Before the Factor

Strictly Business

My heels clap against the tiled floor or the office building. People look out of their office cubicles to see me, others whisper my name and sneak looks.

Finally, after three and a half months, the British office is ready for me to get to work. Music pours through ever crack and crevice here, if not in melodys, then in notes. Voices and instruments sing together in perfect harmony here. I have never felt so comfortable than here at my job, making music for a living is a dream come true.

Harry insisted on me staying home, since he was going to be here for a month before taking off for a short tour. My protests were solid; being left alone caused nothing but loneliness and the feeling that I was in the way all the time. He sighed and looked me in the eyes, pleading silently, and smirked. He knew there was nothing that would stop me, nothing that could shake my resolve.

Boss made sure I had the best office, top of the line recording studio, three assistants and made sure everyone knew I was in charge. Before I stepped through the door my reputation was known throughout the fifteen story glass giant, the youngest executive producer working here at these offices. An entire floor was dedicated to my work, I have thirty coworkers sitting beside me in cubicles, bleak and plain.

Now, let me get something straight, my dear boss is known for his exaggeration. I have never been in charge of this many people, I have never had a corner office that overlooks the center of Britain, and I have never ever spoken to a group of people that will look up to me. Not to mention the fact that they're all older than me.

They all watch me as I make my way to the slightly raised platform, head held high and walk as confident as ever. Looking at me. Sixty pairs of eyes, sixty pairs of ears, all waiting for me. "Good morning everyone. I won't waste time introducing myself, since you must know me already." I smile and a few faces smile back, "here at Armstrong Productions we strive to make the most prestige music and artists. The goal of our company is to give the public what they already love, the music that is popular now. We strive to make music reachable, easy to listen to, comfortable." Eyebrows furrow in confusion, sidelong glances at friends. All black and grey, the offices is a prison for these people. They dress in boxes and triangles, no creativity in sight. "But," I focus on one man in the back, dark skin and dark eyes smile at me, "that is not our goal."

I step down from the platform, no longer willing to be their dictator, "Our goal is to find music that will lead the way. Our goal is to find artists sitting at bars and playing their hearts out, starving just to be heard by someone important. Our goal is to find music that will come out tomorrow," I smile at a woman that glows with happiness, she is ready for a change. "Music that will make you think, make you cry and smile and want to dance. Music that will make you really listen."

Sixty pairs of eyes, gleaming in my direction, thirty smiles showing me they are ready for a challenge. "But first things first," I say as I lean against an office. I peak at the name tag in black and white. "Jennifer Kingston, come up please."

A blond with beautiful brown eyes walks up to me, black shirt, grey pants, all uniform and angles. "Yes?" She asks in a sweet voice.

"Now, Jennifer, what is your favorite color?" I ask her

Shock registers all over her face, unsure if the question is meant to be answered or not. "It's pink, miss." She says finally.

I smile and place a hand on her shoulder, turning her toward the others that watch us with curious eyes. "Pink! What a lovely color! Now, I want each and every one of you to go home and find something that is your favorite color, whether it's blue or pink or neon yellow. It can be a shirt or hats or even pants! No more of this," I gesture to all of them, the sea of blacks and greys. "I want creativity! Light! Color! I want music blasting through the speakers and people comfortable in their own work place." They're shocked, not sure what is going on. They all linger, not sure to take my words into action. Never has Armstrong Industries shown the slightest bit of gratitude their employees deserve. Our industry is a machine, a robot with no feelings and no regard of the things that make it run. I smile at them all, "Go home, change, get some donuts for all I care!" I take Jennifer's arm, she looks at me with surprise. "Because there's nothing wrong with having a little fun."