When life gives you lemon, you make lemonades. Catalina Jordan, Twenty eight years old extremely rich and successful was sure she was making all the lemonades there was.
She sashayed in the large design room of Catalina Coutures, her fashion company inspecting the designs for their fashion show set to take place in two months. They were done with the first and second batch, and this final batch what was she termed the 'desserts of the show'
Dressed in a red velvet business suit and silver stilettoes that glimmered in the light watching her workers move about. Her dark rich brown curls were straightened to a fault. She flipped a curtain of her dark brown hair backward as she strode to where the designers stood, large sketch pads clutched in their hands. They were a mix of men and women from different parts of the world, but what made them look alike was the nervousness plastered on each of their faces.
She stopped few metres before them, her personal assistant, Marlene, an attractive slender blond with dark green eyes, stood beside her. "Hello everyone" she greeted with a small smile. "Hello Ma'am" of several tones and tempos filled the hall, then the place was silent again.
"I guess our designs are ready" She stated more than asked. There were hums, and yeses and some shifting and then silence again. It was almost like a school headmistress addressing her students during a social gathering.
"Okay! Let's begin!" She said enthusiastically, mentally ready for whatever they got. They all turned their sketchpads, revealing their designs.
One after the other, she studied each design. Her Caribbean sea blue eyes with interest, but her whole expression remained blasé.
Thirty minutes later, and she was done with her inspection. She strolled back to where she had stood at first and remained silent. She observed the people, anticipation had joined the nervousness on their faces. They were awaiting her response, and the silence was becoming extremely unconformable.
The Head of designs department looked antsy. She had picked the the best designers of the first and second batch, and had screened them to make this last design. From the way she hammered on the last designs, she was aware this batch was equally important as the first.
"It should keep getting better" she had said to her "This is the peak" she had added. She bit her lips, the designers had worked tirelessly for three weeks on these designs. She had approved when they came for private design defense.
"We will take all of them" She announced. Her reply was welcomed with audible sighs of relief, smiles and cheers. Unlike the last two batches which she had canceled five rounds of designs each, they were glad she approved on first check.
"Good job everyone!" She added, walking out of the sketch room. As she strode the gallery of the building, she could make out the hive downstairs was. She sighed in contentment. She had been doing this for over seven years, and it was only four years ago she gained enough grounds and visibility in the fashion world.
Her father, a renowned artist in Chicago had left her a huge inheritance when he lost to cancer. She had lived with her father in their quaint apartment downtown. Her mother had died when she was only thirteen, and her father had taken care of her since then.
They had a really close relationship, and she could tell him almost everything. When he painted, she would always seat by him in his studio, watching each stroke of his brush. And when he was done, she'd question the meaning behind each painting.
He would enthusiastically explain to her the significance of each painting, while she'd pick on each word like a bird with seed. Chewing and digesting. Whenever a customer came to his large studio, she would introduce the painting, luring them to buy it. They always did.
Her father thought she would be an artist. She sold his pieces well, she explained the art as though she were the artist. He began grooming her. "You would take over when I am gone" he would always say.
And even if he always complimented her pieces with that genuine smile "you would make an extraordinary artist" he would always say, she knew she didn't want to paint. She loved fashion. And all her sketch pads were filled with numerous designs. Original and hers.
He had sent her to a fashion school in France, and after she graduated, she went into designing. When her Father died, leaving her a large inheritance and his studio, she was on her way to making a name for herself when Brandon came along.
Charming, hot and romantic, he had swept her off her feet. She fell in love, and she believed he did love her too. She still wanted to believe that after these years, but she knew he stopped loving a long time ago.
"When do I have to see Gwent?" She asked the moment she stepped aside the building. Her personal assistant quickly turned her iPad, swiping. "Six thirty at Butters" she read out.
She checked her wristwatch, the sunlight caught the stones, making the diamond studs reflect. Brandon had gifted her this wristwatch last year's Christmas. She had two hours before that time.
"And before that?"
"You have a meeting with the distributors in Santa Monica in about...right now"
"Cancel, tell them something came up." Her bodyguard pulled open the car, she stepped in. "Tell Gwent I'll be seeing him in thirty" She instructed authoritatively.
"Also fix my meeting with Christian Louboutin for next week. And don't forget to tell him I love the shoes"
"Yes ma'am"
There was silence before she spoke again. "Marlene" She called softly
"yes ma'am?"
"Get me another FB, the last one...his contract expired last week. Get me someone better" she said.
"Sure thing ma'am. Washboard abs and Adonis quarterback look and Hade's aura all the way" She said lightly. Catalina laughed, Marlene was the only person asides her friends who knew her in and out. She felt safe with her.
"There's no way someone can fill out all those criteria" she said doubtfully.
"Oh there's way"
"Never"
"Never say never, ma'am" she finished
*******************
"I quit!" A brunette dressed in a cream business suit announced to the rigid back of her boss, who sat obviously unperturbed by her predicament. The predicament he was responsible for.
Her feet were sore from running up and down the exhaustively long stairs from the Cafeteria to the office of the CEO of Blue Veil Architectural and Construction company.
And the bastard had banned her from using the elevator.
Brandon Jordan, CEO of Blue Veil group of companies, Handsome and Ruthless as the word goes, turned in his seat. His expression was almost shuttered, except the frown that marred his brows.
"What did you just say?" His baritone which was dangerously low, came in cold jabs. It sent a cold shiver of fear down her spine, traveling from her back to her legs. They felt wobbly, and her feet sore from her shoes.
Amira, the poor girl who was visibly shaking under the onslaught of his cold gaze, bit her lips in trepidation. She had told herself she would never be treated like his slave. She had a masters degree in Architecture for Christ sake, she wasn't some highschool drop out with no qualifications.
But ever since she began working for Brandon, he had always made her feel worthless, and as though she was not doing enough. Being his Personal assistant made her accompany him to everywhere. She was like his handbag, booking his flights, setting and reading out his schedule, fixing his business meetings, setting up reservations early and bringing in his coffee every morning.
He had decided to turn her into his maid in the bargain. He sent her on several unnecessary errands, and he did it as if to punish her for some reason she didn't understand. She got his coffee, she refilled his refrigerator, he even punished her when the cleaner didn't do her job right, she brought in his meals, took out his trash, took his clothes to the laundry and even lied to his wife whenever he didn't want to see her.
He basically used her like a cat's paw, and although the pay was mouthwatering, she was beginning to feel depressed, unhappy and unfulfilled.
And today, the last straw was when he requested for a strawberry smoothie. She knew by schedule he always went for Green Tea Matcha latte. When she was about to question the reason for the change, he had rudely asked to leave his office.
She had ran hurriedly to the Cafeteria to get his order, coming back up only to be called a Klutz "I do not take strawberry stupid! I am allergic to strawberries" he screamed at her, hitting the drink it splashed on her cream suit.
He wasn't allergic to strawberries. The only allergy he had were to manners. He lacked courtesy.
He didn't apologize, only stared at the mess he made on her clothes in disdain, "Go and get me my Usual and clean yourself" he had said dismissively.
She had to run downstairs again, evading the pitiful gaze the other workers gave her. He was an asshole no doubt, and the whole world knew that. Then she had rushed up with his milkshake.
Serving him his cup of Latte, he tasted it, his face contorting in distaste. "What the actual fuck is this?" He roared angrily.
"Your Green Tea Matcha Latte, sir"
"This tastes like soured milk" He roared angrily. She didn't get the connection, she was confused.
"But, Sir" she began to protest. But, the he silenced her with a death glare. The lady had made that drink before her eyes.
"Come taste for your self" He beckoned mischievously, her legs moved slowly, dreading every step she made to his table. And just when she was close enough, he lifted the cup.
Splash!
He splashed the drink on her, from her hair to her skirt, dripped Latte.
"Now, go get a mob and clean the mess you've made" he ordered steely. That did it. The bastard went too far.
"Cat got your tongue?" He taunted.
"I said, go to hell with your stupidly rude personality" She enunciated, clearly teed off. His face turned into stone, devoid of every expression. He knew Amira to be the kind they called, sweet and, lovely. He might have been a bit unfriendly to her, and he would admit pouring his Latte on her was a little bit overboard, but she didn't have the right to raise her voice at him.
He was her Boss!
"How dare you?" His jaw clicked in restraint.
"You think you can walk over people because you're fat pocketed? You think you are a god cause you've got money and good looks?" She spat the last part as though it burned her tongue to admit it. He was good looking though, and she was angry she might have cooked up some cold boss and meek secretary romance shit in her head.
She liked him. She thought he was rude because he was unhappy with his marriage. She had a stupid crush on him.
The very reason she had endured his bullshit for too long. Now, she wanted to bash anything bashable in his stupid handsome face.
Ughhh, she groaned within. She had to stop calling him that. She berated herself.
"It's heartwarming you find me handsome" He stood to his feet, his 6.4, an abstract comparison to her 5.7 in heels. He towered above her menacingly, she felt a little intimidated, but she stood her ground.
Brandon almost laughed at her defiance. She looked like a honey badger against a Lion. "Do you also fantasize about fucking me?" He taunted.
Amira felt the heat creep on her cheeks in hot embarrassment. "I've never..." She began to deny.
"Well, you shouldn't" he dismissed "I don't fuck ugly brainless women" He delivered the insult smoothly. The embarrassment turned into anger, her grey eyes flared at his insult. Her hands raised without thought.
Pa!
The slap surprised both of them. Brandon stood morbid, totally shocked by the slap. He wouldn't have imagined she would ever hit him.
"Find yourself a new secretary, Asshole!" And with the speed of light, she was out of the door and the building.
Brandon stared shell shocked. She slapped him! The impetus of that woman! How dare she?! He fought the urge to run after her, and smash her against something.
He closed his eyes willing himself to calm. She must pay! He'd squash her like a cockroach. He would have her groveling at his feet, begging to work for him.
And she called him an asshole hole, he seethed.
Oh he knew he was an asshole. How dare she point it out to him? She must pay!