Whatever the board members come up with, behind the pristine glass doors, would determine whether or not my grandpa would die.
“Sabrina! Stop looking at the execs and get done with that email.”
Clarissa chastises, not bothering to look up from her computer. I look back at the meeting room one last time, before turning to my computer.
I’m communicating with the manager of an A-list actor, who's been dubbed as the “national crush.”
A man who has been exalted by the media for various award-winning movie roles and swooned over because of his dreamy looks.
Our company — Esthoria Entertainment — has been trying to work with this particular high-ranked actor for years. I’d just joined Esthoria seven months ago, but had been briefed on how our company’s CEO, was always turned down by the acting legend, in our email exchanges and even personal encounters.
So even though I’d been given the role of communicating with this big name, I could barely care due to two reasons.
Just across from us, in the meeting room, the board of directors were discussing the latest phase in an important project they’d been developing. One which, they wanted to appoint some members of staff to work on.
George, an editing assistant, comes into our little room, with two coffee cups in hand.
“The Chairman looks so angry. I wonder if his mummy shouted at him.” He says with a snicker, before sipping from one cup.
“George shut up! And you shouldn’t be here. Everyone should be at their posts, when the investors are here.” Clarissa looks up from her laptop this time to glare at George.
He raises an eyebrow, not the least fazed. “Well I don’t see everyone at their posts. Where’s Vicky?” He gestures at the empty seat next to me, where my co-worker, Victoria Hale is supposed to be.
Clarissa shakes her head with a sigh and doesn’t say anything to that. Because, who in our office ever does, really?
Victoria, who goes by Vicky, could skip work for a year and still get paid. As the CEO's daughter, and chairman's younger sister, the only reason she had ended up here, was as punishment for sinking the family yacht last summer.
She didn’t have to struggle for funds for her grandpa’s surgery like some people. Some people, being me.
“She went home to change her clothes.” I tell George, as I reply to the actor’s manager.
‘In the attachment below, contains all the information on the project we’d like to collaborate with Mr. Collins on.’
Then I click send, my eyes dwelling on the name 'Collins' for a beat too long.
“Is that the annual Francis Collins email, you just sent?” George asks, his eyes locked on the screen.
“Yup.” Hearing the name, sends a spike of irritation through me.
“The CEO would sell a kidney, just to work with that man. Yet he always turns down the good offers our company makes.” He says.
“Just wait. This time, he won’t.” I hear someone say, as our office door flies open again.
In comes, Vicky, decked in a new outfit, made up of a tank top, denim skirt and ankle-cut boots. Not even trying to meet our office’s corporate attire policy.
“What makes you say that?” George asks.
Vicky laughs in that fancy way, where she puts a hand over her mouth and tilts her head. “I heard from my brother.”
Clarissa looks up from her work, with an even deeper frown, than usual. I have one too, but I keep it in my head.
Who am I, to show dissatisfaction of Vicky’s disclosure of important company information? I’d risen up to the role of her assistant PR representative, by working with the bits of information thrown my way.
Yet, this is one detail I’m averse to working with.
George practically squeals beside me. “So you’re saying we’ll be seeing Francis Collins, in this building?”
Vicky nods excitedly, and speaks like a love-struck woman. “Can you imagine it? That dreamboat of a man.”
That a33hole, is what I’d call him.
Before I have more time to delegate more insults on Francis Collins, the meeting room doors swing open, and all the execs file out. Instinctively, I straighten up in my chair, aiming to look more professional.
“Hey Sabrina.” Someone stands in front of my desk, eyes trained on my chest as I sit up.
Great. Instead of looking professional, I just summoned another a33hole.
“Morning, Chairman.” I respond.
It takes him a moment to look away from my chest and focus on my face. “I’ve told you, you don’t have to be formal with me. If you don’t call me Vincent, I might have to query you.” He says smoothly.
I hear George cough, and turn to see Clarissa shuffle uncomfortably in her seat, and Vicky taking a selfie with her brand new phone, which is the fourth one she’s used this year.
I turn back to the Chairman — Vincent, putting on a stiff smile.
“Can I help you with anything?” I really hope not.
His eyes are back on my chest, and he bites his lip.
Disgusting.
“Meet me in my office.” He says with a grin, before sauntering off.
I glance back at the email I just sent to Francis Collins' manager, before powering off the system.
He sits in his chair then turns and unabashedly checks out my body. From my slender legs, to the hem of my brown pleated dress, and to the heart-shaped neckline, which shows a bit of cleavage, but is mostly covered up by my jacket.
“You wanted me to help you with something, sir?”
Vincent doesn’t answer immediately. He leans back in his chair, eyes still roaming like he has all the time in the world.
I wait in silence. Doing my best to tamp down my rage that he keeps on calling me to his office, and making everyone think I’m sleeping with him.
In my seven months here, I’d quickly risen through the ranks on my own merit, but my colleagues thought otherwise due to the way Vincent shamelessly flirted and made suggestive comments about me.
How could I be taken seriously? I was here working off my butt, to get promoted, save up and pay for my grandpa’s heart transplant.
I didn’t need any distractions.
“Close the blinds.” He says finally.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts.
He must see the confusion on my face, because he adds, gesturing toward the wide glass windows behind me.
“The light is disturbing my eyes.”
Right.
I hold back the urge to roll my eyes and nod stiffly, before moving. My fingers tighten slightly as I pull the blinds down one by one. The room dims, the bright city view disappearing behind thin strips of fabric. The people outside the office are also closed off.
I can’t help but notice the way Vincent smirks, eyes trained on my every movement.
The room becomes too enclosed and cosy. I sense danger, but I have no choice but to face him. He is my boss.
I turn back to him, forcing my expression neutral. “Is that all?”
His gaze drags over me again, slower this time. As if he’s taking his time to undress me with his eyes. And they stop, trained on my legs which peek out of my gown.
“No.” He drawls, eyes moving back up to my chest.
A beat passes, and I do my best not to squirm. Not to shout at him for harassing me with his eyes.
Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, like we’re about to discuss something important.
But the look in his eyes says otherwise.
“Take it off.”
I blink, unsure if I heard correctly.
“Excuse me?”
He reiterates, a look of hunger filling his eyes.
“Take off your jacket, Sabrina.”