I give Charlie a fruit salad and remind him that he still hasn't given some of my bowls back.

"I'll gid them back," he tries to reassure me, and I eye him suspiciously.

"You'd better not have sold my fucking bowls, Charlie!" I glare at him. He shrinks.

"Naaa, naaa! I doy sell them!" he screams nervously, and I soften my glare.

"Okay but bring them back already. Why don't you give them to me after you're done using them, anyway?"

I walk to my car. He smiles, but I don't stay to watch as I start making my way towards the CBD. This is it then; my first day at work, and the wheel keeps slipping under my grip dangerously.

Is this the most nervous I've ever been?

Well, I've never really had a job before, so I guess it makes sense that I would be nervous. I mean, finally! I get to be part of the real world!

I always thought I would be totally fine with no job and just freelancing, but I felt my mind slowly fall into disuse as I stayed with losers, smoking weed and drinking till we couldn't see straight.

I have a lot of respect to people who make it work for them.

Is social order as natural as we make it out to be, or have we just been conditioned to think that way after thousands of years of socialisation?

I wish I had found a job at the same time as Edward - then, we could've shared in the excitement together. I always wondered if Edward got a job before me because he's a man or if he really deserved it. I mean, the company that took him only accepted one woman and four men that year. It really disgusted me that Edward took the job to begin with, and I had to work hard to see him as I did before.

Again, the glass mammoth comes into view, and I give the guard at the gate my employees' card. I park in the same spot as yesterday and check myself out in the mirror. Maybe they should consider signing this spot: 'Edgar.' Content with my appearance, I walk to reception.

"Mister Wright is waiting for you in his office," the receptionist informs me as I walk in.

I nod in her direction as acknowledgement, and I make my way to the elevator. Pressing the button to the top floor, I blow air out in frustration as I steal a glance at my wristwatch - which tells me that I have only two minutes to get to my destination in the time my boss had stipulated.

One foot goes in front of the other in such quick succession, I'm surprised that I don't break into a sprint. I knock on Oscar's door and step inside when I'm granted permission.

"Miss Brown! I was starting to think I'd have to fire you!" he tells me as my heels clank on the granite, and I slowly make my way to his desk.

Intimidation I tell you!

I check my watch to see that it's only 08:01. "But-I'm only a minute late."

"I'm just joking!" we share a laughter - confident on his end, awkward on mine. He turns to the young girl. "I need you to draft a written warning and have it delivered to her cubicle before the end of the day."

What? This has to be a nightmare!

"Mister Wright, I'm only late by a minute."

"And that's a minute of my time wasted." His gaze is hard on me, daring me to challenge him. "Trust me, it's better this way. It has something to do with accountability; I don't know."

What is happening?

"Now, let me take you to meet your senior."

Before I know it, I'm running after him down the corridor - barely able to keep up. I wonder if I'll get another ridiculous written warning for not keeping up. After what just happened a few minutes ago (note: I'm still not sure exactly what happened a few minutes ago), I'm convinced that is a possibility.

After a fair amount of rushing about, he stops on one door and pops his head in.

"Charlene?" he asks and walks in. I follow him. I'm met by the sight of a very beautiful woman - probably in her late thirties. She isn't in a YSL trouser suit like the lawyer. Instead, she's donning a white blouse which shows a hint of her red lace bra underneath. A fur jacket rests on the desk. Her short, shiny blond marcel wave casts a domineering shadow to her that I, frankly, find intimidating - almost as intimidating as the runway to Oscar's desk. I admire her deep red lipstick, and her fingers are adorned by long, black claws.

"Does that outfit look professional?" Oscar asks, his jaw tensing.

"No, but I figured it would piss you off; so, I put it on," she mumbles, her voice thick with maturity, without looking up to him.

Well, I think I've found me somebody to love.

He balls his fists to his side as he tries to drill a hole on her head with his glare. "This is Miss Brown. She will be your junior."

She puts down her folded glasses and looks up to scrutinise us - or, rather, me. Then, she grabs the glasses again and looks back at the papers scattered all across her desk.

"Great," she mumbles again. He tells her to bring me up to speed with The Press's PR department and all the projects they're working on. She doesn't reply. He leaves without another word.

I stay fixed on my spot for at least ten minutes before she looks up at me.

"Sit," she instructs in a cool voice and goes back to studying.

I do as instructed and crane my neck as I try to see what is actually on the papers she's so intently focused on. After failing miserably, I decide to sit and look pretty while the woman provides for her family. The clock above the chest of drawers looks nice. The walls, painted beige, are largely unused. There are no picture frames on her desk and everything inside the room is dedicated to work. There's a small notice board to the side that contains a bunch of articles - all from The Press.

Does this woman have a family?

Well, I guess she and I have one thing in common so far.

122; 123; 124; 125; 126; 127...

I stop myself when I realise that I'm counting the seconds that I've spent with nothing to do when I should be working. I've gone through so many, I can't think straight.

"What did you say your name was?" the woman - Charlene - asks, waking me as I float between the state of sleep and that of being awake.

"Sorry? I-I mean-Ed-Elisabeth Brown."

She smirks. "Would you like a coffee, Miss Brown?"

This place is really weird, isn't it?

"Yes, please," I respond.

"Two cups of coffee; skimmed milk; no sugar," she speaks into the telephone on her hand and lays it back down before the person on the other end even gets the chance to speak. Sure enough, a few minutes later, an elderly woman almost falls on her face as she runs into the room holding a tray with two mugs.

She stands there, unspeaking, waiting for Charlene to dismiss her. She looks intimidated - scared, even. Charlene ogles her before speaking, in a voice colder than January, "Go."

I can't help but feel sorry for the woman as she tries to get out of Charlene's face as quickly as possible, but she ends up almost tripping when she kicks the table next to the door. This woman - Charlene - seems to have everyone around her on their toes yet she hardly seems to lift a finger.

I don't know whether to admire or despise her.

"I don't drink milk," I tell her after she grabs her cup.

She smiles, but only for a split second. "Suit yourself." She then proceeds to throw a huge file on the desk right in front of me. "That's everything we're working on and a few projects we've worked on. Go study that - focus on Chelsea F.C. - and come back tomorrow with your thoughts. Eight o'clock."

"But work only starts at eight-thirty--"

"--For the journalists - who don't really have serious jobs. A publicist never sleeps, Miss Brown." She sips her coffee; her cold, steely eyes trained on me. "Close the door on your way out."

And she goes back to studying the papers on her desk.

Is this even legal?

I take a quick look at the clock on the wall. 10:52. My tea break is over.

I make my way to the door, my steps slow as I am overcome with disbelief and I half-expect her to laugh and tell me she's just fucking with me. But I'm already convinced that she's as serious as a heart attack.

What is this place?

I make my way to Oscar's office, disbelief still playing on my mind. But, as realisation sets in, my steps become more and more intentional. Once again, I knock and step inside when I'm granted the permission to do so.

Oscar looks up from the papers sprawled on his desk. I wonder if that one lady I'd seen the first day was the only one with an iPad in this place. Oscar smiles. Quelle surprise.

"Done?"

"Yes. I just wanted to know where my cubicle is."

He calls his assistant - Mia - and instructs her to give me a tour of the building and introduce me to as many people as possible before showing me to my cubicle. She does as instructed, keeping all conversation to a minimum.

"How old are you?" I ask in the middle of the tour.

She stares at me, wide-eyed. I can't tell whether she's shocked or scared, but I feel like she will run to Oscar and tell him to fire me. I can already imagine Edward yelling at me and telling me that he's giving up on me. One thing Edward doesn't like is when people don't listen to him. 'Is my mouth a dustbin?' is his go-to when people speak over him or don't do as he says. And I know he won't appreciate that I pretended to listen to him and then went did the opposite of what he told me.

"I'm sorry. It's none of my-"

"I'm eighteen." Her voice sounds delicate. It matches her delicately small frame and even smaller face. "I'm in my gap year."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I... I shouldn't have asked."

She nods and we continue the tour.

"He didn't force me to... you know?"

"But he did ask you?"

She nods.

"And did you feel you could say 'no'?"

She teeters on the verge of speech: her mouth opens, and her hand twitches a little. "I mean, a little. I've always liked older men. When he asked me, I kind of figured 'why not'?"

I plaster a smile on my face. "Good for you, then."

"Yeah, well. This is your cubicle."

The space is not as small as I'd expected. Fitted inside is only a small desk and a chair, but I can probably stretch my arms in it. Besides, everyone has the same sized cubicle, so I guess equality is a thing here. On my desk is a desktop computer, a little stationery, and a balloon with the word 'WELCOME!' along with a box of chocolates. Everyone claps their hands when I'm introduced.

Maybe this floor is better than the executives' floor.

"See you around," Mia tells me and leaves for her desk. As I take a seat at my desk, I notice the envelope in front of my computer:

To: Elisabeth Brown

From: Oscar Wright

Date: 18 April 2019

Re: Written Reprimand for Attendance

This is an official written reprimand for your failure to perform the required functions of your position by attending work on time and as scheduled. You have arrived fifteen minutes late on your first day of work.

Since timely attendance is a significant factor in helping you get acquainted with the working environment, this attendance is unacceptable. Executives had to put their work on hold in anticipation of your arrival, and the opportunity for them to work was lost as a result of your tardiness.

A copy of this written reprimand will be placed in your official personnel file where you will also have the opportunity to offer a response that we can attach to this written reprimand.

Signature: O. Wright

Supervisor Name: Oscar Wright

Date: 18/07/19

What the fuck? Fifteen minutes late? How did it go from one minute to fifteen minutes? I wonder if everyone received this waste of paper on their first day.

I mean, it would explain why they all walk like Olympic runners.

I wonder if Edward knew about his friend's almost psychotic need to control his employees. This looks like something he should've told me before I came here. I need to ask him why he didn't.

Edward:

thank you for getting me this job

dinner

my place

k

Great! He has some serious answering he needs to do.

A bunch of people come by to greet me, and a few brave ones share some office gossip with me. One topic I find interesting is that Charlene is actually separated from Oscar, which explains their heated exchange earlier in the day. Everyone also seems to derive pleasure in Jessica not knowing that she's sharing Oscar with Mia.

'I've never seen such a dumb lawyer,' they all say as they laugh at her expense. 'Serves her right for being such a bint. She deserves a little suffering.'

They also laugh when I show them my written warning. 'Yeah, we all have one of those. It's how they welcome us here.'

"I'm taking it back," I tell one girl who seems closest to my age.

"Don't even bother. He won't change it."

"But he lied in it!"

"Just leave it. Like I said, it's a bit of a welcome. Frame it and hang it up your wall. The pay here is really good and you have unlimited vacation. What are the odds you'll get another one?"

I guess there is some truth to that.

She leaves my desk to go back to work, but not before making the kind invitation that I may go to her if I ever need help. I tell her I will and start studying the huge file in front of me.

Time goes by quickly and, halfway through the book, people start packing and the volume of their voices picks up: my very first knock-off ever. I take my phone out to look at the time. 16:23.

I've got a nine-to-five!

Patricia - the girl I was talking to earlier - tells me that she and her friends are going out for drinks. "They already love you so much! C'mon! It won't even be an hour."

"I'm sorry; I've already made plans to see my friend today. Can't we do it tomorrow?"

She lets out a disappointed sigh. "I guess. But tomorrow, no excuses, okay?"

I laugh as we part ways. "Okay."

As soon as I make it to my apartment, I clean up quickly and cook a vegan lasagne in anticipation of Edward. While waiting, I continue studying the book I was tasked with studying. It's exhaustingly long, but after skipping a few things I think are unimportant, I'm pretty confident I'll be finished by tomorrow.

A knock sounds at the door but it doesn't wait for me to answer as the door is pushed open and in comes Edward. "What's this about?" he asks immediately after stepping in.

"Hi Edward. You couldn't wait for me to say, 'Come in'?"

"Your voice isn't as appealing as you think it is."

Okay, Shady Lady!

"You won't guess who I met on my way up," he says with a stoic face.

"Johnny?" I ask, remembering Edward's loathe of the guy. I don't blame him though - Johnny is that annoying, ignorant guy that blames everyone's dislike of him on political correctness. One day, when we were smoking and watching some report on the gender pay gap in sports, he declared that he didn't understand how feminism is all about equality when its clear goal was to attack men and erode masculinity. When we tried to explain to him that feminism is really about empowering women and giving them the same kinds of opportunities that have historically been granted to men, and that there is no benefit - or intention, even - in doing away with masculinity, he said he knew what he knew, and no woman could ever be his equal.

I immediately felt sorry for his girlfriend, but she seems comfortable - given that she's still with him; so, to each her own.

He shudders. "Ugh. I can't believe I used to drink from the same bottle as him. Anyways, what's this about?"

I pour a soft drink for him and join him on the couch, throwing the giant bible back on my lap.

"You have to read that?" he screams, his eyes bulging out and his mouth hanging open.

"A publicist never sleeps."

"That's why I stopped that crazy job. Welcome to the real world." He takes a sip of his drink. "Anyways, you haven't answered my question."

I go to the final page of the book and produce the envelope I'd received on my desk today. He opens it and goes through it, and he struggles with hiding the grin on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes.

"A written warning?"

"You could try to not enjoy it so much," I chastise him. "I was only a minute late."

"I forgot to tell you: the guy's pretty strict about time. Why d'you think everyone in his office walks like an Olympic runner?"

"That's exactly what I thought! What's up with that?"

"I don't know. He's always been this way as far as I know."

What kind of psycho control freak am I working for?

"Anyways, I hope you're making friends?"

"I don't know. I got invited to drinks today, so I guess there's that."

"Why didn't you go?"

"You know I don't drink!"

"You could've easily told them this! I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"Another day."

"Tomorrow."

We end up talking about a range of topics - most of which I probably won't care about after he's left. He ends up telling me that he's applied for a gig in New York City. If he gets it, he'll have to stay there for about six months, and it's high-profile; so, he stands to make a lot of money. We spend the rest of the night with him telling me what NYC looks like and what his favourite parts of the city are.

Sometimes, I wish he and I could swap lives - even if just for a day.