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1
AMBER
Iconsider myself to be an incredibly organized person. That is what makes me so good at this job, as a receptionist at one of the most renowned companies in the country. The LTD Corporation isn’t exactly a dream job, but it’s been something that pays the bills for the past ten years of my life. That, in itself, says something.
This morning, despite my organized persona, I start to wonder if there is a full moon. Multiple proposals came in at once the day before, along with an assortment of contracts and reports that require immediate review before the chairman can sign off on them. My desk is swamped with paper, my mind fueled by expensive caffeine from the lounge.
I am laser focused, even while the phone continues to ring and emails keep popping up on the monitor before me. This job is all about balance and priorities. And not getting frazzled when things become a bit overwhelming.
My mother always taught me that panicking is a waste of time. Though it may feel necessary during certain tragic and extreme moments, most of the time it just delays the inevitable.
She had been accused many times of being a cold woman because of it. Never by me. I adored her willingness to make the difficult decisions, and it has helped me flourish in my chosen area of expertise.
I have since been accused of coldness just like her, but I work in a sexist environment. Men are allowed to be calculated, focused. I, of course, am not. I am a woman.
Water off a duck's back.
When I finally finish off the files, I feel a rush of relief wash over me. I am satisfied, stacking them in a neat pile before rising from the desk.
Then I walk by the cubicles of my coworkers, carrying the papers with me to the chairman’s office. I hold them in the crook of my arm, stand up straight and knock twice.
“Come in.”
I am the only person who can walk into the chairman's office with virtually no advanced notice. He is a man, of course, so he is allowed to be a hard ass. He never is with me, though. He never has to be – I know how to do my job.
Rustom Williams, or Rust to his closer friends, looks up from his wide, expensive oak desk. The clear blue sky behind him shimmers in the heat, visible and attention-grabbing through the glass windows.
“I’ve got those files you wanted,” I say firmly, placing them down in front of him.
Rust nods, not looking at me at all. He takes them into his hands and places them, one by one, side by side, on the wide space in front of him. He barely reads through them before placing his stamp upon all eight of them.
“Good work as always, Amber,” he says, finishing off the final file with his signature.
A part of me is always irked when he barely takes a second glance. Another part of me knows that this means he trusts me. I am so hard working and efficient that the damn chairman of the company doesn’t need to double check my work.
“Thank you, Rust.”
I gather up the files, bending over the desk as I stack the files together again. Rust never looks at me in any way that is inappropriate, so I never feel self-conscious in front of him. In fact, he’s one of the few men I’ve ever met who hasn’t scanned my body like airport security.
It fills me with ease to not have to worry about that. Plus, I make a point of wearing blouses that button all the way up to my neck and only dress pants to my job. I don’t need any distractions from what I am there for.
“Have you ever thought about doing anything else, Amber?”
I settle the files into the crook of my arm again, my mind having already traveled into the future where I could let my hair down.
“Sorry?”
He smiles at me, that half mouth smirk. “You are great at this. It just makes me wonder if you would be suited somewhere else, somewhere more challenging.”
I give him a nod, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m fine here, Rust. You don’t need to worry.”
He accepts my response, and I return back to the front desk. It is past my usual lunch break, so I go to my favorite cafe around the corner for some calm and quiet.
The cafe is small and cute but often busy. It plays easy-going jazz that always soothes the bouncy nerves inside my body. I stand in line, glancing at my watch every now and then, thinking about what more I still have to do with my day.
As I move up in line, something catches my eye. There is a tall, lean man at the register, wearing a charcoal gray and red plaid suit. It looks expensive, and when he turns around with a coffee in his hand, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
He moves toward me, his familiar steel blue eyes like spotlights in a dark sea. He catches me looking before I have a chance to look away.
