Mr. Billionaire: A novella

Chapter one

Over the past year or so, I have found myself constantly wondering what it would be like to murder someone. It's tempting. It causes an internal conflict like no other because a part of me desperately wants to feel the absolute pleasure of watching the life slowly drain from her eyes, but the other half wants to go to heaven.

I am not crazy. I know that's exactly what a crazy person would say but, in my defence, I happen to work for the most demanding, most controlling, most selfish person to ever stain the surface of the earth with their existence. I am her assistant manager and that's all I'm paid for, yet I'm required to bring her coffee every morning, get her lunch, and, on occasion, deliver food to her house... outside of work hours! And since that is obviously not enough, I also do most of her work and come up with most of her ideas. And the woman has the audacity to be displeased with everything I do!

Before you roll your eyes and say, "Just don't do it, then!" or "Just quit!", let me inform you that I desperately need this job. In a moment of temporary insanity, I decided that, in order to become more competitive in my career and to earn a better salary, I would enrol in a master's programme at the local university. Needless to say, it is very expensive. I am in my final year and cannot risk quitting my job for one that doesn't pay enough to cover my tuition and other expenses. Or, worse, I don't want to be unemployed and unable to get a job. Also, I love to hate Monica. It's fun (new-found homicidal tendencies aside).

I'm currently at home- a small, cosy house close to the city where I both work and go to school. It originally belonged to my aunt, who now lives in England. It's early in the morning and I'm getting ready for work. I pull on a blue, business-casual dress and arrange my natural curls into a high bun, then apply some mascara and a dark-brown lip gloss that blends perfectly with my dark complexion.

Five minutes later, I'm out the door and hopping into my 2007 Honda Accord that I once borrowed (stole) from my older brother. Twenty minutes later, I'm pulling into the parking lot of the building that will soon become "the best and most successful fast-food restaurant in Moon Rocks"- as Monica likes to put it. The owner of Scott's Burgers decided to open one of his restaurants in the area (as if the area doesn't have enough fast-food restaurants) and Monica is to be the general manager.

The building is still under construction in some areas. Unfortunately, one such area is the elevator that leads to the executive floor. For now, we are stuck taking the stairs. A staircase consisting of fifty-two steps. Yes, I counted. It's not fun, especially when you have to be up and down the stairs a billion times a day running errands that are mostly unnecessary.

I approach Monica's office and knock on the door. A few seconds pass before she shouts, "Come in!"

"Good morning," I say cheerfully as I make my way over to her desk.

"You're late," is her response. I check my watch. I'm seven minutes early.

"Sorry," I mutter, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Monica has a rule that you're only early if you get to work before she does, which I don't really complain about since she is always late.

Monica is light skinned and has shoulder-length relaxed hair that she always wears flattened and curled inwards at the ends. She frowns and lifts a coffee cup from her desk. "I got this from the cafe across the street. It has regular milk in it and does not taste good. Throw it away and get one for me that has condensed milk."

As I take the cup from her, I cannot help but wonder if it would taste good with cyanide.

I return about ten minutes later and hand her a fresh cup of coffee, sweetened with condensed milk. She takes a sip before placing it on her desk. "Not bad," she says, "although it's a bit too sweet."

You're welcome.

I take a seat across the desk from her. "How's everything coming along?" I ask her.

She sighs. "Bad news. Orlando Scott's people called this morning. He's flying in next week to check on things and will be staying until the launch."

"But everything's going well. Why is that bad news?"

She stares at me in bewilderment. "Orlando Scott is a slave driver. I heard he's impossible to work with."

I laugh out loud at the hypocrisy, then stop myself as I see her staring wide-eyed at me. I clear my throat. "The opening is only a month away. Maybe it won't be that bad," I say.

"Let's hope so. I need you to go over the updated reports that Shawn sent over yesterday then email them to Mr. Scott's secretary. When you're done, call my mother and tell her I won't be able to visit her on Sunday. Tell her I'll be busy." As I open my mouth to protest, she continues in an overly polite tone, "Tina, if you believe this job is requiring too much of you, that's okay. I wouldn't be upset if you wanted to quit. Replacing you won't be easy but I'll manage."

I plaster a big smile on my face. "Now why would I do something like that, Monica dearest?"