Loreen's bane

LOREEN SCOTT

"Ugh," the red-haired woman groans comically.

"Why?" She whimpers.

Why? Why? WHY?

Stopping abruptly, she leans against one of the pillars in the wide hall and looks around to make sure there is no one else but her.

Satisfied at the empty lot, she delivers a mild kick to the well polished surface with her red heels.

She thinks back to the shares that has just slipped through her fingers back there in that ugly room and delivers another kick, but this time, fiercely to the side of the innocent pillar

As soon as she steps into her office today, everyone will be getting fired including that incompetent secretary that her uncle had referred to her.

How can she become the nation's business mogul when she can't even manage her own affairs?

Speak of the devil: the incompetent woman is seen running down the stairs with her suitcase of very important documents.

"Give that to me," her face squeezing thoroughly as Alice nears.

"But, Madame..."

"Give. It. To. Me."

"Right." Alice sighs slowly, and hands it to her in a timid fashion. Too bad that the gesture is not appreciated as the suitcase is rather wrenched from her hands.

The air knocks out of Alice's chest.

"Madame, I'm so sorry," Alice starts.

"You are fired. Once we walk out that door, let me not see your annoying face ever again!"

Alice freezes and recovers when Loreen begins to walk away from her. "Madame." Her voice instantly weakens.

Loreen ignores her and Alice is left to follow behind her with hurried steps.

"Madame, I'm sorry. Is it about the phone call? I made it, I swear. You can ask anyone. Madame, please."

"Shut up, Alice!" Loreen snaps.

"Take it easy on the girl," a deep voice thunders behind her. It stops her in her tracks as she turns, body stiff like a plank, and already knowing the formidable voice of Michael Gild, the thief of her precious shares and the now occupant of her future throne.

"Mind your business."

"The poor girl..." his tone infused with compassion but his face telling a joke, "... must be so miserable stuck with you."

Her throat moves and her belly fills with acid. Saying nothing, she watches him with no expression as he walks past like he never said anything. Only when he walks through the large glass doors ahead, does she direct a murderous glare to Alice who looks to the floor immediately.

She shuts her eyes, refusing to let herself think about Michael's effrontery and swivels, and strides until she is through the door and into the flashing lights of the cameras.

In her office, she pitches her purse to the desk from the door and a clatter follows as one of her figurines go down to the floor.

The sound hooks something in her throat, her eyes widening as she runs behind the desk. Fortunately, the figurine stands there, staring at her in one complete piece. Her mind calms with a relieved sigh and she carefully picks it, clutches it close to her heart and sets it back on its rightful place to the right side of her desk.

Subsequently, she pulls back the heavy chair to slump on it, head lolling to the side and her shoulders sagging with tiredness.

This might be the worst day of her life yet. But it's so hard to believe. They had done every thing right. The clock ticks loudly and she wishes she had the time to do more, now there is n

"Alice!" She bellows out of habit and realises that Alice may not have heard her. So, she punches the ringer on the panel.

Minutes later, Alice runs in.

"Have you forgotten how to knock?"

Alice blanches. "No, Madame."

"Do the needful."

"Yes, Madame," she replies and runs back out. After a second, she knocks three times and lets herself in, looking more composed this time.

"This is better," and Loreen rolls her eyes.

"Now, take a seat."

"Me?"

Loreen Scott is just too tired of this, tired of everything and the streak of failure.

"Yes, you," she replies weakly.

"Madame, please -" Alice thinks she is going to be fired officially.

"Alice Walker! Shut up and take a fucking damn seat!" Loreen shouts, chest visibly rising and falling in anger.

The aforementioned makes a noise of fear and embarrassment and drops in to the nearest chair available. And in the uncertainty of the situation, Alice isn't aware of her damp palms coming together, rubbing.

Silence drags on for a charged moment before Loreen finally clears her throat.

Her shrewd eyes survey Alice's neat bun, the pretty face lined with exhaustion, down to the corporate attire visible above the table.

A smile ghosts her face then as she leans back into the chair and snags a pen from the open leather cup - case by a stack of files that never leaves her desk.

"You have been doing well all these years, tirelessly working as both my assistant and my secretary," she pauses, thoughts unconsciously wandering to what Gild had said. That scheming man.

Wait, something is off. "But-" Loreen begins to say. Then, goes quiet again. Her eyes narrows at the strangely calm Alice.

"Why are you not saying anything?"

The lady blinks twice, caught off guard. "What?"

"Never mind." She eyes her like a wary prey and straightens her back.

"We have one year left to make Scott enterprise perfect for the prize of the decade. Summer has almost come to an end and winter is never a good time for getting things done." Her outward appearance means business but inwardly she curses and wails.

On the other hand, the seat begins to cool under Alice. Her prospects still seems bright.

"I have a task for you."

"I thought I was being fired?"

"Unfortunately, I still have use for you." It earns her a relieved smile from Alice as they fall back into the familiar lines of friendship.

"You scared me back there," she breathes out.

"You should be used to me by now, Alice," Loreen tells her.

"I know," Alice catches her eye, "but sometimes, I don't."

Her words coax a sigh from Loreen as she silently agrees.

"I am sorry," she apologizes. After all, a loss for her is a loss for everyone too.

"I am also sorry." Alice reiterates.

The room suddenly feels stuffier in the pregnant pause that follows.

"Since we failed to accomplish plan B, we need another plan. Call for a meeting tomorrow with the A-board of directors and the day after it, for the B-board of directors. We really need to act fast." Her gaze flits down, finds the pen she'd snagged earlier still in her hand, rolls her eyes and drops it back.

The Scott enterprises was passed down to her by her retired uncle whom does not wish to start a family and prefers to take her as his daughter. Now, Loreen needs to make her uncle proud. Once, they had sat on that throne. It is her turn now to get them back on it.

"How many shares do we have to buy to meet the criteria?" Loreen asks, remembering the unfortunate events of earlier.

Alice whips out the little black book that she always carries with her. "A hundred, and from really powerful co-operations," she reads out, oblivious to the growing grimace on the face of her boss, "the problem is, we have run out of such connections here in California."

"What?" Loreen rises to her feet incredulously.

"Why was I not informed of this?"

"You had more pressing issues at hand, like today."

I thought it was fifty. You puny little uh- "Ugh," an exasperated moan leaves her lips, "I work with such pathetic people," she wails.

Suddenly, an idea comes to Loreen. She slams her hand down on the table, startling Alice.

"You are going to partner with the publicity sector and reach out to other states." She watches Alice's eyes go wide with betrayal, fully aware of the reason behind it and not giving a damn.

"Get me Simeon Walton before this month ends."

"Mr. Simeon is still wrapped up in scandals and –"

"I know."

I have no choice.

Simeon is the king of co-operations; he will know what to do for her.

Alice leaves her later on, after they are done with the issues that can be handled immediately.

In the silence of her office, Loreen has her eyes to the ceilings, tightly shut. The feeling of failure drifts from nowhere, chokes her to the extent that she has to draw up for air. She thinks back to how she sat in the Konst's meeting room with all confidence, thinking that the shares would be hers because everything was done right. How wrong she was.

Has the business world become so scared of letting a woman rule them?

Her uncle, Anthony must have seen her loss on T.V by now. The leather chair creases and makes a shuffling noise as she sinks into it.

Gathering a spur of courage, she dials his number before her courage takes flight.

"Mi hija favorita," She hears him coo in the lovely way he always does. These mere words douse the flames in her chest.

"Uncle," she replies softly.

"I saw it."

"I am sorry."

"No need to be, amor," he shushes her, "you did your best."

"I was sure I had it in my palms."

"Do not count your chicks before they are hatched, mmh," Anthony cautions his flighty niece. Not the first time he has given her such advice, but Loreen is one to take all chances despite the risks.

"Bad publicity is still publicity, is it not?"

Loreen feels warm. It is the second best thing Loreen adores in her uncle: his wisdom.

"You are right."

"What do you have in mind?"

She smiles tiredly at the question and begins to talk.

A few strikes from midnight, Loreen stumbles into her bedroom, blood buzzing with alcohol. She is not quite sure of how she got there, but she fuzzily remembers taking a glass of vodka in the living room.

And the irresistible urge for more.

She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.

Hammers are clanging in her head when she wakes up. She regrets falling into temptation yet again. Her phone buzzes with Alice's reminder for a meeting that-

"Shit!" She curses and hurriedly separates from the silk sheets.

Remind me not to drink again.

A few hours later, the silence of the room is broken by a ping of notifications from her phone. She opens Today's news and an errant headline screams out at her. Her eyes grow twice the normal size as it barely believes what they are seeing.

The accompanying photo shows her scowling face and a wild kick that speaks of fury.

"RED HAIRED DAMSEL SHOWS US HOW POWERFUL HER RED HEELS CAN KICK."

"Oh my gosh!" She yells in disbelief.

"Oh my goodness," she barely manages between choppy breaths and a hand on her chest.

She had not been alone after all.

Just then, her phone buzzes again in reminder.

One second passes. Two seconds. Suddenly, there is a blood-curdling scream heard from Room 20 in a certain apartment complex.

"Did you hear that?" A child asks his mother.

"Must be an exorcism," she replies and pulls her child away from the window.