Forced (1st book in The Forced Series)

Chapter Three *REVISED*

Chapter Three

"What are you doing? Am I paying you to waste time and the company's resources? I need the advert draft now."

Hazel glanced up at the skinny brunette glowering at her. Martina Bartons had never displayed any other emotion than haughty disapproval towards her. It seemed as if whenever Hazel was in a room, Martina's only expression was a sour one. That is if the Vice President of Avail Advertising Co., Charles Avail, wasn't in the room. Whenever he was within fawning distance, Martina was a creature of with only gracious smiles and perfect manners for all.

She reminded Hazel of the many older, stiff women her mother had associated with. They all looked at life with scales in their eyes. If whatever they were presented with was not the exact replica of what they presumed to be standards, then it was something to be scuffed at and scorned.

And that reminded Hazel of Lionel. A sobering thought.

"I gave them to Charles nearly half an hour ago. I'm waiting for his approval." Hazel answered looking back at the computer screen.

In that same half an hour she had been trying to do some research on George Industries. So far she had only managed to stare at the Google home page with its flickering cursor symbol mocking her.

Martina's face seemed to swell with indignant horror, "You don't report to Charles; he has bigger fish to fry than some freelancer trying to sell doodles. Do not over step your boundaries, child."

"So, since I report to you, is it that you have nothing more to do than handle 'some freelancer'?" Hazel didn't spare her a glance, saying in the flattest tone she could manage, "Charles came to your office for a report on it, dear, but you were in the restroom; powdering your nose. Our important V.P had to come straight to the freelancer for something as trivial as 'doodles'."

Hazel could feel the other woman's glare leaching into her back. Heck, she could practically feel razor sharp knifes stabbing into her. A shiver ran the length of her spine but she held her ground, choosing to type in Lionel George in the search bar to give herself something to focus on other than all the bile, curses and ill wishes she was being washed in by her supervising officer.

"Why would he come to you when he could call my cell?" Martina demanded, more to herself than the Hazel, stomping off in the general direction of the man in question.

Hazel continued to stare at the computer as the browser changed from the home page to show all the hits on her search.

"Come on Hazel, it's not like he'll find out..." she muttered under her breath, keeping the pointer hovering over the second hit on the page. It was an article from a seemingly reputable business journal.

'The-Woes-of-George-Industries-and-the-failing-...' It read.

Just as Hazel was about to throw away caution and click on the link, her cell rang. She picked up the battered old thing, not bothering to check the caller ID before she flipped it open to answer, "Yes... Oh, Charles... Okay... That's good... I'll make the changes and send it over by tomorrow then... Yes, I hope to see you some other time... Goodbye then."

When she ended the call, Hazel glanced up in time to see an irate Martina stomping into what she knew to be the finance department.

When Hazel got out into the hot August sun, she took a second appreciate all the things she had grown familiar with in the bustling part of Chicago she traversed over the years. She noted, once again, that her life as she knew it would be over if she decided to 'help'. There would be no long walk from her apartment to the bus stop nearly three blocks away, no Martina to entertain her on her infrequent trips to Avail Advertising Co. and obviously no studio apartment. She couldn't imagine a big shot living in an old apartment building with rusty stairs and an ever out of order elevator. No, she seriously couldn't see the mysterious Mr. Steel's son, whoever he was, walking up five flights of creaky stairs in this heat with no air conditioner.