His Assistant Controls Our Finances

I was just about to snap back when another urgent payment notification from the hospital flashed across my phone screen.

Thus, I swallowed my words and started drafting the paperwork all over again.

All of a sudden, Penelope Sanders swept the papers off the desk and sent them scattering across the floor.

"Mr. Kane had this entire workstation custom-designed just for me," she said. "You don't get to use it. If you want to keep writing, do it on the floor. Otherwise, you can leave."

I froze in place, a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest.

Out in the hallway, employees slowed their pace, lingering near the open door to peek inside. I clenched the code status document in my hand so tightly that my nails dug deep into my palm.

Memories of how wonderfully my mother-in-law, Margery Torres, had always treated me flashed through my mind. If I delayed any longer, she wouldn't make it out of that hospital alive.

Biting my lip, I crouched down and dropped straight onto my knees, frantically drafting the second version of the expense application on the floor.

People kept passing by the office door, their judgmental stares cutting through me while their hushed whispers drifted into the room.

"Isn't that Mrs. Kane? Why is she on the floor writing?"

"Ms. Sanders must be messing with her. Still, she is Mrs. Kane. How can she let herself be treated like that?"

Suppressing the ache in my heart, I kept my head down until I finished scribbling the very last line.

I double-checked the page twice to ensure it met her ridiculous word-count requirement before rushing over to Penelope's desk to hand it over.

Penelope finally put down her nail buffer, but she made no move to actually take the paper from me.

Instead, she turned to a nearby coworker and scoffed, "Housewives don't know how to do anything but beg for handouts. They have zero professional etiquette."

I pushed the paper right in front of her face. "Ms. Sanders, please approve this immediately!"

With a subtle flick of her wrist, she sent her full cup of coffee splashing across the desk, the dark liquid drenching my application.

My eyes went wide. I snatched the papers back and desperately used my own clothes to blot out the stains.

Penelope slid her chair back, her face completely devoid of remorse. "Look at you. You haven't even said hello since you walked in. I was in the middle of talking to someone when you burst in, and you startled me."

The anger I had been suppressing finally boiled over.

"I asked for your help the second I walked in. Mom is at the hospital waiting for surgery, so I don't have time for small talk!"

Penelope let out a cold laugh, pulling out a tissue to dab at the spilled coffee on her desk with agonizing slowness.

"No matter how urgent it is, you don't break company rules. This is an office, not your living room. Next time, remember to knock and show some respect. Keep your attitude in check, or I won't sign off on a single page, no matter how many times you rewrite it."

My knees were still throbbing with pain from kneeling on the hard floor.

Looking down at the ruined application, I could barely hold back my rage. But an hour and a half had already slipped away, and if this dragged on any longer, Margery would lose her only chance at survival.

Forcing my anger down, I knelt on the floor once more to write a third version.

This time, I made sure to knock loudly and greet her politely before stepping inside.

Penelope was leaning toward a small mirror, carefully applying false eyelashes. Hearing my voice, she didn't even blink, completely ignoring me as I stood by the door.

I waited in absolute silence, not daring to utter a single word to rush her, terrified she would find another excuse to torment me.

Every second of that 20-minute wait felt like a lifetime.

She leisurely adjusted the final lash before casually turning her head toward me. "Oh, are you done?"

She arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "If you're done, why didn't you bring it in? Instead, you're standing out there like a statue. You're making it look like I'm deliberately keeping you waiting."

She leaned back against her chair. "Bring it here."

Relief washed over me, and I quickly strode toward her desk. "Ms. Sanders, I've rewritten the application. Please review it and authorize the transfer as soon as you can."

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you."

She waved me off impatiently. "You've been nothing but trouble all day."

Penelope finally looked down, her eyes scanning the densely packed handwriting on the page.

Yet, she read with excruciating slowness, tracking line by line as if she were auditing a multi-million dollar contract.

Another ten minutes passed.

Finally, she set the papers down and reached for her phone.