Ice To Meet You

All's fire in love and war

I place my bag on my chair and make my way to Emily's office. I knock on the door and my heart is fluttering like a hummingbird in my chest.

She's on call but signals for me to have a seat and I do as I am asked. I rub my palms together to evaporate the ice in my veins and they are sweaty—my body is betraying me right now and if I had any food in my system, it would be hurled up by now.

"I will fax you the invoice and we'll only run the ads on articles that are tailored to your department," Amanda says on the phone. I think she's talking to one of our sponsors.

"No, I completely agree and I—" I can hear someone yelling at her on the phone. Although I can barely comprehend the words the man on the other line is speaking.

"I agree and I sincerely apologize." Amanda pleads and I think I've seen just about everything today.

Without her saying anything the call cuts and she keeps her phone down. She's wearing a maroon pantsuit and a white shirt that is so chic it's depressing. How does she have so much time in the morning to get this dressed?

Here I am in my denim jumper, hair pulled up in a bun—looking like a half homeless person whereas she's looking like she just walked out a magazine cover. I wonder how she gets her cat eye to be this sharp.

"You've had an eventful morning," she proclaims and of course she knows. I won't be surprised if she low key runs the page to keep tabs on all the Wall Street men.

"I have, I am sorry for being late."

"I hope you know that it is your first and last slap on the hand. This kind of unprofessional behavior will not fly here, you are this close to getting fired." She holds her hand up to show me the tiniest space between her fingers.

"Wait are you upset about the video?"

"No right now we are talking about you being late to work. You are expected to be on time, especially when your articles are shit. You have to write content that garners readers or find work in the adult film industry." What the fuck?

"Don't react in the heat of the moment Mia," Inner voice finally speaks up and good morning to you to.

"What I do in my private time does not concern my job," I am not going to take shit from her—she better know this from the get go.

"If your behavior in your private time reflect poorly on the company, it does concern my job." She screams and her voice echoes.

A shiver travels down my spine and I bite my tongue to hold back my tears.

"Okay," I unconvincingly mumble.

"Now I want a detailed article about "How to get a man to give it up in the hallway,"." Is she slut shaming me? Does she think it's a joke because it is not funny. 

"I am not going to write that!" I say a little too loudly and realize it instantly. Does she not understand that she is asking for something too personal?

"You are hired to produce what I ask you to write." But this is wrong—this isn't what I signed up for.

"Amanda the media has already crucifyed me and the comment section is filled with trolls slut shaming me. I will not use this moment to push your agenda forward."

I have to stand my ground even if it's shaking.

"Mia you are already on probation and if you don't do as I ask you to do—you can pick up your bag and leave."