by Tyla Walker
Now that I think about it, Sonya's been the longest employee that I've ever seen work under, Mom. And she's always got that million-dollar smile on her face as if she's immune to mother's scary aura.
I've been able to work with her a few times, but I've never really gotten to notice her. Well, up until now that she's working for Mom.
I quickly sit back on my chair and search for files of the projects that Sonya and I have done.
Remarkable. The food drives, community outreach, and even the Christmas giveaways programs that we've worked on are all smashing successes!
According to the reports, Sonya was able to meet the allocated budget for each event and has never submitted it with a delay. Even at the most stringent levels of our key performance indexes, Sonya was way ahead of the curve.
That can't be right. No one can be THAT perfect, I say to myself. But I recheck the feedback surveys we always send to the participants of our events. It's graded from a scale of one to five, wherein five is the best grade, and one is the worst grade. Lo and behold, to my surprise, events organized by Sonya have always beaten the company average by a margin of one point and above. It's not just that she's making the company happy, she's also making internal and external customers satisfied.
Fascinating.
And there she was running around errands fit only for an assistant. Oh, mother, when will you ever start to realize the potential of these people in your company. People like Sonya and me.
This will simply not do.
I get out of my chair and grab my coat before leaving the office.
Sonya is a beautiful and talented asset to the company. If my mother is too high up on her horse to give Sonya the recognition that she deserves, and let's face it, probably needs right now from all the stress my mother has been dishing out on her, then it'll have to fall on me to do so.
Here I come, Sonya.
Three
Sonya
Another day on the job has passed by. It's the same old routine- running around to do what my boss wants me to do.
My feet are sore. It's painful to walk in my shoes, more so in heels. I plop down on the couch, in the reception area, and people can't help but look at me. I guess it's not fitting of me, who is working in the fashion industry to look so tired and bedraggled.
Bedraggled because something splashed on my skirt when I was running an hour ago to get another batch of coffee for the team. Tired, because I was on my feet almost the whole day!
I didn't even have the time to change my clothes. My goodness, I can even feel the skirt stick to my skin, and I hate it. I'm overworked and moody, to say the least. Sometimes I feel like I'm literally working for the devil herself.
I'm done with my work, though. I want to take a little breather before going home.
At home, another job's waiting for me. That is, being a mother to my five-year-old daughter, Lauralee. There will be no monetary compensation, but only the smile, kisses, and hugs of my little darling.
I smile as I think of her. All my tiredness slowly seeps away because I know that I'll be seeing her as soon as I got home. My little Lauralee will jump in my arms as soon as I open the door, and she'll kiss me.
Being a mother to my daughter is the fulfillment of my life, though. I stretch my limbs and stand up, getting ready to leave. Fortunately, I don't need to do overtime work today, and I can go home a bit earlier.
I can cook Lauralee's favorite food. I feel a bit guilty that she always has to stay with the nanny in the mornings and in the evenings. I always arrived late and tired to take care of her needs.
But someone waves at me from the elevator. It's one of the staff, and she's running towards me. Oh, God, it was too early of me to celebrate….
"Thank God, you haven't left yet! You should have checked your phone, I called so many times!" Martha says as she pants. She looks like she's ready to drag me back to the office.
I grimace inside, what am I supposed to do now? I hope it's not more running around. My feet hurt, and I think I hit one of my nails earlier. I was running for the elevator, and I stab my toe on something. I didn't even notice until I sat on the couch.
"Is there something else?" I ask her, looking composed. Her eyes survey me, and she grimaces when she catches the stain on my skirt.
"God, you shouldn't look like this!" Martha exclaims. "Anyway, go back to your office. Some designs need retouching, and the CEO wants the done designs first thing tomorrow. She told us to have you do it because the design team is overloaded with work."
What's new?!
I really want to retort, say something that this inhumane. I'm overworked… Mrs. Fields even calls me in the middle of the night to have her dress ironed.
If I say that I can't reach the place because of the traffic, she'll tell me to walk.
If I say that it's not done yet by the other departments, she'll tell me to finish it.
If she wants me to buy something, and it's not available in the malls… she'll tell me to scour the whole city.
She's a slave driver, it's inhumane! I have my rights, too! But sad to say, I don't dare to say such words because… I know, from the get-go, about what I'm getting on.
I'm riding the bullet train to hell. I grimace inside.
"Okay, I'm going back," I tell her. It looks like I have to postpone my bonding time with my daughter again.
Maybe I should consider getting off the management track and design on my own? I sigh, I really am not sure about what I'm supposed to do.
Let's leave the thinking for later, and let's do what I signed up for.
Oh, God. I'm beat, so fucking tired that I can barely move my hands. They feel heavy and trembling a bit. I have to retouch the designs for four straight hours.
My eyes are blurry and heavy as well. I just want to plop on the bed and sleep for three straight days.
But, no, can't do. Life doesn't wait for anyone, especially mine.
Now, it's past nine. I wonder if Lauralee's awake? Sometimes, I come home late, and she's still up to wait for me. But I always instruct the nanny to make sure that Lauralee sleeps early, but the latter's so stubborn.
I wonder where she got it? I smile, thinking that my daughter got it from me. Who else?
I search for my key in my bag and open the door. All the lights are on, and I can still hear the sound of the television.
"Lauralee? Miriam?" I call out to them. I walk to the living room, and Miriam's there. Lauralee's on her lap, sleeping. I gaze at my daughter, and my heart softens.
Oh, how much I miss her. I don't give enough time for us to spend together. The middle-aged nanny's lips purse when she sees me. She's a black woman like me, and I can only trust my daughter with her.
"You're late, young woman!" Miriam states in a small but authoritative voice. I grimace inside. She's really like a friend to me, that's why she can talk to me this way.
"You should spend time with the young gal," Miriam glances at Lauralee as she slowly puts the latter's head down on the couch. "It's important that you spend time with your daughter. Motherhood's a tough job."
"I'm sorry for running late," I apologize, my head bowed.
"I know that you're busy, but you told her that you were coming home early! She waited by the window and stared at the passing cars until you called to tell us you're coming home late," Miriam sighs.
"I'm really sorry," I tell her again.
"You're barking on the wrong person, honey. You apologize to the sweet gal. I'm telling you, she's lonely," she explains to me.
"I know," a tinge of loneliness leaks in my voice. My daughter's small body looks really fragile against the couch. As I move closer to her, I notice the tear stains on her cheeks. A pang of pain squeezes my heart.
"I'm going now," Miriam says to me. "You better think about what's your priorities, honey."
I go with her to the door, and I locked up after she left. I take a deep breath, trying to think things through.
I'm not sure if I can
continue working like this anymore. My body will probably give up on its own, or my relationship with my daughter will become strained.
"Mommy?" Lauralee asks as she rubs her eyes, wiping the sleep of her face. "Mommy!"
I open my arms when Lauralee comes running to me. I receive her gently, and I kiss her cheeks.
"You're here, mom. I miss you! How's work, mommy? Tired?" Lauralee asks me excitedly, but the sleepiness in her voice is apparent. I smile as I kiss her cheeks again.
My thoughtful daughter is so lovable.
"Mom!" she giggles.
"Well, I work as always. But what I really like is going home to see you," I put her down on the couch. Lauralee chuckles, and it blows my tiredness away. Then, she yawns.
"Me too, mommy," she admits to me. "I like it when you come home."
I smile as I hold her in my arms, tenderly. As a mother, I think I have neglected my daughter due to work. I sigh as I dance to a piece of invisible music with her in my arms.
"Sleepy?" I ask her.
"I want to stay away to be with Mommy," she whispers in my ears. Lauralee buries her face on my neck.
"Let's go to bed, then, Mommy will stay with you," I tell her, and she nods her head in agreement.
I put her on her bed, and I go in with her. I grab her favorite fairytale book.
"Mommy will read your favorite story until you fall asleep, honey," I tell her.
"Sure, Mommy. I'm going to listen until you finish… don't leave me," she tells me.
"Of course, honey. I won't," I caress her hair as I read the story of the Snow White and the Queen Mother. Oddly, my daughter isn't into the prince charming thing. She likes to listen to stories about mothers and their daughters.
I smile, well, I guess it's because she only has me. I read the story until Lauralee closes her eyes. I stop when I'm sure that she's asleep.
"Goodnight," I tell her. My eyes are slowly closing too. I don't want to move my body anymore. The exhaustion's taking over me. I close my eyes, and finally, I fall asleep.
Four
Grant
“Good morning, sir,” the employees greet me as soon as I step into the company premises. I give them my warmest smile, and I wink at the ladies.
Their eyes widen and beam at me. I can even see a glint of calculation in some people. What could be in their minds? Are they thinking of approaching me with ulterior motives?
My lips curve in a smirk. Well, I can’t fault them, I’m rich and handsome. I’m just stating facts, not trying to boast about myself, so don’t dissect my character just yet.
I’m feeling like a million-dollar man as soon as I step in the elevator. I’m, in fact, worth more than a million dollars. I wave at the girls, and they almost squeal, acting unprofessional.
I can say that I’m even more famous than some celebrities. Being a son of a fashion empress does that, and being a playboy cements my status in women’s hearts. Some love me, and some hate me to the core.
Nah, but the hate is always in that 0.1 percent of the society. Almost nil. I’m that confident with my charms. I can probably charm an old lady out of her diapers.
I grimace as I thought of it, yuck. Let’s not think about old ladies. Let’s think about the ‘Sonya.’
The beautiful Sonya Lynx. I smile as I think of her, she’s a vitamin to my weary eyes. I should really talk to my mom about her. Come on, Mom’s been burying her amazing talent under too much administrative work.
My goodness, it’s such a waste of resources.
Why am I always thinking about her these days? I shake my head, clearing my mind.
I step out of the elevator, and whistles to my office. My secretary’s already at her station.
“Good morning,” I greet her when she didn’t notice me. She’s startled and almost jumps out of her chair.
“Good morning, sir,” she greets me back.
“Okay, bring me a cup of my favorite coffee. Have it extra strong today,” I instruct her as I open the door to my office.
“Sir, wait…” she stops me. I turn to her, staring at her questioningly.
“Your mother called, and she wants you in her office as soon as you arrived,” she informs me. I raise my brows at that. What does Mom want with me early in the morning?
My spine tingles, it’s like a warning of some sort. A sense of foreboding invades my body. Jeez, what the hell is up with me today?
I grimace.
“Sure, I’ll go,” I reply to her. “After I have my coffee. Bring it to me.”
A dose of coffee will activate my stagnant brain. Well, the proper word would be not yet fully functioning brain. I need my shot of caffeine to help me crunch up more numbers today.
I can crunch numbers without spitting anything. I’m that good.
After a few minutes, my secretary comes in and hands me my coffee.
“Perfect, thank you!” I praise her, the coffee’s made to perfection. The temperature’s the one for me, seventy-eight-degree celsius. Yes, I’m very particular when it comes to my numbers.
The beans are grounded ideally, and it smells divine.
I take a sip and voila! I feel refreshed, awake, and ready to go about my day’s work. My mom’s waiting for me, so I better go see her before she goes momzilla on me. God knows how bad it is.
I walk out of my office, and instruct my secretary, “Bring me the company budget from five months ago. There are a few things I need to check. I need it on my table when I get back.”
“Yes, sir,” she obeys.
“And, if a woman calls… tell her… uh, tell her that I’m not around. Then, inform her that I’ll be sending her a Cartier diamond bracelet. Add that I enjoyed our time in Paris, but what happened in Paris, stays in Paris,” I order her.
I have so many women that I’m sure my secretary knows how to deal with them. But this last one, in particular, is really tricky. I had this fling with a model, and she thought I was serious with her.
I wave my hand as I leave. My mother’s office is already busy when I arrive. I look at the surroundings, and people are milling around.
In particular, my eyes sought for a bold blue-black hair amongst the crowd. There’s no way I’ll mistake it for someone else. But she’s nowhere in sight.
Is Sophia running late? I doubt it, though. She’s always busy, and I bet that she doesn’t have time to be late at all. Mom’s going to drive her crazy.
As soon as the last person that went in gets out, I proceed inside. Mom’s looking at some design sketches on her table. She’s so focused that she didn’t even notice me.
“Mom?” I call out to her. She looks up at me, my mother’s wearing her signature eyeglasses. I’m really surprised that she’s wearing glasses when at work. I mean, she can use contact lenses.
She looks like a hot nerd in her office attire.
“What took you so long?” she asks me as she gestures for me to come closer.
“I need to have my cup of coffee first,” I tell her. “Anyway, good morning. Did you have breakfast? Or did you sleep here in your office?”
Mom acts this way most of the time. She forgets to eat, and she sleeps in the office if there’s a need. She’s hard on others, but she’s harder on herself. That’s why she helms this company at the top.
“I did go home,” Mom replied. “Well, to change. I forgot to bring a change of clothes.”
See what I’m talking about? Sometimes, I worry about her.
I rub my hair in frustration, “Did you at least eat?”
“I did,” she replies to me. I heave a sigh of relief and sits on the chair in front of her. I place my feet over the small coffee table.
“What are you doing?” Mom glares at me. “Put those feet down!”
“Okay, okay…” I raise my hands in surrender. My mother sighs as she looks at me, then, she takes off her eyeglasses.
“You’re still so childish,” she says to me. “What am I to do with you?”
“I’m not,” I grimace insi
de and sit properly. “Anyway, why am I here, Mom?”
“I notice that you’re saving money, it’s good,” Mom shrugs her shoulders. Nothing really passes her eyes. “But what I want to know is where this is going?”
I blink my eyes. Oh, the cat’s out of the bag. But she really doesn’t have to know what the money is for. I don’t intend to let her know about my plans of doing this for charity, I’ll be in the headlines the next day.
She’s going to ruin my image as the number one playboy. I’m going to appear soft in front of people, which I don’t want to ever happen.
People don’t have to know about me doing charity or anything of the like.
“It’s all in the company funds, all safe. You don’t have to worry about it, Mom,” I reply to her without batting an eye.
She looks at me, suspiciously.
“What am I to do with you, son? Is it my fault for coddling you so much?” Mom questions as she sighs. “This money… I don’t know what you’re doing. I have a feeling that you’re not entirely honest with me.”
I don’t answer when she points this out. Well, she has a point, but I won’t ever tell.
“I want you to take control of the family,” she adds. Now, she got my whole attention. I lean towards her direction.
“As I’ve said, mom, it’s in the company funds,” I reaffirm. “It’s safe and sound. Growing, too.”
“If you say so,” she stares at me. “Now, I really want you to see in control of our company. But how can I trust you? You’re a playboy! No steady girlfriend, and no prospects in sight!”
I grimace, we’re back at this again.
“I thought about this, and I’ve arrived at a favorable answer,” she tells me. Is this the foreboding I was feeling earlier?
“You have to prove that you’ve settled down by getting married,” she states in a voice that brooks no argument.
