Finally (A Storm and Silence Fanfiction) ✔️

4. Back To Work

On Monday, I arrived at Empire House at eight o' clock sharp. Why go to work an hour early, you ask? Simple. To prove a point: that women could be just as good, if not better, than men. Even if it was a point Mr. Stone-head Ambrose was unwilling to acknowledge.

But the moment I made it to my office and jiggled the door handle... I knew something was wrong. It wasn't so much the overall sense of panic and hysteria as it was the fact that my door was locked, and that it remained locked even after I stuck my key into it. "Mr. Ambrose!" I began shouting as I pounded on the door. "Hello! Is anybody there?"

There was no reply. Not even a "Mr. Linton, stop wasting my time by speaking at an unnecessary volume." Nothing.

This was almost as appalling a discovery as the one of Rikkard Ambrose donating money to a feminist cause! He lived at Empire House, bathed and slept and ate here! If he wasn't here, he must be dead!

No. Mr. Ambrose could never die. If Death, or Hell, or Hades ever came to claim him, he would scare them off simply by giving them an icy cold stare.

Maybe he was ill? No. That was impossible. Being ill was a waste of his time, money, power, and knowledge. As long as there was profit to be had, he would most certainly not lie about in his extremely uncomfortable bed, sniffling and coughing.

There were no other reasons for him not to be here. But why had he changed the locks? Was he ignoring me? Was he firing me for daring to accuse him of giving money to charity? I gulped. As much as I loved feminism, one couldn't make money off of it. Ergo, one couldn't become independent by waving signs or demonstrating. I had to work somehow!

"Mr. Ambrose! Open that blasted door!" I pounded on it harder, hurting my fist in desperation. I didn't care. I had to be here. I had to do my job. Because... because...

Because I needed money, damn it! Because I needed money, and I... I needed money from him. I needed him to sign my bloody pay check. I didn't need him, the person. Not Rikkard Ambrose, the miser. The estranged son. The man who had kissed me countless times. The man who looked like he was made from cold, hard stone, but felt as warm and alive as anything when he was holding me close. I needed Rikkard Ambrose, the employer. My employer. Nothing else.

Oh, really?

"Shut up."

Nothing else? Don't you mean, everything else?

"I most certainly do not!"

But don't you ever wonder what it would be like to be more than his secretary-slash-dogsbody?

"If I do, that's perfectly natural curiosity. I can wonder things about anyone I like!"

But you don't wonder things about, per se, Captain James Carter, do you? Or... Morty?

"I could, if I wanted to!"

But you don't. You don't want to, because you don't want them. You want Rikkard Ambrose, the man. Not the employer.

"I want the man who gives me money, that's all!"

You want the money. You want the man. Those are separate things, and you know it.