Chapter 3: Drowning in Demands

By midday, Emma felt utterly drained. It was like she'd already put in a full week's work and the sun was only just passing over head. The endless stream of requests coming from Damian, her boss, never seemed to stop, and her legs were starting to ache.

Just as she was walking past Damian's office, hoping for a moment of peace to grab a quick coffee, she heard his voice.

"Emma," he called out, his voice deep and carrying through the open doorway.

Emma froze. It was a reflex now. The sound of her name, spoken in that particular tone, instantly made her tense. She took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure, and then walked into his office. She stood straight, forcing her shoulders back, even though her legs screamed for a break from all the running around she'd been doing all morning.

Damian sat behind his large, imposing desk. It was clear he was a man of power. He looked up, his expression unreadable. "I need you to review this portfolio and summarize it in a one-page report," he said, his voice flat. He slid a thick folder across the polished surface of his desk, the sound echoing slightly in the large room. "By the next hour."

Emma's jaw almost dropped. She stared at the folder, then back at Damian, trying to process what he was asking. She had been hoping to take a short break, but that was all she had been doing all morning. She thought she could finally relax. The folder was huge, easily eighty pages thick. It was a far cry from the quick email replies and filing she was used to.

"But, sir, that—" Emma started to protest, but the words died in her throat.

Damian simply raised one eyebrow, a silent but effective way of stopping her. It was a look that said, "Don't question me. Just do it." The power in his gaze was enough to cut her words off completely.

"One hour, Miss Carter. No mistakes," he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. It was an order, pure and simple. Her heart sank. He left no room for mistakes.

Emma snatched the folder from his desk, her fingers brushing against his for a brief second. His skin felt cold and smooth. She quickly turned and hurried out of the office, her heart pounding in her chest. One hour? Was this man insane? Did he have any idea how much work this was?

She practically threw herself into her chair at her tiny desk space. It felt even smaller than usual, hemmed in by stacks of files and papers. She flipped through the pages of the portfolio, skimming as fast as she possibly could. It was a proposal for a new fashion line from a very important client. The pages were filled with complex designs, detailed production costs, market trend analysis, and fabric samples. It was a lot to take in, let alone summarize in a single page.

She opened a new document on her computer and started typing furiously, trying to condense the information into concise bullet points and short paragraphs. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, but it felt like she was barely making a dent in the amount of information she needed to process.

She glanced at the clock on her computer screen. The minutes were ticking away with alarming speed. She skipped her lunch break, ignoring her empty stomach. She just wanted to get this done. Hopefully it would be to his standards.

The pressure was immense. If she made a mistake, she knew she would hear about it. She had never experienced this much pressure and stress.

She typed even faster, her fingers starting to cramp. She had to make sure she did her best. She did not want to make a mistake.

Then—

PING!

An email notification popped up in the corner of her screen. It was from Damian. Just what she needed.

"Where is the report? 5 minutes left."

Emma let out a silent scream of frustration. Five minutes? She was still trying to format the document and proofread it for errors. She felt a surge of panic. This was impossible.

She scrambled to finish, quickly adding a concluding sentence and running a spell check. She barely had time to read it over before hitting the "send" button. The email zipped off into cyberspace, and Emma slumped back in her chair, feeling completely drained.

Before she could even catch her breath, her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Damian's office number. Her stomach sank like a stone. She knew what was coming.

"Miss Carter," Damian's cold voice came through the phone. It was devoid of any warmth or friendliness. "My office. Now." The line went dead.

Emma's heart pounded in her chest. She took a deep breath and slowly stood up. She straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair, trying to appear calm and composed, even though she felt anything but.

She walked back to Damian's office, her footsteps echoing in the silent hallway. She paused outside his door, took another deep breath, and then knocked lightly.

"Come in," Damian said, and his voice was colder over a speaker.

She opened the door and walked inside. Damian was sitting at his desk, the report already on his desk, face unreadable. He looked up at her, his gray eyes piercing.

For a brief second, Emma thought she might have actually done a decent job. Maybe, just maybe, she had managed to meet his impossible expectations. But then Damian's expression shifted.

He flipped through the pages of her report, his brow furrowed. He didn't say a word, but his silence was more terrifying than any shouting could have been. He placed the documents down.

Finally, he looked up, his gray eyes now as cold as ice. "This is a lazy summary." He tossed the papers onto his desk, the sound making Emma jump slightly. "You missed critical cost projections. Redo it. Thirty minutes."

Emma's hands curled into fists at her sides. She was doing her best. She had a great reputation before she started working here.

Thirty minutes?! He had to be kidding. There was no way she could redo the report, adding in the missing information, in just thirty minutes. It was simply impossible.

She wanted to argue, to protest, to tell him that he was being completely unreasonable. But she knew it would be pointless. Arguing with Damian was like arguing with a brick wall. He would just ignore her or, worse, find some other way to make her life miserable.

Without a word, she grabbed the papers from his desk and turned sharply, storming out of the office. She didn't slam the door, but she came close. She was exhausted, frustrated, and on the edge of snapping. She felt like she was drowning in his demands.

She wanted to cry, to scream, to quit her job and run away. But she wouldn't. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. She wouldn't let him win.

Back at her desk, Emma took another deep breath and started working on the report again. She knew she couldn't do a perfect job in just thirty minutes, but she would do her best. She would add in the missing cost projections and try to make the summary a little more detailed.

She worked furiously, ignoring the pain in her fingers and the throbbing in her head. She was determined to get this done, even if it killed her.

Not today. She will not be broken today.