by Wilde, Ora
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Coming In August/September, 2015…
BILLIONAIRE STEPBROTHER: A Baby’s Price
“My name is Lana,” I answered the receptionist. “Lana Laine.”
She nodded to signify that she got my name correctly, then she typed something on her computer. After a few seconds, she gave me another look and smiled.
“Welcome, Ms. Laine,” she said. “Your desk should be on the third row by the hallway, just outside Ms. McCarthy’s office.”
“Thank you so much,” I replied.
I clutched the strap of my satchel and pulled the bottom brim of my pink blouse to remove any seams that may have formed. I started to walk towards the main hallway. A variety of people greeted me with polite grins. They were quite welcoming, especially for a new face in the building. Either that or they didn’t think I’m their new co-employee... just a guest who was paying their workplace a visit.
I couldn’t blame them, if that were the case. A lot of people - my folks, my relatives, my friends from college - consistently told me that I looked young for my age. I was twenty-two, and for them to think that I looked younger wasn’t really a compliment.
Perhaps it was my dainty form. I have a petite body. I’m thin, but not slender. And my breasts... well... they don’t look as developed as those of women my age. And the way I loved to wear my long, black hair - in a ponytail - may have contributed to my youthful facade as well. My fashion sense, too... my preference for bright colors, for seemingly queer combinations, for practicality more than style... these may have made them mistake my uncanny taste for juvenile tendencies.
Or maybe it was my cheerful face - their words, not mine. More than once, I have been
described as that girl with a contagious smile. It should have been a flattering remark, but sometimes, that description was shared in the most inappropriate of circumstances... during a wedding when everyone was crying; when my roommate, Jessica Andrews, got dumped by her boyfriend and everyone was consoling her; when my dad grounded me for a week because he thought that the Joey I was texting was my boyfriend, when in fact, she was a girl; during Aunt Martha’s wake when all the visitors were grieving.
I can’t help it. Sometimes, I look like I’m smiling when, really, I’m not. I blame that on two things:
First, my facial structure. The edges of my lips slightly curve outwards that, in their natural condition, they appear to be curled into a beam. Coupled with my beady eyes, it really looks like I’m in a perpetual state of jolliness. Whenever I seal my lips, it’ll always appear like I’m smiling.
Second, my optimism. I have always tried to look at the positive side of things... always. Often, this kind of personality served me well. My friends viewed me as their walking stimulant - a living, breathing ecstasy pill as they said, which was a little too weird to be witty. Because they continually expected me to be jolly, they most probably pictured me to be all smiles, even when I wasn’t even grinning.
A loud thud interrupted my musing as someone who came from a door to my left bumped into me and I dropped my satchel and the papers I was holding.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, miss” the man immediately apologized as he bent over to help me pick up my things.
The first thing I noticed about him was how neat he looked. Dressed in a white, long-sleeved polo shirt with a dark green tie with his perfectly combed black hair, he really seemed very dapper.
The second thing I noticed about this young man occurred when he finished collecting my stuff and he turned his head up to look at me. He was very good-looking. He had blue eyes that framed his handsome face, but his dimples gave him a sort of boyish charm that, admittedly, would’ve been very difficult to resist.
Would’ve been.
He stood up and handed over my things.
“My bad, my bad... I’m really sorry, miss,” he repeated his regret.
The sincerity in his eyes, the way his brows coiled to express his remorse, his rather sensual lips that almost spiraled into a pout... these made him look even more attractive. I actually found myself trying very hard not to blush.
“It’s okay,” I said. “No one’s fault.”
“Still, I should’ve looked where I was going,” he continued to rue. “By the way, I’m Jacob,” he said as he extended his hand.
“Hi. I’m Lana,” I answered as I met his hand with mine. His touch was warm. His grip was strong.
“Pleasure to meet you, Lana.”
“Same. Do you work here?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” he replied.
“That’s your office?” I asked, pointing to the door from where he came from.
“Uhm, not really,” he answered as he gazed at me strangely. “That’s actually the restroom.”
“Oh,” was all I could utter. It was quite embarrassing.
He laughed. It was cute laugh. I laughed with him.
“You’re new here,” he stated. “I initially had a suspicion, but now I’m certain.”
“Yes, I am. It’s my first day, actually.”
“Oh, really? That’s cool! My desk is in the second row to the left, near Mr. Benton’s office.”
“Wow!” I responded, just to be able to say something. The truth was, I didn’t know anything about how the desks were positioned. I didn’t even know who Mr. Benton was.
“Where’s your desk?” he asked enthusiastically.
“Uhm, it’s supposed to be on the third row, just outside Ms. McCarthy’s room.”
I saw the shock in his eyes when I mentioned Ms. McCarthy’s name. Jacob actually swallowed some air.
“Ms. McCarthy?” he tried to confirm in disbelief. “Are you... is she... well... will you be working under her?”
“Yes, I will,” I replied as I gave him a wide smile.
“Oh shit,” he muttered. He bit his lip immediately afterwards, as if he didn’t really intend for me to hear what he said.
“Errr... is there something I should know about Ms. McCarthy?” I questioned him as a tinge of anxiety creeped into my body.
“Oh no... nothing... nothing at all,” he replied, quite nervously. “Listen, I’ll be seeing you around, Lana, okay? And if you need anything... anything at all... someone to talk to, someone to show you around, a shoulder to cry on...” he paused, which gave me the impression that he regretted saying the last item on his list. “Well... just look for me and I’ll be there for you.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Jacob,” I said. “Thank you very much.”
“Well... I’ll be seeing you, Lana. Bye for now!”
“Bye!”
He quickly darted towards the end of the hallway where more than two dozen desks were located... one of them being mine.
I continued my walk to my designated area.
Thanks to a helpful girl named Farah, I had no trouble finding my table. I immediately dropped my things on the side of the chair and took a seat. I tried to savor the working environment. The place was filled with people... creative folks, I’m sure, as demanded by the projects that had to be completed. Writers, editors, graphic artists, photographers, and a bunch of really artistic people occupied the desks that surrounded me.
People who were brimming with imaginative ideas.
Imagination, after all, was the bread and butter of Peak Publishing, Cleveland’s biggest - and one of the country’s largest - print company in existence.
And I was part of it.
I have always dreamt about this moment, when I would join the ranks of the minds behind many of the magazines I have read while I was growing up.
And now that I’m here, I have promised myself to do my very best to make a mark in the company... and in the industry if possible.
But there’s another reason why I have always wanted to work at Peak Publishing.
A reason that is far more personal than professional contentment.
“Hey,” a femal
e voice called out, one that came from my left.
I turned to look at who she was. I saw a woman, around thirty years of age, sitting on the desk next to mine. She looked gentle, serenely wise, he long, blonde hair clustered in short curls around her heart-shaped face.
“Hello,” I greeted her, again with a smile.
“You’re the new girl, huh?” she asked softly, almost whispering, as if she was afraid that someone might hear her.
“Yeah. My name’s Lana,” I answered.
“Okay, okay. My name is Samantha,” she continued to murmur at a hurried pace. “Listen, you’ll be working for Esther, right?”
She was referring to Esther McCarthy, most definitely... my immediate superior and a managing editor for Bachelorette Magazine, the company’s premiere print publication catered for women.
“Yeah, that’s correct,” I replied.
“Okay Lana, whatever she asks of you,” she proceeded to say, “whatever her opinion is on any matter, whatever she says regardless of your own beliefs... just say yes. Understand?”
No, I didn’t actually.
“Okay,” I answered quizzically.
“I know this is all weird for you, Lana,” she added, “but I’m just trying to help you, okay?”
“Okay,” I repeated my response.
All of a sudden, the door behind me opened and Samantha quickly went back to doing whatever it was she was previously preoccupied with - or maybe she just pretended that she was busy at that time. Out came a dignified-looking woman, around forty years of age, by my approximation. She was thin, a little tall, with her hair fixed in a ball... much a stereotypical librarian. She was wearing glasses that partially concealed her eyes, yet the terror caused by her gaze was very apparent.
“You,” she yelled towards my direction. “In my office, now!”
The people in the desks near mine looked at me. Their faces were painted with fear and apprehension... and worry, even, for my wellbeing most probably.
I stood up and followed Ms. McCarthy inside her office.
Once there, she took a seat behind her expansive table.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked callously. “Sit down so we can get this over with.”
I nodded and sat on the chair in front of her desk.
“So... you’re Lana Laine,” she said.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I politely answered.
“Do you have any idea about what you’re supposed to do here?”
“I was hired to be your assistant, Ma’am.”
“That’s not an answer,” she exclaimed. “My question is, and I will repeat it again, do you know what you’re supposed to do in this company?”
I was quite unsure how to reply. The job description merely stated that I was to serve as her assistant. In my mind, that entailed a plethora of duties that involved helping her fulfill the tasks that were assigned to her. I didn’t know the specifics. I just knew that my job was to be there for her whenever she needed me.
“Well?” she asked once more, impatiently.
“I’m supposed to... assist you, Ma’am?” was the only reply I could think of.
“Damn it!” she screamed in dismay. “Where does HR get these new recruits these days?”
I bowed my head in shame. I knew the humiliation I experienced was quite unwarranted, but I felt so little... so denigrated nevertheless.
“Lana Laine,” she continued as she looked at a document that most probably contained my bio data. “It says here that you graduated from Cuyahoga. What’s that?”
“It’s a community college near...”
She didn’t even allow me to finish.
“A community college?!” she shouted incredulously. “What the hell are you doing in this company if you just graduated from some fly-by-night school?”
“It’s not a fly-by-night school...”
Again, she interrupted me.
“Do you know that the people who work for this company come from reputable universities?” she asked. “Some even graduated from Ivy League schools. I graduated from Columbia University. You said you think your job is to assist me? What kind of assistance should I expect from a product of an unknown college?”
I wanted to defend Cuyahoga. I really did. Cuyahoga may not be a prestigious school, but its academe was composed of professors who were very devoted to their fields of study and students who worked really hard just to see themselves through college.
But I remembered what Samantha said. Just say yes.
So I just gave her a look of placid resignation... a silent assent to what she was preaching.
“I don’t like you,” she suddenly stated. “I don’t like your pedigree, or the lack thereof. I don’t like your upside, or the lack thereof. And I don’t like your dedication to the visions of this company, or the lack thereof.”
Just keep quiet, Lana. Just bear her words and nod.
“But you’re here already, so I’ll just make the most out of it,” she continued, a smirk formed on her face. I will have a meeting in five minutes. I will assign a very important task for you.”
My eyes lit up, waiting for Esther to deliver her instructions. I desperately needed that chance... that opportunity to prove that I can be a valuable member of the company.
“Get your note pad,” she ordered. “Write these down. You might forget.”
I did as she commanded.
“Espresso, two teaspoons black, one cube of brown sugar, a very small pinch of mint which you can find on the second drawer from the coffee counter, cooled for two minutes before serving it to me.”
I felt my body sink in despair, and my heart was quick to follow suit.
Was this what it has come to?
Four years of college. Decades worth of dreams. Countless letters where I stripped my pride and begged for a chance to work for Peak Publishing.
And now, I was placed in an overly glorified position where my most important task was to prepare coffee for Esther McCarthy?
It didn’t matter though. I was working at Peak Publishing... something that I have always dreamt of for so long. If I will have to bring her a cup of coffee each and every day, I wouldn’t mind. I’m here, and I’m happy.
Just say yes, Lana.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I humbly answered, smiling at her, without fear of showing how keen I was to serve her.
“Good,” she said. “Bring my cup to the conference room when it’s ready.”
COMING VERY, VERY SOON…
(The preview above is from the second draft of an upcoming book. Names of characters, some of the scenes, and the title may change from now until the date of publication.)