Mimeomia

01 | fluke

CHAPTER ONE

FLUKE

( — unlikely chance occurrence, especially a surprising piece of luck. )

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

          "I THINK I'M GOING TO GET FIRED."

          Ginny lifts her stare from her planner, setting down her pen, as Michaela makes her way towards her desk, sliding her purse off her shoulder, but doesn't utter a word. There's a faint line of sweat running down the side of her neck and her blazer is resting on the back of her chair, with the heating system having been turned on to nearly hellish levels. Josephine, from across the hall, is to blame for that one.

          Michaela wishes she looked this glamorous while sweating. Though it's awfully hot on their floor, Ginny Daugherty makes it look bearable, without a single strand of hair out of place. Michaela, on the other hand, has to wipe the salty sweat from her forehead and neck with a paper tissue before sitting down (and she's trying not to think about the stains on her armpits). Ginny makes everything look easy, if we're being honest, and, while Michaela has been working for Union Daily for a lot longer than she has, it's no surprise they work well together.

          She's just too nice and eager to please.

          "Can you tell me I'm never going to be rich enough to buy this magazine and have a nice chat with HR regarding the heating system?" Ginny eventually says, as Michaela twists her hair up into a messy bun. "Because what you say is going to happen never really happens." Michaela scowls, falling to her chair and turning on her computer. "What happened this time?"

          "How long has it been since my last big article?" The rustling sound of pages being turned fills the room, with Ginny flipping through her planner, because of course she wrote it down. When Ginny raises three dark, perfectly manicured fingers, each representing a week, Michaela sinks even lower into her chair. "Exactly. I ran into Blair on my way up here and she made sure to remind me of that, which means I'm probably getting fired by the end of the week."

          Blair Daniels isn't even the editor-in-chief for Union Daily—she's the executive assistant for the actual editor-in-chief, Howard Thorne—but she surely acts like it whenever she can. At thirty-two, she stands at a little over five feet, but every employee dreads to be in the same room as her, especially when the time for making cuts comes. She takes great pleasure in knowing the power she has over everyone else, obviously.

          She also enjoys wearing color-clashing outfits, all planned in advance. Today, Monday, is bright-red and hot-pink day.

          "Old Howie isn't going to fire you," Ginny points out, and Michaela pulls out a packet of dry apple slices from inside her purse. It's her go-to snack when she's stressed out and, when you're working for Union Daily, stressed out is your primary mood. "The dude likes you almost as much as he likes Blair."

          She keeps her voice down, even though they're the only ones in the room. The walls of their floor are entirely made of glass and, while that gives them a wonderful view of the city on their breaks—both official and unofficial—it also steals plenty of their privacy, with HR employees constantly pacing around the hallways. They call it the ice cube, provided the water was boiled before being frozen.

          Michaela sighs, doodling her signature on a light-pink post-it note and examining the straight lines of the two Ts on her last name. Tate. Ta-te. "I haven't written anything relevant in three weeks. We all know I can't get away with writing about parrots and outdated memes for much longer."