Copyright © 2019, Geiza Stefany de Oliveira
All rights reserved.
Original title RUNNING AWAY TO LONDON
Author GEIZA STEFANY DE OLIVEIRA
Cover and layout GEIZA STEFANY DE OLIVEIRA
Translation GEIZA STAFANY DE OLIVEIRA
Cover Image PRISCILLA DU PREEZ
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Chapter 1
First of all, I do not know what happens, but seeing the movement in the Pollentier family's office, I feel a passion take over my heart.
The building is fantastic in front of Hyde Park in Westminster. In the building, there is a beautiful white facade, and the top two floors have a beige tone.
However, what makes me fall in love is the movement of people inside the office. There is a lot of work to do here! People in their late twenties walk around, communicating, dragging clothes-laden macaws, on the phone...
I can see how they dress based on trends and something else. This is the minimum when you work in a magazine office fashion and lifestyle. Pollentier Magazine is on the market for more than 30 years.
The founder was a fashion student with his girlfriend who practiced equestrian — she was an excellent competitor and had the money Mr. Pollentier needed. They married a year later, in love. Mr. Anthony Pollentier's bookshelf were many prize symbols: journalist, entrepreneur, wine and beer lover.
Family prestige in England has grown considerably in the past years. Pollentier Magazine became one of the most prestigious media in the western world.
As I walk into the editor-in-chief's office, there are many people simultaneously flipping through the magazine, as well as sliding a finger on their Ipads and smartphones. Around the cities are seeing banners of upcoming editorials that will be available in future editions.
There are amazing things to come. As I walk there are dozens of professional models going from one side to the other. The buzz around the floor is a little loud around the company's Fashion Editor... I am a big fan of this pretty woman!
She aligns with each woman in the room full of clothes and people involved. Gisele Novak is a 1.60-meter woman with straight blonde hair. I notice her pink lips with a lipstick color that captivates me. She is always colorful, wearing bun hairstyles, and speaking casually.
That is not all here — I was just poking around. It is at 9 o'clock. The near-turmoil continues down the corridor, there are still writers' rooms, which surely write for the magazine. God, I want to see more of this place, but I need to move on because today is my first day!
I remember I need to be impeccable — that is what they told me from the beginning. I was chosen because I said I could handle the sort of pressure in a job that results in tachycardia at age 30. I persuaded the Human Resources guy with a final letter: I have got a degree in Business Administration in Brazil and experience.
My degree is Brazilian and only a year ago I came to live in England. I came and only left to stay and do the best work he could observe! The assistant job would pay me better than what I was earning as a waitress in my old job.
At the age of 27, I can do anything in a fashion magazine, including being a personal assistant to Mr. Pollentier. I do not care if the old assistants are giving up this job because of the pressure. There is nothing else out there for me.
I am a foreigner obviously who just wants to forget about the rest of the problems with work. Beauty is something that delights me, extremely. That’s why I fall in love with the Pollentier family office! I love the colors of this place, the orchid vases in the reception, the paintings with the main works of the magazine...
There are many details here, up to Mr. Pollentier's reception. I look down: my feet in the boot are spotless. My nude pencil skirt is also flawless as well as my matching transparent shirt. She has two buttons open to my bust.
I remember my makeup. My face is flawless with enough makeup to disguise any mark. For my skin, I used only foundation, concealer, translucent powders and bronze. For my lips, I used a lip tint. For my eyes, I used eyelash mask as little as possible.
I broke my hair in half and threw it behind my ears. Looks like I am a spoiled daddy's girl, especially with my whitish skin and blond hair and light green eyes. I think it was most of my life.
“I’m sorry, but say you're Liz Costa!”
Strangely, Mr. Pollentier's first assistant does not call me by my full first name: Luiza. She stands in the doorway of Mr. Pollentier's well-dressed office. I like her white and midi skirt. I notice that it is completely all-white, from head to toe.
She also wears a white sleeveless shirt. Around his neck, I see a gold chain necklace. The medium heels on her foot don't make her bigger than me. She has arms tattooed with musical symbols. I notice the bangs on his face and the shoulder-length brown hair, his skin tone is olive.
“I'm Liz Costa.”
I smile at last. The assistant hugs a white folder and looks me up and down suspiciously. I think we are the same age. She takes a deep breath and stares hard at me.
“You're 2 minutes late. Tomorrow, arrive at least 10 minutes early.”
I confess that I lost a little enthusiasm. She starts walking to her desk before Mr. Pollentier's office. Quickly, he leaves the folder on the table and answers the phone that started ringing. Then we heard a very deep and impatient voice.
“Kim!”
That is all he says, so click a button and take the folder again. The assistant turns to me still with the same look and finally gives me a diary of brown fabric. The agenda has a rope with a helm wheel.
“Please, don’t miss this agenda. For God's sake, don't forget to write down everything he tells you to do!”
That is what she says. So, without introductions, will I have got to enter Mr. Pollentier's office?
“Thank you!”
I say even when I do not know what to say. She takes a deep, impatient breath and walks ahead of me to the boss's office. Finally, the time has come to meet the eldest son of the man who founded this place 30 years ago. I confess that I'm starting to get nervous...
My steps take me inside. It is very wide, full of light. The window out of the building gives us a beautiful view of Hyde Park. Elliott Pollentier is at his desk, sitting on the phone. Here is the dream of many women! It is pure 1.85-meter tall manly and intelligence.
I am not the type who drools on the cat boss, editor-in-chief and arrogant. However, I can not help but notice here in his warm room how beautiful it is. He does not even notice us. The seemingly fluent Italian conversation on the phone is all that seems to matter to him.
Elliott's features are really beautiful. He has beautiful black hair, which shines, combed back. There is no beard on his face, his lips are thinned like the rest of his features. Her pale blue eyes pervade the wall, but little by little she begins to direct our direction ... my direction. I swallow hard and turn to the agenda, opening it impulsively.
“Barbarity!”
His voice is low and hoarse. Speaks little and listens a lot... I want to know where I am staying. Does it with him all the time? Of course, I do, but now that I am here looking away from his eyes... I open the agenda and there is nothing written.
Immediately, I face Mr. Pollentier again. He stares at me, unblinking. For a moment it is as if I freeze, so I remain as our eyes meet. He is extremely critical!
The sort of look he makes is evaluation. For a moment, it makes me feel that I am unsuitable for work. I see his slightly arched eyebrow. I notice the dark and empty look. His lips form a line.
The first assistant, leaning over the table in front of
the boss, stands up; He left the folder open — luckily it makes our eyes scatter. She turns to me with almost the same look as Mr. Pollentier and then leaves the room. I stand here, unsure of what to do, in front of him who keeps his eyes on the briefcase.
“Again, it will like you wish, Jordan.”
He hangs up and I do not disguise that I stare at him in front of his desk. My boss dresses Clavin Klein like no one else. He is in jeans and a white shirt as if the key to this here was the 80s. I can still see, under the table where his long legs end, that he puts on a medium-leather boot.
Carelessly, he hangs up and looks me up and down causing something strange in my stomach. My mouth goes dry all the time...
“How old are you?”
It is the first thing that asks me. He gets up before I can answer, looks away.
“I'm 27 years old, sir.”
He still looks at me carelessly, approaching more and more slowly. Looks like I am losing my balance. I smell the Giorgi Armani perfume he wears...
“Where are you from?”
“I come from Brazil. I've been living in London since last year.”
He arches his eyebrows.
“Are you fluent in British English?”
I do not understand why he is interviewing me if I have been through an interview. Why am I here? It looks like he does not want me for the job...
“Yes, sir. I have been studying the language for over three years and I have seen...”
He gestures with his hand interrupting me. It pisses me off, but I try to be respectful right now.
“Are you a graduate of anything?"
“I have got a degree in Business Administration in Brazil.”
Suddenly he stops, looking at me in surprise. He sits at the end of the table facing me still appraising me.
“Why did you decide to leave Brazil, graduated in Business Administration? I believe that at 27 years old you could be doing significant work in your area, but not as an assistant.”
First of all, I do not want to tell the real reason why I left Brazil for my boss! His look is totally curious. Full of posture, Mr. Pollentier looks deep into my eyes searching for the truth.
“I realized could have got a better quality of life and still do what I like here. It is an honor for me to be an assistant to you. I love that the Pollentier contributes greatly to power female under with his work and his team, as well as his family. It is all very fantastic for me.”
Mr. Pollentier smiles. It is a sort of smile for those who find something funny, but I remain serious and calm. He has freckles, a face with mixed English traits and something else. His gaze is so deep that even with that smile, he seems to be seeing all my hidden thoughts.
“Let's see how long you will last.”
I remain silent, diminished by the arrogant slender. He has a superior look on me that irritates me deeply.
Chapter 2
My first day has barely begun and I have got already felt many kinds of excitement here, but what matters to me is what I came to do for myself!
"I need you to go to Burberry and get my order now."
I do not know if I write it down, but I do know that I move out of my boss's office right away. I leave the look of superiority aside and thank God I have got to walk twenty-three minutes on my jump to Burberry.
The attendant has a sympathetic look at me like I have got never won in my life. The bag in my hands does not weigh much, whatever he has purchased is small and I should say it is a perfume probably female. I return to the office after 30 minutes, snorting.
Nothing has changed here, people are moving. And I hear sounds of camera flashes, people typing, talking... the first assistant my boss is on the phone saying that he is not here right now.
In, while she notices my clothes the conversation in Mr. Pollentier's office is so serious that it slows me down. I spot a bookcase where I plan to leave the bag in my hands. What I will do after that is a puzzle in my head.
Mr. Pollentier is in his chair with a pen pointed at the notebook screen in a text — there is a draft of an article for the next issue of Pollentier Magazine. I stand on the shelf thinking about what I do now.
“Wellington is clear as it has got never been in your life. Do you have got any sort of dementia?”
The boy is standing facing Mr. Pollentier. I can still see the white boy with the straight black hair he is. His hair catches my eye because it is so straight and big. He wears several rings on his toes, wears a shirt with tailored pants and a social patent shoe.
My boss is about to collapse. I see how happy he is not right now. His face is red and still shows the disgust he feels every time he looks at the article. The situation here is extremely tense, it looks like they will start fighting and punching each other.
I take a deep breath, what matters to me right now is to get out of here. Wellington, probably in his early twenties, looks at Mr. Pollentier in shock. Silence cuts the room for a few seconds until...
“I, I, I...”
“Answer me, damn it!”
Mr. Pollentier shouts after slapping the table, startling me. I think they will fight...
“I have got no sort of dementia, Elliott.”
“Then why the hell did you write this article?”
The question was asked with a shout and exasperation. I believe everyone on the floor must have heard the question. Wellington cringes with each passing second. I think he wants to run out of this room, like me. Why Mr. Pollentier looks like he is gonna hit us with a shotgun.
“Excuse me, Elliott, but I can't understand what's wrong with my article.”
Mr. Pollentier closes the laptop in disgust and looks back at Wellington.
“No problem, Wellington.” He touches the chair and let his fingers tangle in her lap, talking a little calmer.
“Go home and don't come back here until you find out what's wrong with your article.”
“Elliott, I...”
“This is just what I need from you!”
Finally, Mr. Pollentier shouts again looking at Wellington. The boy leaves the room at once with firm steps. He is more lost than anyone else has got ever been in his life. I hear my boss sigh, instantly bends over the table.
Mr. Pollentier rests his chin on his fist and makes a complicated look at the table. I have got never seen such a frustrated person in my entire life! It is my turn to get out of here and wait outside with the other assistant. I take my first steps, but Mr. Pollentier interrupts me.
“Can you say, Luiza, what made my father succeed with this magazine??”
I stop, abruptly and turn my body to my boss. He stares at me like he is murdering someone. Maybe the person is me. I think for a few seconds as he looks me in the eye.
“Mr. Anthony Pollentier was known to be someone who spoke the language of his clients. I believe his success is due to this.”
It is like taking apart a lego toy with just one movement. My boss looks with total surprise in my eyes. Then he nods and gives me my second task of the day.
"Take my orders with Kim."
It would be helpful if I knew who Kim is. Elliott just said finishing the matter. I think Wellington was wrong in his article by writing an article that does not fit the magazine's audience, that is, middle-class, conservative, fashion-conscious women.
I did my research before coming to this company. So I read a little more about Mr. Anthony Pollentier last night. Mr. Elliott looks extremely like his father, except in temperament. After all, the founder of the company was a very polite and benevolent person. This man's way of talking captivated and relaxed anyone.
After leaving my boss's office, I went to the first assistant. Just as she asked me if I was Liz, so I ask if she is Kim. Within seconds we introduce ourselves to each other. I heard her excuse that she did not introduce herself before because there were so many worries in her head.
Honestly, I should love to hear about how things are around here, especially after Mr. Elliott Pollentier takes over
this place.
"I'm Elliott's office assistant, so everything about his office goes through me."
Kim begins to explain to me until I can leave her desk with the boss's orders. I put on his desk what makes him get up and stand by my side.
“This needs to be packed with perfume.”
He points to a still tense Prada box; his voice is deep and his speech short, roughly. I have got to go to another department to get a box to pack that gift. Once again, as I enter my boss's office, I hear exalted voices.
I recognize the woman from Human Resources. She is the one who dresses very well — right now, she wears black pantyhose pants with matching tank tops and snake-animal print boots. I take the box to the table where the orders are still.
“I need people in the newsroom who have got the values of the company. It doesn't matter anymore after that. It's about the company's proposal, the rest has no value anymore. Did you understand me?”
Exasperated, Mr. Pollentier speaks firmly. The beautiful woman of color shrugs. The mood was tense again here. This time, though, I am in the middle of the discussion literally. I open Prada's box and delight myself...
“I understand very well, Elliott.”
She responds annoyed.
“My choice for the new writers was very well based...”
Mr. Pollentier laughs as if amused by a politically incorrect joke; so interrupts her.
“The magazine issue this month was shit and part of it is your fault for your incompetence! My dad is no longer here and you think you can do what you want from this magazine? One more issue and we'll close the door because of like that you just did, Cotina!”
From the corner of my eye, I see her swallow hard. The harsh tone of the boss does anyone swallow in dry. Looks like he is gonna fire everybody...
“You are you becoming the most radical sort of conservative, to which his father was not.”
I hear the heavy breathing of Mr. Pollentier right next to me, for this, I look him eye corner.
Running Away to London Page 1