"Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell."
–Joan Crawford
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Chapter One — Wèizhī
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I don't think I've ever ran like that before in my entire life since I've dwelled on this planet. I tried to catch my breath, but it turned a new version Tom Cruise's mission impossible. My vision blurred and my breathing became heavy. The only thing on my mind, ringing like an annoying alarm tune, telling me; "You are late!"
Late? How was that even possible!
Tell me?
****
"Miss Johanson, you're quite late today. Anything the matter?" Asked a really annoying colleague of mine.
Kent Clifford. What a son of a bitch he was. We graduated together at a local university a couple of years back, and I could actually say we were friends. But that bastard of a man was only close to me because he had a mission. A mission that was only set up to ruin me, my whole existence and my family. Thanks to God, he failed woefully, and now he hates me. Oh, he despises me.
"Good morning to you too." I smiled and walked away from him to my office spot.
"She wasn't late, you idiot." Becca advanced in, all dressed in her complicated attire.
Rebecca
a.k.a Becca
Lola Ellen, my best friend at work. She was a whole lot of things. One would think she was crazy after their first encounter with her. But after getting to know her better, you'd then realized that she was only just a special breed of unstable. When we first met, during her interview then, she brought with her a young African boy about seven years of age. She immediately began to explain after being interrogated by security that the kid was her emotional support buddie.
The kid was naked!
"He's right though. How can you be of a good leader to your team if you come in to work, running late!" Another co-worker added, supporting Kent. She was already present and wasn't just coming in like Becca.
Jo Margaret Vera. Ahh! Well, she's just one young, beautiful, dazzling dummy.
In my opinion.
Jo is a daddy's girl, she always was. I didn't know much about her past, but I did know just how much of her father's influence was needed before she became the manager she was. One time, our general MD from the head office in Japan suddenly made an announcement that he needed all managers in the New York branch take an exam. He wanted to see just how much worthy we were of our positions. The exam was just a simple quiz containing twenty five questions about how and what we do, daily at our jobs. Not to brag, but I scored the highest of twenty three out of twenty five, and I've never been so proud of myself.
Madam Jo over there, had a total score of seven!
"True. Yea true." Whispered another voice.
April Tamara. Nothing much to say about this one. She's just a deputy dummy to Jo.
"Hey babes." Becca came towards my office. She wore a designer flared pink top, and long skirts that hid her bogus boots popping up only each time she took a big footstep. It was quite normal to me but what suddenly gripped my attention were the heavy pair of huge circular googles that covered up her eyes. They were transparent so you could still see the deep black eye shadow that cornered her Asian cute eyes. Her lips were pale green, like that of a withered grass, and her hair was tied up into four ponytails—two that appeared in front, and two smaller ones at the back.
"Hi there." I replied casually.
"It's not the end of the world that you're late." She said, consoling me as she took the seat opposite me."Work starts by seven thirty, and you made it six fifty two. You're actually not-"
"I always make it to work at exactly sis thirty," I confessed, slightly frowning to convey how embarrassed I felt that morning. Yes. I wasn't late. But technically, on my own time, I was. I was always the first to get to work on my team. "It's part of my good work, and if it wasn't for my punctuality, I wouldn't have been promoted. You know that." I complained and she only rose up to pat me on my shoulder. "I'm so ashamed right now."
"Relax. It wasn't anything. A lot of workers are always here at exactly seven thirty-"
"I am not them, Becca. I'm me." It was in my nature to resume early, do things my way, and live my life exactly how I wanted it to be. So yes, it was quite embarrassing for me that I was over twenty two minutes late, but then, still thirty eight minutes early.
You get the drill!
"Okay. If you say so, my friend." She smiled, then threw her gaze at her extremely long into her claw white nails. Becca was weird but authentic, compared to others. Maybe that was why I liked her. "Oh, when will you get your own manager office?" She asked, staring at me with flashing eyes.
"Uh, the HR said till Monday."
"Wow. I'm so happy for you, babes." She smiled, initiating and maintaining eye contact.
"Oh, you. Stop it." My cheeks probably flushed and my face transformed into a joyous smile.
"I'm so proud of-"
"Tara?" Kent called out, cutting Becca off of her sweet cheer.
"What?" I asked plainly.
"Come here." He ordered, his arms akimbo.
"Pardon?" I peered through from my reading glasses at him, and he stood firmly in his kaki trouser, dark coloured quite attractive shirt and a fancy leather shoe.
"I need to ask you something." He pestered.
"I'm sorry, Mr Kentwood?" Becca questioned.
"Just Kent would do, Becca." He immediately corrected.
"Mr. Kentwood? Yo, I can call you whatever I want."
"Becca, really? It's too early for this right now-"
"She is the new manager of this team, so you better learn how to respect your elders around here."
"Becca, it's okay." I tried interfering, but as usual, to no avail. It was always quite helpless trying to get between them.
"You have no clue, of what I should, uh, the thing that is what I should...wait a minute." He paused, and tried to rethink his sentence.
Becca scoffed out loud. "You've suddenly become dense, Mr Patrick?"
"Mr Patrick of SpongeBob? Really? That dude is a brainless starfish!"
"Well, I should probably change your name on my contact list then, shouldn't I? I'd call you-" Becca was still making her new offer when suddenly our MD stepped in. Mr Freddie was a middle aged genius. He was known for his good work, attractive charisma and his lovely family
two beautiful daughters, and an adoring wife.
He was quite famous, just at the bank, maybe. His daughters were successful actresses, and his wife, an astonishing model. I've met them on few occasions each time he invited us to his paradise home for an event, and they were always more dazzling than the previous time. Mr Freddie was still strong and fit for his age, plus smart at that. I really respect him.
"Quiet you too. It's just morning for fuck sake!" He yelled, and we all managed a chorused "good mornings". "Yea yea, whatever." He grunted, then scrutinized the place as his eyes fell on us all. "Uh," he finally said. "Tara?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Come with me please." He ordered and stomped out.
I wouldn't deny it, but my heart skipped a bit, and I instantly felt traces of sweat trickled down my forehead. It was the end. I knew it better than anyone that, lateness, it just wasn't a crime meant for someone like me to commit. I had a responsibility. And I failed. I failed woefully. I stepped outside and met him resting by the balcony in the hall. I was definitely in trouble.
"Tara-"
"I can explain, sir. It was my fault." I blurted out. "I can explain, for real. I was late today, and I already knew it that I've failed you. I've failed myself. I've failed my family. And worst, I've failed the United States. I-"
"Keep it together, young lady. That's not why I've called you here." He hushed. "So dramatic." I heard him whispered under his breath.
"Really?"
He only sighed in reply. "What is wrong with you all? I needed to know your schedule today, so I'll know if you'd be chanced to accompany me to a meeting by evening." He asked, rolling his eyes.
"Really?" I asked again.
He flashed a raised eyebrow at me in reply.
"Oh, sure. I'm free." I replied, minimizing eye contact.
"Okay, good." He nodded. Then muttered; "Jeez," as he walked away from me.
That was definitely a close call. He rushed back to find me and reminded me about the visitor we were about to receive that day, and I noted it to him that I didn't forget.
A strange person would be coming over to work to ask a few questions. From me.