I swept through the rows of cubicles, head darting backwards and forwards as I hunted my prey. The bored-looking workers in their bland ties and drab shirts all ducked out of my colourful way, a bright spot of light clearing the air of dust motes as it moved amongst them.
‘Move, move,’ I tittered impatiently, waving a handbag at woman who seemed either too catatonic or too stupid to get out of the way herself. ‘I have a very important meeting with your boss’s boss’s boss.’
I did, too. The CEO of the firm was here today, booming edicts down from his usually-empty corner office. The whole atmosphere seemed to grumble with his discontent, rattling even our world-class office interior design (Melbourne was awash with envy when we finished it last quarter).
I rounded the corner and there he was, the great, hulking brute. He was signing a series of documents in the kitchenette while his secretary made him a coffee, pen squeezed so tightly it was likely to break after a few more pages.
‘Anderson, darling,’ I beamed, rushing forward in an effort to spare the poor writing implement. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Angelica,’ he said gruffly, looking up at me with a knitted brow. Was it my imagination, or did it unknit slightly, at seeing me? ‘We need to talk.’
‘Is this about the commercial fitouts? Designed in Melbourne, I’m told,’ I said, looking back on the rows of cubicles with a smile. ‘You can just feel the quality craftsmanship, can’t you?’
‘You’re fired,’ he said.
‘What?!’
‘Those fitouts,’ he said, pointing a meaty finger at the office, ‘came in well over budget. You cost me my bonus this year!’
‘You’re not taking your bonus?’ I asked with a gasp.
‘Of course I’m still taking my bonus!’ he snapped. ‘But it’s a similar amount to what you wasted!’
‘Oh,’ I frowned. ‘But-but, isn’t it just… divine?’
‘Right,’ he grunted, with a smirk. ‘Worth every penny. You’re still fired.’
And with that, he went right back to his paperwork, palm wrapped mercilessly around his little black pen.
I knew exactly how it felt.