His Secretary

Chapter 2: Mathew

"Tell her I want her article in my magazine by next Tuesday morning," I say, slamming my fist down on the table in the conference room, expressing myself to the people sitting in front of me.

"Mr. Johnson, it'll be virtually impossible to get Miss. Waters article into the magazine by next Tuesday. For one, Miss. Waters hasn't let anyone do an interview with her, let alone use her article. Secondly, using next Tuesday as a deadline is literally putting yourself for failure." Quinette O'Donnell, my executive, and definitely the most difficult woman in the world to make a magazine with says. Everything I say she has something to throw it off or prove me wrong.

She leaned forward in her chair, making her blonde hair sway forward at her jaw, and placed her elbows on the table and tapped her fingers together, willing me to do something to change the fact that she could've been right.

But I was not about to let the cranky woman beat me at my own game.

"Then I'll get my best personnel on it. Has anyone heard from Klent Womack?" I say placing my hands on the table and leaning forward.

"He's on sick leave." Brennan Thomas, Quinnete's assistant, says.

"Umm..." I stood up, scratched my chin and leaned against the table, "Oh!" I snapped my fingers, "Carolina Rider, she's great, let's get her on it."

"She's on maternity leave."

"She got pregnant. When?"

"Not long after her and Jordan got married."

I rose my eyebrow, "She's married?" I ask, remembering how the young blonde had practically forced me on her.

I shrugged and continued thinking.

"What about Lance Christopher?"

"You fired him."

"Oh yeah... Well he couldn't be trusted anyway. You know he was working with vogue against us?" I say.

A few nod while others continued to stare intently at their computers and iPads.

Quinette leaned back in her chair, "Just face it, Mathew, it's not possible. You're just setting yourself up for failure."

She'd do anything to get my job, and she tried day in and day out to have me fired.

Pft, like my father would ever let that happen.

I smiled to the woman with lipstick smudged on her teeth, "Mrs. O'Donnell, although you try so hard, I'm not giving up. I'll get someone on this, and I want eyes on all my employees. Maybe we can find a diamond in the rough." I stood up and buttoned my suit jacket, signaling that the meeting was over and everyone bustled about grabbing briefcases and computers.

I looked to the golden Armani watch on my wrist.

11:47 am.

"I'm going on my lunch break." I say exiting the conference room with two people in tow with me as I make my way out of the building.

"Ah, yes sir, would you like your meeting with Mr. Young moved back an hour?" Jennifer Withers asked me, writing away on her notepad, undoubtedly filled with notes and doodles.

I nodded, "Yes, I still need his article."

"Your father has left a couple messages for you, Mr. Johnson." Andrew Dreary, my executive, asks straightening his bold framed glasses.

He was most definitely gay, and try as he might, I don't swing that way.

"Leave them on my desk, Andrew. If he asks where I am, tell him I'll be in meetings from 12 'till 2." I wink at him