Throughout the whole day, I hear the words “Oscar winner” and “national crush” too many times.
While I type away replies to the assistants of various celebrities managed by our company, my ears pick up the conversation two people who came in, seated by my desk, are having.
“I hear he’s going to come to the office to talk to the Chairman today.” One person says.
“But it’s almost five, time for us to close. I don’t think he’s coming.” The other responds.
“Francis is a big star and the Chairman is a millionaire. They’re probably meeting at some five-star hotel to discuss.”
The other snickers, then drops their tone a bit low. Yet, just enough for me to hear. “You know who else will probably meet the Chairman at a hotel later?”
The other one doesn’t reply, making me glance in their direction and I meet their gaze. Both of them are not-so-subtly peering at me from their desks.
I hold their gaze for a second.
Then I smile. Not warmly, nor politely. It’s the sarcastic smile I wear that lets them know I heard everything.
“If you’re that interested in the Chairman’s schedule.” I start calmly. “You should apply to be his secretary. At least then you’ll get paid for the obsession.”
They look stupefied.
“And if you’re going to talk about me,” I add, fingers still moving across the keyboard. “Try being less predictable. It’s getting boring.”
That shuts them up.
I hit send on the last email, log out of my system, and shut my laptop.
Work hours are over.
I stand, grabbing my bag.
“Goodnight, Clarissa.”
She doesn’t look up. Just hums in response. That’s as close to warmth as anyone would ever get from her.
I walk past George, who gives me a look that’s filled with amusement.
“Savage.” He mutters under his breath.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not even supposed to be in our department.”
“Good night to you too, Sabrina.” I smile and continue my way out.
All my life, I’ve learned one thing. People don’t like the fast growth of a worker in any industry. Especially when it’s that of a young woman.
Not when it’s a young woman like me.
I started from the bottom. Filing documents. Running errands. Taking jobs no one else wanted. No one took any notice of me because I blended in. And somehow, in less than a year, I made my way into the PR team.
To them, that kind of rise doesn’t come from hard work. For a young woman, it must mean she’s in some kind of relationship with the boss.
More so, when Vincent so openly showcases his desire for me. But they all don’t focus on the fact that I always turn him down coldly.
They prefer to assume.
So I let them.
Because explaining myself to people who already decided who I am is a waste of time.
The bus ride home is long. The vehicle crowded and noisy.
But it’s familiar.
I sit by the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of orange and grey, my head resting lightly against the glass.
For a moment, I allow myself to think about the project the company is about to collaborate on with Francis Collins.
But I shut the thought down quickly, willing myself to forget about work the moment I close. When I get home, the first thing I hear is the TV. It’s so loud, I’m sure the neighbours can hear.
I step into the living room and there he is.
My grandpa.
Seated in his usual spot, remote in hand, eyes glued to the screen.
“These people have no sense.” He grumbles, not even looking at me. “Why would you trust someone you met two days ago?”
I drop my bag by the couch. “You’ve been watching this show all day, haven’t you?”
He scoffs. “I’m studying human behavior.”
“On a dating show?”
“Exactly.”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. These days he’s been obsessed with the onslaught of reality dating shows being pushed out on TV. Then he goes on to complain about every part of it. The way he complains about practically everything.
But underneath his hard exterior, he cares more than anyone I know.
I move closer, taking in the details I try not to focus on too often.
The way his shoulders have slumped over the past year. The slight tremor in his hand as he adjusts the volume. The faint discoloration around his lips. The way his breathing isn’t as steady as it used to be.
The doctors said his heart is failing, and he urgently needs a transplant.
But the lack of funding has kept him from getting one. That’s why a promotion would really make a difference.
“I’m going to freshen up.” I say, my mind suddenly on ways I can procure more money.
“Hmm.”
That’s his way of saying okay.
I change quickly, wash my face, and tie my hair back before pulling out my laptop.
My job at Esthoria keeps the lights on. My ghostwriting gig is a side hustle I embarked on because I need all the money, and I simply love writing.
I step back into the living room and settle on the couch opposite him. He doesn’t acknowledge me, still focused on the TV. I begin comfortably typing out a client’s work.
“Don’t overwork yourself.” He mutters after five minutes.
I pause, my fingers still. Then nod slowly.
“Okay.”
I continue typing and the words flow easily. They always have. Maybe because writing is the only place where I’m in control. Where no one can interrupt.
No one can reduce me to something I’m not.
An hour passes by, and I’ve finished the chapter for my client. I roll my stiff neck, looking up from my work.
“And in other entertainment news…” Comes a voice from the TV.
I barely pay attention at first.
“…global sensation and Oscar-winning actor, Francis Collins—”
I immediately look up.
“…has officially confirmed his participation in a new reality dating show produced by Esthoria Entertainment…”
Wow. News travels fast. Even most employees weren’t told what the project would be about.
“…sources reveal that the star is searching for his soulmate…”
Grandpa suddenly changes the channel, putting on another show. I tear my eyes away from the TV screen.
“Find his soulmate, huh.” I murmur under my breath.
Dating shows have been in vogue lately. The industry eats things like this up, especially when an objectively handsome man is the centre of it all.
Across from me, Grandpa suddenly shifts.
The couch creaks.
“You hear that?” He mutters, pushing himself up slowly. “People are really going on TV to find love now. Ridiculous.”
I huff softly. “You’ve been watching it all day.”
“That’s different.” He stands, a bit unsteady. Then he adds. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay.”
I return my focus to the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I try to focus, but my mind is still on the news that our company would be producing a dating show with Francis Collins as the star.
And I’d apparently have an important role in making it.
As a member of the PR team, would I be responsible for leading campaigns to promote it by personally talking to the reps of different brands?
That would be big. The connections I’d gain, and the higher salary that would be given...
And I might not even personally meet Francis Collins, right?
The mere thought makes me feel queasy.
Just as I stand up from the couch, I hear a loud clatter.
And it’s coming from the bathroom.
My heart thunders out of my chest as I race there. The first thing I see is my grandpa holding the sink, gripping his chest and his face twisted in pain.
“Grandpa—”
Before I can move towards him, his knees buckle.
And he collapses.
“Grandpa!”
I rush to him, my hands shaking as I try to lift him. My hand raises to his pulse, which seems slow, and his breathing is uneven.
“Stay with me! Please—”
My voice is breaking as I reach for my phone in my pocket. Where is it?
I realise it’s back on the couch, so I muster all the strength in me to carry out my grandpa. When I notice how light he feels, my eyes drift to his recently frail stature.
I set him on the couch, my eyes scanning the room frantically, then I notice the phone is on the table. I scramble toward it, hands fumbling, heart pounding so loudly I can barely think.
“Please… please…”
My fingers finally close around my phone and I call an ambulance. They assure me they’re on their way.
It does little to calm me down. And when I turn back to him, I freeze.
Because he isn’t breathing anymore