I'm No Cinderella

Chapter 5

“So how was the cruise darling?” Mrs. Hilda came finding me early Monday morning. I wish she didn’t need to ask me that, but seeing as she just wouldn’t leave until I said something, I put up the biggest brightest smile and lied to her.

“Oh, it was amazing, Hilda!” I said and somehow felt even an ad for cereals would sound duller than my fake cheer voice, “I had the best time of my life. By the way, we are having a meeting at ten am I right?”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Hilda said dismissively, “So how did your friends react?”

“Oh, they were surprised,” I said, not able to erase Jennifer’s evil sneer from my mind. I wonder why the alcohol wouldn’t just erase that, instead of erasing everything else that happened after that.

“I bet they were envious of how hot you looked,” she said enthusiastically.

“I doubt that,” I said, scratching my not itchy head. They were anything but envious – they just hated me.

“Don’t be so modest dear,” Mrs. Hilda said, just as my Chief Editor, Mr. Robinson came into my office, making Mrs. Hilda scurry off like a frightened mouse.

“Sam!” he said, as I almost jumped from my seat. There was no need for that tone, “What are you still sitting and chatting idly for? Didn’t I tell you to get all the reports ready for the meeting?”

“I am compiling it sir,” I said defensively. Mr. Robinson had came in the morning instructing me to get all the yearly reports ready for an important meeting with the President who is the Chairman’s son. Lucas and Richardson Publications are owned by two Chairman’s who are best friends, Mr. Jeffrey Richardson and Mrs. Patricia Townsend – Lucas. The Chairman Lucas’ son, who was probably and old git would be running the company from this month and today would be the first meeting with him – and that is why old Mr. Robinson seems to be bouncing on the balls of his feet in nervousness.

 “What do you mean you’re compiling?” he snapped and I looked at him. Doesn’t compiling mean to compile, why does he need to know the meaning of it? “The meeting’s in five minutes and you’re still not done with the compiling?”

“Five minutes?” I repeated, looking at my wristwatch in puzzlement, “But, sir, you said the meeting will be at ten and now’s only eight thirty.”

“I don’t make the rules here now don’t I?” he said snappishly, “The President is here and he’s calling for the meeting now. Compile quickly and I will go for the meeting first and try to dally till you finish. And do hurry; you’re also taking the minutes for the meeting. I will ask Leonard to take it until you get there.”

Why do I have so many works to do today? I still have four manuscripts to proofread and now this? If this is how it’s going to be with the new President, he’s already in my hate list. I got back to the task of compiling the yearly reports while I see everyone else rushing to the conference room. It made me more nervous as I have never been late to any meetings before. It was almost nine when I finally finished.

I carried the papers and ran to the conference room – thankfully back to my old self so I’m not wearing heels, but comfortable flats. I opened the door to the conference room and everything went silent as everyone looked at me curiously. I smiled and walked in, careful not to trip. Careless things seemed to happen to me only when people are watching. Gravity does not pull me to the ground when I am alone.

“Here she is,” Mr. Robinson said from the front as I rushed to where he is seated, “Sam’s here with the reports sir.”

I couldn’t see the President, but no matter as I just need to sit in my place to stop all those staring colleagues. What – is it a crime to be late now?