Carson's Creed

1

AFTER PARKING her car in her spot, and having a thirty second motivational speech to herself, as her hands clenched onto the steering wheel, Carson headed to the elevator, and pressed her office floor's button.

There wasn't much that she could say she was happy about. Her magazine was top trending in Rome, but it wasn't enough anymore. Something was wrong. Something felt missing. She felt empty. It was almost nine in the morning. Half an hour later than she usually arrived, and her employees were probably thinking that she was dead, because she was never late for work. Never.

When the elevator doors opened two floors before hers, two of her designers walked in, and it seemed as though they didn't recognize her, because their eyes were glued on her breasts.

Disrespectful, "look away, or else I'll make you," she snarled at them.

And that's when their eyes shot up, and fear ran through them like Holstein Bolt at a marathon, "Miss Jenner," the tall one gulped, and the other didn't say a word. Shock drained all the blood from their faces, because they were pale as fuck.

"How's the design for April coming along? I want to see the first set of ideas before the end of the day, else I will have your jobs, and your prospective careers," she told them.

They both gulped, and nodded hastily, "of course, ma'am, we'll bring it to you as soon as it's finished."

"I want it at 2:00 sharp, or your jobs will be passed along to those more deserving in your field," Carson was a fair boss, and wasn't usually so uptight and threatening, but they pissed her off.

When the elevator reached her floor, the doors opened, and they rushed out. She shook her head in amusement, and took a deep breath, before stepping out. It didn't take a second for eyes to be fixated on her, as usual. She walked straight to her office, ignoring the usual stares, and cursed, as part of her morning routine, that it was surrounded by glass walls.

Inhaling deeply, she placed her handbag onto her desk, and headed for the decanter on the small table at the edge of the room, so that she could pour herself some whiskey.

After pouring and chugging it down, she stretched her neck from side to side, before heading to the conference room for the meeting. Everyone was already there, and she realized that she was a few minutes late, "Good Morning, everyone. Thanks for waiting. I'd like to address the theme for April, and listen to your pitches, as you all know."

Everyone nodded and Carson tilted her head to the side. This is going to be a long meeting.

After going over the pitches, and side-lining a few ideas, Carson was finally able to head back to her office, and rest her mind for a bit. She ran her fingers through her red hair, and inhaled a deep breath, "Carson," she looked up to see Paul Fletcher walking into her office. He was one of the many men that the redhead had tempted into her bed. And was the only one who actually proposed after a few months of fucking around. Carson declined, of course. He was one of her main investigators at the magazine, and an arrogant, six feet four tempter. But Carson swore to never enter personal ties with him ever again. Not when they barely could handle an amicable relationship without him bitching about her being a stone cold redhead.

"Yes, Paul?"

"I have a scoop on a famous writer who's in The States. She moved away from here two years ago, and within those two years, she managed to become a bestselling author of erotic, lesbian fiction. Those dykes like to read."

Carson raised a brow at his crude comment, but didn't set forth her thoughts on it, "why are you telling me this? I run a gossip magazine. Not a tell-all-tale of lesbian successors."