It's Miss

"How do you expect me to fix this?" I shouted at John as he sat across my office, eyes fixated on his brown loafers. John was in his late 20s with shaggy blonde hair and a scruffy beard. When I hired him for the accounting department I was happy no one would ever see him as the face of my company because he was rarely put together and presentable. He had a stellar resume, graduated with an MBA from Duke and his references all praised his punctuality and speed. John had worked for me for 3 years and although he always showed up on time, he made more mistakes than any of my notoriously hungover college employees. The references apparently left out his inability to proofread.

His big brown eyes looked up and took a deep breath before starting what I expected to be a long calculated speech I had heard plenty of times before "I'm sorry, I was distracted and hit send before I proofread the numbers. My kid..." his voice trailed off when he realized he was angering me worse and about to hear my wrath. 

"Just shut up, get out, and go home. Someone will call you at some point once I've figured out what the hell to do with you" I clipped my words and turned my back on him. I waited until I heard him leave the office before I relaxed back in my chair and sighed. John was a single dad, due to his own inability to keep his penis in his pants. I was a widowed mom due to a horrible icy road. Our situations were polar opposites and I despised when he tried to lump us together. He always tried to use our kids as excuses and it drove me crazy. My kids were never the scapegoat for a mistake, especially not a 100 thousand dollar mistake. I had received confirmation an hour ago that John had approved selling a building downtown, which would usually be another day in the office, except John approved it for $100,000 less than what I had approved him to sign off on.

Goldman Experiences was my baby, and no matter how much money I made, every dollar mattered. My company never would have spread to 15 cities if I didn't.  We offered high end clients experiences they could only dream of. Dinner atop the Eiffel tower? Easy. Horseback riding through downtown Memphis? We've done it. Weekend in an igloo? One of my favorites. It was almost comical how my company focused around couples when I hadn't even batted an eye at a man since Tucker.

I slouched in my chair, glanced at the small wedding photo on my desk and pulled out my mirror on my desk. My pupils were so wide with fury you could hardly see any brown in my eyes. I shook my head,  the damage was done. I tried to focus on the small photo to calm myself, as I frequently would. I closed my eyes, imagining Tuckers bright smile and his warm aquamarine eyes. I focused on his words from that day, as we stood outside the courthouse, "I promise you that one day we will have the big wedding with our family and our children and all our friends. We will make it one day my darling, you were destined for greatness. You can do anything you set your mind to and I will always be there to support you" 

After taking a deep breath, I smiled at Tucker's photo and turned to reapply my mascara when suddenly my intercom buzzed and interrupted my moment of peace. My assistant, and best friend, Janice's usually perky voice was timid "Miss Goldman, there's a Mister Bruther on line two from Downtown Real Estate for you" 

I let out a sigh as I responded, "Thanks Jan. I should get this over with huh?"

"Or I could tell him to go fuck off and we could ditch this place for Cabo?" She quipped back as she hung up. Janice was my college roommate, we used to party together and although she was mediocre as an assistant, I had begged her to come work for me after I fired 7 over-qualified idiots in my first four months after the business expanded. They cared more about telling me what to do and overscheduling my day, often creeping into my family time than they cared about following my instructions.  Janice knew me, she knew my personality, knew when to push me and most importantly she knew how to not piss me off. 

I stared at the blinking light on my phone. Before taking a big breath and picking up the phone. "Serena Goldman speaking" I answered blankly. 

A strong but kind voice spoke "Mrs Goldman, this is Teddy from the realtors office dealing with the downtown warehouse sale."

"It's Miss." I instinctively replied. My husband had died 5 years ago, before my business boomed, before my money, before I became such a bitch that I'd yell at a man who made a mistake and correct strangers for turning Ms into Mrs. "What do you need from me Mr Bruther?" I snapped. 

He let out a laugh "I just need to set a time and date to obtain the keys to the warehouse and a final signature from you." He stopped short like he had something else to say.