Wrights And Wrongs

Chapter 1

My desk is broken.

The legs gave out from under it. The papers that I spent hours of my time organizing into perfect piles have slid off the wood and onto the carpeted floor, the categories I created meshing together.

It wasn't like I did anything to make the desk break. I was just going about my business organizing papers. I figured since it is my first day, I should jump right into work to impress Mr. Wright. The way to move up in the company is to impress Mr. Wright so much that he has no other choice but to promote me.

Now, he stands next to my collapsed desk, hands resting on his hips and his gray brows furrowed. The rest of the office is silent, annoyingly curious eyes on us. So much for impressing him on my first day.

"Mr. Wright, I am so sorry. I don't know what happened. One minute I was organizing, the next-"

He holds a hand up. "Oh don't worry about it."

A quiet sigh of relief exits my body. Maybe this rough start won't be so bad after all.

"I'll make sure you are sent the bill." He finishes.

I bite the inside of my cheek so my mouth doesn't say anything I'm currently thinking.

"The bill?"

"You broke it, it's only fair you pay for it. Am I wrong Ms. Travers?"

What a cheap asshole. Of course it wouldn't be wrong if I had genuinely done something I wasn't supposed to that led to it breaking.

Or if it was an expensive, amazing quality authentic mahogany desk specially imported from a tiny shop in California that hand makes each of their desks with care and love and attention and kisses. But this desk was far from that.

In my 25 years of life, I have worked at a surprisingly large amount of desks, and this was the worst I have ever encountered. This was barely good enough to be an Ikea desk. It was clearly a piece of junk if it could crumble under the weight of a few papers. You can't tell me that this desk isn't an IDÅSEN or a BEKANT from ikea. This is a Becan't. Cheap piece of junk.

Wright Industries is on its way to becoming a billion dollar financial services and investments company, one of the fastest growing in the world, and Mr. Wright is making me pay for a slab of wood? I take a deep breath in. Don't get too worked up Florence, you need this job. I'm sure the cost won't even be that much. It's easy for me to lose my temper. Mama says I get that from her.

"You are not wrong Mr. Wright, that sounds completely fair." I bend down as best as I can in my pencil skirt and heels and start to pick up the papers.

"Good." I hear Mr. Wright's voice say. "I'll call someone to clean this up."

I nod, stepping away from the desk, straightening my skirt as I do so. It's slightly tight around my thighs, and I silently curse work attire as a whole. Everything about this outfit is uncomfortable. I can barely breathe in this blouse that Mama lent me from her working days. I could have gone out and bought new clothes, but she insisted there was no reason to do that and waste precious money, when instead she could give me clothes she dug out of her closet, a lost wardrobe collecting dust bunnies and getting chewed through by moths. The least she could've done was maybe give me one that fit better.

People have been telling her that I am her twin my whole life, and I think it got to her head. In reality, she was a petite woman, who was clearly skinnier at my age. In the world of clothing, Her 5'1 can't compare to my 5'6. She greatly underestimated the difference between us when she lended me the clothes that so tightly cling to my body now. To my luck, it was either this or a blue silk blouse with a hole in the sleeve and a giant insect on the back that had way too many legs and arms for my liking.