Katherine strode through the office, queen of all she surveyed.
One office. A dozen employees, with only one of them older than her thirty years of age; each of them holding her in some degree of awe. Three rows of monitors with the latest software. Five years in the making. Just over two million in annual revenue. A small but happy and expanding client base.
A small kingdom- maybe even a petty one- but it was one that she had forged.
She walked over to her corner office and sat down. An array of emails and IMs awaited her like messengers before a throne and with steely determination she buried herself in status reports, walked mentally over plans and did her best to anticipate and resolve problems before they emerged. She made notes, issues commands and proclamations, calculated and schemed the most optimal means to-
"Miss Cullen?"
Katherine's head snapped up at the interloper in her office. Had she forgotten to close the door? She eyed the boy- well, okay, he wasn't more than a few years younger than her, but still- and managed not the glare. "Yes?"
Katherine didn't dislike people, exactly. At least, not on principle. She just- she struggled to understand why they always had to keep on bothering her while she was busy. Countless management courses had, if not
blunted
this irritation, than at least taught her the value of patience.
The boy- Connor, she reminded herself- said, "I just wanted to say that the numbers are all sorted for the Vagenson's account. They're all good."
"Wonderful." She pushed back the urge to demand to know why he couldn't have sent her an email to this effect.
"No problem." He smiled in a way that hinted at an awkward conversation to come. "Always for you, boss. Um..."
This time she didn't quite manage to hide her scowl. She knew
ums like
that.
Um
meant something embarrassing/awkward/costly/inefficient, which were all things Katherine loathed.
"Go on Connor," she said in the tones of a woman who was busy and wanted the bad news
now, please
.
"My mother is coming down for the weekend. To see the big city? I was hoping that I might be able to leave a little early on Friday? She's booked us tickets to Hamilton and I want to make sure I can get there on time. I know we've got that management meeting to discuss the Paulson's account, but the works' already done and..." He just sort of trailed off there, like a puppy that content to sit and beg.
Contrary to what her enemies at school, her friends at school, five separate boyfriends and on three separate occasions her parents had said, Katherine didn't actually relish being a bitch. But at the same time she had a business to run.
"I'm entrusting you with that account." She didn't fail to notice the way that the light of hope began to fade from his eyes. She felt awful about it and even more awful about feeling awful. "I can understand your... issues, but that's an important client for this business, and I really need to make sure that you understand that it's a top priority."
He mumbled something like understanding and slinked away, his tail between his legs. She pushed away her pang of guilt. Connor was a good worker- talented and industrious and possessed of a touch of inspiration. But if he wanted to rise in this life- if he wanted to own his own little firm one day- he needed to understand the meaning of the word sacrifice. She sighed and returned to her laptop.
***
Half an hour later and she was done. She closed down the laptop and gathered her things. Normally she'd stay for at least another hour but tonight was special. Tonight was different.
Tonight was kitten's night.
An hour driving through the city to her home. It was an effort to force her mind to focus on the road. She impatiently rode the elevator all the way up to her apartment and nearly dropped her keys at the door. She stumbled inside and checked the time.
Seven-oh-five. Enough time for a shower. She stripped off, throwing her expensive business suit onto the floor as she walked quickly to the bathroom- stopping only to straighten a crooked picture on the wall. She turned on the water and waited until it steamed before ducking under.
Ten minutes to let the scalding water pour over her body, thinking vaguely of baptisms. Ten more minutes with the hair-dryer. One minute to retrieve the box from under her bed.
Seven twenty-eight.
She sat naked on the bed, her legs folded, and inspected herself in the mirror. Skin like mocha and dark eyes, the product of her black father and white mother. A body she kept nice and trim in the gyms, attacking the treadmills with her trademark single-minded ferocity. Modest boobs that were still a few years away from serious sag.
Seven twenty-nine.
It was a good body. It was her body.
Mostly.
And then it was seven thirty and her phone dinged and she jumped despite herself before she read the message.
Master: Go?
She typed back,
yes.