Fallen Queen

~ C H A P T E R S E V E N ~

I slam the report on the table.

I gave that brunette with loads of makeup three days for a detailed report on the assets of StyLive and Co, yet this is what she fucking turns in- an absolute mess of unorganized data. If the data was left for me to organize, what is she meant to do in the company after all? Flash her obviously fake boobs at people and jiggle her ass in the cafeteria?

"Ysabel, Brooklyn Ramos in my room. A minute, her time starts now," I snap at my assistant, Ysabel- a very organized and professional woman. I hear a second of silence on the other end before she pipes up.

"We don't have a Brooklyn Ramos in our office, Miss Crimson. The closest names might be Elias Ramos, Sylvia Ramos, Brooklyn Stone or Brooklyn Torres-"

"The one who got a permanent position in this year after a fucking-three-month probation period which, I deem was completely and utterly useless, Ysabel. You're making it harder for me- let's say the one who imagines the workplace to be Milan's Fashion Week." I roll my eyes as I hear the soft, suppressed giggle on the other side.

"You mean Brooklyn Torres. A minute, okay."

The line goes dead on the other end and I close my eyes leaning back in my chair and rotating slightly. Fifty seconds to go.

I check my watch every ten seconds. Exactly six times.

Oh, Brooklyn Torres, you're so dead and unlucky that you had to prepare the report. Gone is your existence from Theodore and Co. You're so, so getting your ass kicked out of this goddamn office.

"Miss Crimson, good morning," she squeals in an irritatingly high-pitched voice. I close my eyes and grit my teeth hard. She sways her hips as she marches towards my table- head held high and her stance confident. I look at her assessingly- oh, how much does she underestimate me and my ways?

She pulls one of the seats in front of me and starts to sit.

"Did I ask you to sit?"

She flinches and blushes but quickly covers it up with a fake stammer. I bit the pad of my thumb, pick up the report, running the fingers of my other hand on the tag on the top.

"Assets of StyLive, eh?" I act as if I'm impressed, flipping to the back of the file before opening it. She taps her boots on the floor, creating a soft clicking noise that echoes around the room. I look at her, not bothering to raise my head either. She steals a glance at me and halts her movements. Dramatic much?

I drum my fingers on the forehead as I open the file, flipping the pages over, "Assets and Investments of 2014," I act impressed and flip over the next pages, chanting the titles as I feel her embarrassment. "2012, now, okay- I didn't know 2012 came after 2014- oh, and look what we have here- 2018, huh, how very," I get to my feet and throw the file tightly, towards the front. It wheezes past her and hits the door with a loud rap.

"WHAT A BUNCH OF ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT, BROOKLYN FUCKING TORRES."

She flinches at the noise, and even more at my rage and the blatant swearing. She fidgets nervously, tucking a strand of her now-dyed blonde hair behind her ears, biting her lip.

"Miss Crimson, I-uh, actually had two dates, and," she blushes and bats her lashes, "I couldn't find time to go over and recheck-"

"AND HOW THE FUCK IS THAT ANY OF MY GODDAMN PROBLEM?!" I widen my eyes and shout, crossing my arms and walking over to her front. She dramatically sucks a large amount of air and bites her lip again, starting to open her mouth to give me another one of her pathetic excuses.

"Miss-"

"Shut the fuck up," I snarl at her, "Who you fuck or kiss isn't my problem. You are an employee at Theodore and Co, fuck me because I still don't know the brilliant person who allowed you to look at Theodore and Co, after all, but mind this for the next jobs you'll be searching- you don't come to a workplace and absolutely do not get paid to act as if you belonged to the runaway and not to be in an office- not that you do either," I hiss in her face and see the absolutely detestable glassy eyes of hers.