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Everything about Mark was dramatic; from the way he built (incredibly skinny) to the way he dressed (he liked fedoras, plaid suits, bowties, and colorful but fake glasses). His way of speaking was theatrical too (a fake British accent) as was the way he’d done his hair (a perm like he was Kat Williams).
Already tired of his mess, Chess retorted, “No, Mark. I don’t know what I did.”
Honestly, she wasn’t interested in why Mark was angry. He was always mad about something. Besides, she had more important things to worry about; like their boss, Richard Huskle.
Had Richard already come in? Chess looked around the reception area but saw no sign of him. However, she did notice that there was a frantic air in the office today. Like something big was going on. Their wedding coordinator, Angie, waved at her hurriedly as she wafted by with a rail holding wedding dresses.
“Stop lying!” Mark dogged Chess’s footsteps as she walked to the reception desk. “You know what you did.”
Still uninterested in his drama, Chess asked, “What are you talking about Mark?”
“I won the fashion show fair and square,” Mark explained, “then you go and cry to Daddy, and poof there goes my dream.”
What? Chess didn’t understand a damn word in that sentence so she just turned away from Mark and instead redirected her attention to their receptionist, Donna. “Morning, Donna.”
“Morning, Chess.” Donna offered a wide smile.
Chess leaned closer to Donna to whisper, “Ishein?”
Donna nodded, and immediately Chess’s heart dropped to her stomach.
Anxiously, Chess asked, “Does he know I’m late?”
“Yup!” Donna leaned forward to whisper, “He asked if you were in before he went to his office.”
Crap! Today was the day Chess was supposed to show Richard that she’d make an excellent Vice President. Richard valued punctuality and dependability very much. Getting to work before him would’ve been a great way to show him that she valued those things too, but now that was ruined.
“Why are you ignoring me?” Mark tapped Chess’s shoulder to draw her attention back to him.
Irritated both by her lateness and Mark’s annoying presence, Chess turned around to snap, “Can you leave me alone?”
“No,” Mark snapped back. “I’m never leaving you alone. I’ll make sure I get back at you for stealing my fashion show. Remember when I said that this would be a friendly competition? I take it back. I’m going to stomp your ass into ash.”
With that, he flounced off in a dramatic huff.
Chess watched him go for a long while before turning to Donna. “What’s up with him? Why is he saying I stole the fashion show?”
As far as Chess knew, Mark was handling the fashion show while she was handling KGM’s latest movie premiere.
Donna shrugged, indicating that she had no idea what Mark was talking about either. Then she said, “The client is in your office.”
“Which client?” Chess frowned. “The lady from KGM?”
“It’s not a lady. It’s a man – a very handsomeman,” Donna corrected with waggling eyebrows. “But Richard wants to see you first before you meet the client.”
Chess was still confused but she nodded and handed Donna her purse. “Keep this for me.”
Several of Chess’s coworkers greeted her as she walked down the hall to Richard’s office, but she was too nervous to give anything other than a brief nod. Once at Richard’s door, she knocked. No one answered, so she pushed the door open slightly and peeked in.
At first, the gigantic office seemed empty. There was no one in the sitting area, no one seated behind the large mahogany desk, and no one by the large windows that looked out into Atlanta’s breathtaking skyline.
Sure that no one was in the office, Chess started to close the door again. But just as she did so, she heard a soft clunking sound. She opened the door fully, only to find Richard standing behind the door with a gold golf-club in his hands. His eyes were on the golf-ball at his feet.
Richard Huskle, the founder and President of Synovent Incorporated, was sixty and looked every year of his age. He was all wrinkles and splotchy pale skin. As usual, he was dressed in dark pants and suspenders over a striped shirt. There were bets going on in the office of whether he had a full closet made up of only striped shirts, dark pants and suspenders, or if he was just wearing the same outfit every day.
Richard knew about the bets. He didn’t care. He had come from a humble background, worked his butt off, and now reserved the right to be as cheap and eccentric as he pleased.
“Richard?” Chess drew his attention to her.
