Dangerous: A Marcel Styles Fan Fiction

3: Best Song Ever

3: Best Song Ever

   “I-is this seat taken?”

   “Um, no.”

   “What department h-have you been assigned to?”

   “Executive assisting…. What about you?”

   “M-marketing.”

   I couldn’t get our conversation – though it had been incredibly short and vague – out of my head. At least I hadn’t been assigned to the same department as Marcel. In fact, I was the only junior executive assistant out of every new intern. And – as I was sure was another act of my father’s seniority – I was assigned to the office, outside my father’s and Jonny’s.

   My supervisor, Rachel Fey, was a woman I knew as family, as she’d spent the last ten years working as the assistant of the two best friends heading the company. Granted, ten years wasn’t long, but it was the portion of my life I could consciously remember.

   “And remember,” Rachel purred in a conclusion to her first official intern training speech, which I had failed to pay attention to, “don’t go all crazy when our clients come to speak with Jonny and your father. They’re just normal people.”

   I nodded. The tall, slender blonde had been pacing in front of the desk I’d been given – symmetrical to hers in the office – giving me this continuous spiel for the past half hour. I’d taken the opportunity, when her back had been turned to me, to quickly dig my journal out of my bag and read over some song lyrics I’d written two nights ago, editing them mentally and judging what my thinking process had been.

   “These orientations actually came on a very good day,” she said with a smile, “We actually have some clients coming in to speak with the executives today. We’re working on their new movie, and we’ve just begun working with them to produce a new single and music video to promote it.”

   I nodded again. Until this work got interesting, all I wanted to do was write. However, until I was more than just an intern, this work probably wouldn’t get interesting. So much for my dream….

   Rachel stepped away from me as the ringing of the phone blared through the small office. I took this liberty to slip a pen from the surface of my desk into my hand to turn my mental editing into making actual correcting marks on the pages of my journal. I honestly felt a pang of regret looking at these lyrics. I silently vowed to never again stay up writing until three in the morning.

   “Yes?” I heard Rachel purr when she answered the phone on her desk. I took a quick glance to see her stare at her computer screen for a mere moment before she continued to the unknown deity on the other end of her connection. “No they’re free. Send them up,” she said before returning the corded phone to its dock.

   “Who was that?” I asked out of my own curiosity.

   “Dana from the front desk downstairs,” Rachel said, rushing over to the bar counter near the back of the office. As she took out five glasses and an oddly-shaped pitcher of crystal clear water, she spoke again with the words, “Your father’s clients are here for their appointment. Nothing special.”

   She said “nothing special” as if every day some celebrity passed her on the way to speak to my father and Jonny. But these celebrities were releasing a single only to promote a movie. Obviously, her words had a hint of a lie to them.

   I kept my head down and focused in my journal, considering Rachel had neglected to give me any actual work yet – definitely, so far, making this the easiest job on the planet earth – only until I heard the sound of footsteps in the hall outside the tidy, white office; five sets to be specific.