Submission {UNFIN}

Chapter One.

Dominance [dom-uh-nuh-ns]:

1. Rule; Control; Authority

2. The disposition of an individual to assert control in dealing with others

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6:02 p.m., New York City, Vogue National Offices, Top Floor.

"No, just get out," I told her simply, rearranging the papers in front of me that seemed to massacre my desk. Taking a peek at her, still standing there, above the brim of my glasses, I raised an interrogating eyebrow. "If that'll be all?" She nodded with rapid speed, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her. I hate fidgeting. "Use your words."

"Y-Yes." I bowed my head back to the task at hand and placed my hand out in a dismissive gesture.

"That is all." Without having to check for verification with my eyes, she was gone, and I could tell by the swift sound of the door opening and closing. Her being gone, I chose to take a break and remove my glasses, running a hand through my short, blonde bob. The clean white walls of my office were the perfect background for my many colorful pieces of art, and they created a fresh feel while my fur rug and my hot pink chandelier that hung overhead added a more glamorous touch. My office made me happy; I was surrounded by what I liked to think were creative minds, represented by each piece in its own glory.

With the day coming to a close, I wasn't quite sure on whether I was going to work late or leave at the standard time, so as my eyes wandered out on the city lights through my window, my mind drifted elsewhere. A soft knock came from the opposite side of the door, and I jerked my head back, caught by consternation. After turning to the many articles on my desk, I cleared my throat and pushed my glasses down from atop my head to the bridge of my nose.

"Come in," I called, sipping my ginger tea whilst beginning to read the featured article for the next month's issue of Vogue. Finding it particularly boring and lacking flavor, I grabbed my pen and started to scribble notes to the side of the text for things that needed re-evaluation.

"We need you to look at the cover we have." Raising my head from what I was becoming so invested in, I saw Kalani, the magazine's photography editor. Once I placed my mug back down, I laughed easily and shook my head in disapproval.

"If it's anything like the article that accompanies it, I'd rather not." I studied her movements. The way she shifted her weight revealed that she was irritated, and her eyes darted around the room in a manner that told me she was nervous. Even more in depth, her fingers had the slightest of trembles that implied a touch of fear. What a ball of emotions she was, Kalani.

"Could you at least add it to your list of things to do?" Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a custom design post-it and a rhinestoned ball-point pen.

"Write it down," I demanded, holding the items out for her to take. Without a snatch, they were taken from me, and she leaned over the side of my desk for a solid surface as she wrote the reminder down. When finished, she pulled the top note off and handed me the rest of the stack, along with the pen. "Now go put it over there with the rest of them," I directed, motioning my head toward a wall full of post-it note reminders that I had confined to the perimeter of an empty antique frame. Letting a sigh escape her lips, she did so and stood back in front of my work space. "Is that all?" Following her rather agitating leg pat with her hand, she bit her lip briefly and managed a reply.

"No.. We were wondering if you wanted to go get drinks with us." I found it hard to mask my surprise. It wasn't that I had never been invited to socialize with my typically white counterparts, it was that I couldn't believe they'd even think that I might consider such an idea. I didn't associate myself with people who, when told 'Black Lives Matter', replied with 'All Lives Matter'. No, in contrast to my extraordinary success at the magazine, I wasn't going to converse with privileged white people who hadn't regard to anyone but themselves.