Short Stories

Top Of The Ladder

Amanda Treston was many things.

She was the Editor of the New York division of one of the most popular online magazines. She had her own office, attended VIP gatherings and prestigious meetings.

Treston always wore her dark, shining brown hair spun into a low bun, the occasional strand that hung behind her right ear only shaking loose when she ran a hand over her temples in stress - that was rare though, she was always calm and collected.

Each morning, Treston would arrive an hour earlier than meant to, and leave an hour later. She worked overtime to make sure the job was properly done, and fixed all the mistakes that her journalists made.

Each morning, she filled up the kettle for the coffee runs during the pitch meetings. She dealt with the stupid ideas, the brilliant ideas, and the more-than-often irritable ones.

Treston had a nice and small apartment at the end of New York. She never cared for a view - she'd spend her downtime in her parent's mustang ranch at Wyoming during her holiday breaks. It was a simple, modern apartment with only a select few personal possessions loitering the tables.

She was a depiction of what is was to be successful, humble, and kind.

Whenever Gareth McKillan entered her building though, that was the only trace of irritation she would show. Treston was always head-strong, she'd fought hard for her spot at the top of the ladder, but McKillan was the only person who made her want to punch something.

She told me that, when she decided she trusted me.

I wasn't the only one who noticed that she had to change to suit trousers whenever he'd decided to 'check in' on the New York division. He was the top boss's personal assistant, monitored everything, and bragged constantly about how he was above Treston, and always would be because he happened to be born with an X/Y-chromosome.

Everyone noticed that she was forced to deal with his sexist remarks, how she dealt with the shade he threw about being 'better' in every way...I was the only one who noticed her though.

Treston's jaw always clenched when he spoke. Her eyes, dark and fierce, were narrowed in murder whenever McKillan looked lower than her eyes. Those light pink lips always pursed, and I knew she was holding back on whatever sarcastic remark would send him buried ten-feet-under.

I started to fall in love with her when I told her my situation, only four weeks into working as one of her journalists.

I'd noticed her, don't get me wrong she was an incredibly beautiful woman, but I didn't know about her courageous personality that was hidden away behind wall after wall of defense. She'd been thrashed so much that she was a rough-cut diamond - and I was a mere flake of ore in comparison.

I knew that she took her coffee with her sugar on the side, somehow having the skill to weave a fern on top with the milk, so I made her one before I entered her office.

She didn't bother stopping her work as I closed the door to her office, but her pen halted for a moment when I placed the coffee on her desk.

"Mr Faulkner..." Miss Treston said, jotting down the last few lines in her notebook before looking up at me with those fierce eyes. They held a touch of wariness in them, seeing me stand in front of her desk. "Something I can help you with?"

I not-so-subtly wiped my hands at the sides of my suit trousers, but didn't look away from her eyes. Her eyes... They had strips of gold behind that dark brown, they were aglow now that the sun was stroking her face.