seemed like the thousandth time.
8:54 AM. OMG! she gasped.
After doing a rough calculation of the distance she still had to cover, she couldn't help but panic continuously.
The bus crawled through the terrible traffic as if it had all the time in the world, while she, on the other hand, couldn’t afford to be a minute late even though she fully understood she couldn't meet the deadline anymore. But there might still be a difference.
'STOPPP!'
Everyone on the bus looked at her, including the driver. They all appeared relaxed and unbothered by the traffic, unlike her.
'I will get off here,' she decided after observing the endless line of unmoving cars.
Slowly running with her bag constantly hitting her sides, Antonella made her way through the crowded area amidst the honking of vehicles, constantly checking the time on her wristwatch.
She was almost at the next junction when suddenly someone unintentionally splashed water on her.
'Ahh!' she held her breath, utterly shocked, before wiping the water off her face with her left hand.
'Why me?' she screamed, annoyed at the situation.
'I am sorry, miss, I didn't mean to,' an old man, seemingly in his 70s, pleaded. 'How about you come inside and I help you with your clothes?' He sincerely seemed concerned about what he did.
'No need for that, I will be fine,' she said, even though she wanted to complain, but seeing the man’s sincerity, she held her anger.
She closed her eyes briefly, trying not to cry. After a deep breath, she took out her handkerchief and began cleaning the spot where the water had touched—her skirt was the most soaked. With a sigh, she continued her journey.
By the time the Kings Corporation building finally came into view, Antonella already felt drained.
The tall skyscraper stood majestically among the surrounding buildings. She couldn't help but study the building and the executive floor from outside.
The building looked cold and unwelcoming, just like the man who owned it.
Antonella entered the building quickly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable itching on her skin.
Immediately she entered the reception, she was met with awkward stares—especially from the receptionist, who looked at her as though she’d just seen a mad woman. Her reaction was unmistakable.
"Good morning, Sharon," Antonella said softly while signing in.
"Morning, Miss Chris. Mr. King is already in," the receptionist replied, as if taunting her.
Her heartbeat immediately sped up at the name 'King.'
Of course he was—always early to work, late to leave, intolerant of lateness and incompetency, she murmured in her mind.
She needed no one to tell her she was not favoured; ever since the past six months she’d worked in the company.
Antonella hurried toward the elevator while continuously praying: 'God, please let him not notice. Please let him be extremely busy. Please—'
The elevator doors opened, and she clicked the button for the executive floor, which was at the top.
Every second in the elevator made her nervous.
DING. The elevator doors opened.
Antonella stepped out slowly.
The quietness on the floor was completely different from the rest of the company. Antonella tiptoed toward her space outside the CEO’s office. Every step weighed on her chest and made a louder thump in her ears.
Carefully avoiding making any noise or causing a scene, she gently placed her bag on the empty shelf. As she was about to sit down—
"Ms. Chris," someone called from behind, causing her to shake with fear. Turning around, her eyes met the CEO’s PA.
"Ahh, Mr. Evans. Good morning," she greeted.
"I’ve checked you in the early hours of the morning, and I couldn't find you in your seat. You’re being summoned by the CEO. Mind you, he knows you were not here," he added with a straight voice before leaving.
Was that advice?
Knock, knock... Antonella knocked, her heart pounding.
“Come in," she heard his distant, ruthless voice. For some reason, she couldn't help but shiver. As she took four steps in, beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
The CEO was on a phone call, his hand hidden in his left pocket, with his back facing her.
After standing for a few minutes, her leg grew tired, and her body restless. She couldn't help but pray he would end the call quickly—at least so she’d know what fate awaited her.
His call ended.
"Good morning, Mr. Kings," she greeted with a bright smile, trying to hide her nerves.
"Miss Simon, what does the time say?" he asked, ignoring her greeting.
"It is Miss Chris, not Simon," she wanted to correct, but she swallowed her words.
9: "9:58 AM, sir."
"What was the time instructed of you to sign in and out of the company when you were appointed?"
"8AM—6PM, sir," she responded guilty.
"Good."
"So, why weren't you found in your seat?" he asked, slamming his hand on the innocent desk, anger evident in his voice.
"I lost track of time, sir," she blurted out of fear.
"Imagine... you are even proud to admit that," he said. 'For someone who was employed in a high position, barely even used a year. I don't pay you to be irresponsible.'
"Do you know the type of people I hate the most?" he asked.
"People who fail to act professionally despite the pay," Antonella hurriedly answered before he could. After months of working with him, she knew his favourite line of words.
"I am deeply sorry, sir. Please have mercy," she pleaded.
Silence fell—an even worse silence than anger.
"This is your last warning. I won't hesitate to fire you next time."
"Take these files, work on them, and have Evans report on them," he commanded.
She stepped forward, about to take the files when he squeezed his nostrils.
"What's this awful smell?" His sharp eyes briefly moved over her and stopped on the wet stain on her skirt and sleeves.
Sniffing her body, Antonella realised it was the scene that happened on her way to work.
She felt embarrassed by his remark but lowered her gaze quickly to explain, afraid to meet his eyes.
Just as she was about to explain—she was cut off.
His expression darkened slightly. “You look like a stray cat.”
"How costly is body spray? You reek of smells. Get something to treat your body odour. Also, I understand how bad the economy is, but you still have to prove you are worthy of your post," he said, scanning her from head to toe.
"Everything is not about qualification and intelligence," he stressed the words enough to echo in her ears all month.
"You’re dismissed."
