Don't Look Down

four: don't you have mercy?

I'm still tenantless Monday morning, and even more hopeless. My future is looking bleaker by the day. Sadly, work doesn't pause for life crisis', which is why I'm stepping into my downtown office building and taking the elevator up to the thirty-second floor. A large Wright Publishing logo hangs on the wall to my right and the welcome desk sits to my left.

"Morning, Kelly." I smile as I pass the receptionist.

"It's nice to see you made the cut, Ellie. It feels a little empty around here today," she says before the phone rings, cutting off further conversation.

I wave goodbye and head to my office. Well, office is a bit of an overstatement. I sit at a cubicle and share a small room with six co-workers—all of whom are editorial assistants slaving in hopes of achieving professional success. It's nothing much, but I hadn't expected to stay here long. Ignoring my disappointing reality, I toss my purse into the bottom drawer of my desk and boot up my computer.

As the machine buzzes to life, Rita walks into the room. She started working here a few months after me. Her no-shit attitude and hard work ethic attracted me instantly and it didn't take long for us to become fast friends. Despite how I feel about being stuck in this room, I'm grateful I get to continue sharing the space with her.

"Hey, E." She takes a seat in the cubicle behind mine. Her long locks have been cut off at the shoulder, accentuating her heart-shaped face. I'm about to comment on the new do when she says, "Glad to see you didn't get the axe and I still have my partner in crime."

"Same. I'd go crazy without you here." It's true. She's the only co-worker I'm comfortable enough with to speak freely. While the other employees receive the professional version, Rita gets the authentic me—the version outside this place, complete with pajamas, gossip, and the occasional expletive.

She shoots me a wink and grabs a granola bar from her desk drawer, chewing through her next words. "So how was your weekend?"

I shrug. "Booze, male prostitutes, a little coke off random sinks. Same ol', same ol'."

"So you sat at home with a book in your lap." She smiles. "Typical. You should really consider getting a cat to keep you company."

"Actually, I almost had big life changes happen this weekend."

"Do tell. Since my weekend consisted of watching Troy sketch concepts of robots for a new video game they're releasing, I need to live vicariously through you."

She's lived with her boyfriend for six months and although she claims to hate the boring life they share, she secretly loves it. Who wouldn't? She has a man she adores and an apartment that's paid for. She's living the good life.

I on the other hand...

"I'm getting a roommate." I take a sip of my coffee. "You know because of the cut-backs. Money is going to get tight and I need the income."

"I hear you." She flips to her computer and boots it on before swiveling back around in her chair. "So I take it your hours were cut in half, too?"

While it's reassuring I'm not the only employee affected by the company cutbacks, I frown. Misery loves company, just not in this case. Rita works as hard as I do and she deserves better than this place. We both do.

"Yep. So much for benefiting from hard work."

"Tell me about it."

An incoming call from my boss halts our conversation and after excusing myself, I cross the floor to Clive Wright's office. He's seated behind a large cherry-wood desk showcasing a plaque reading Editor in Chief in gold letters, and there's a sheet of windows at his back. It's the view of the city I'd aimed to have someday, before he took a sledgehammer to that dream.

"Ms. West, please take a seat."

I do as instructed, running my hands over my skirt to straighten out any unwanted wrinkles. I'm always a little on edge during our meetings. Especially after our last meeting Friday.

With his hands clasped together on his desk, Clive frowns at me. "I'm sorry about the recent circumstances you've had to endure."

As much as the topic sends vicious blood charging through my veins, I offer him a professional smile. "Thank you, sir."

"And I mean it when I say your work does not go un-noticed. Times are difficult and unfortunately that means sacrifices have to be made."

I'm fairly certain Clive Wright has never endured the true meaning of sacrifice. He and his three siblings earned their positions by sheer luck of the gene pool. Their father, who established the company in nineteen-sixty-two, passed away three years ago, landing the four children top spots in one of the most prestigious publishing firms in the country. Two have left, but Clive and his brother Timothy remain, attempting to imitate their father's success.

They've been fruitful thus far, which is why I simply nod. "I understand."

"Wonderful. I hope you continue to take pride in your work, because we surely do." Something resembling a smile creeps onto his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "However, I wanted to touch base with you and stress the importance of maintaining your deadlines. I don't want this incident to affect your work in the future."

He's a master manipulator. Slapping on the compliments before driving his point home.

Well, Clive, as much as I want to rip your sandy locks from your head, don't worry, I'll pass on my sleep and have your new materials to you pronto.

"It won't."

"Superb." His focus shifts to his computer as he begins typing. "The manuscript I emailed is due back with revisions by Wednesday."

"You'll have it."

He nods, not giving me the courtesy of looking up from his computer screen. "That is all."