Happy to be back or not

“Good morning, sir,” I greet Mr. Crawford for the second time this morning. I greeted him earlier when he arrived on our floor and passed my desk, but he ignored me. Once he arrived, he immediately asked to see me. He hasn’t said anything since I sat down in front of his desk. I greeted him again to make sure he knew I was here.

“I know you’re here Eleanor, I’m not blind,” he says, keeping his eyes on the papers in front of him.

“Of course not, sir,” I say, hoping I didn’t offend him.

“I want you to do comprehensive, detailed research on this man. I want to know everything about him, and when I say everything, I mean everything,” he says, handing me a file with the name Umberto Moretti written on it.

This is the first time he’s asked me to do something for him. The whole week I spent working for him, he never asked me to do anything. I’m thrilled things have changed.

“Sir, there could be a thousand Umberto Moretti’s in the world. How will I know which one you need me to research?”

“If you opened the file in front of you before you opened that mouth of yours, you’d know I didn’t ask you to research Umberto Moretti,” he says, rudely insulting me.

“Sorry, sir,” I say and quickly open the file. The picture of the man is inside and some information about him. It’s my fault I didn’t think to open the file first, but it doesn’t give him the right to talk to me like that. I’m starting to hate him more.

“Keep your sorry to yourself. I want the report on him done before lunchtime.”

“It’ll be done, sir. Would that be all?”

“No. I need you to draft a contract similar to this one,” he says, handing me a document.

“Okay, sir. I’ll have everything ready by lunchtime.”

“Good, now leave.”

I stand up and leave, but just as I am about to turn the doorknob he speaks.

 “I don’t know what you did to my grandfather to make him so hell bent on making you work here, but trust me, it won’t be for long. I’ll find a way to make him see you for who you truly are. And I’ll make you regret the day you met me,” he says.

I’m about to speak and defend myself but decide against it. It won’t change anything. So I turn the doorknob and leave his office. I don’t think anything I say at this point is going to change his mind. I’ll let my actions do the talking from now on. 

***

Lunch came sooner than I hoped, but I had everything ready. I drafted the contract and had research on Umberto Moretti. I’m about to stand up from my desk and walk to his office to give him the documents when he steps out.

“I hope you’re ready,” he says as he buttons his suit jacket. He looks like he’s about to step out for lunch. He must be having a lunch meeting with this Umberto Moretti. The contract I drafted was for Umberto Moretti, a ranch owner Mr. Crawford plans to buy lands from in Italy to increase his vineyard. Mr. Crawford has people who could handle this for him, but Mr. Moretti has refused to sell his land to the Crawford Wine Company. He plans on convincing Mr. Moretti by himself.

“Yes, it’s ready, sir. I’ve done everything you asked,” I say, handing him the document. I expect him to collect the files from my hand or ask me to take them to his office, but he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he looks at me like I am crazy.

“Other than being dumb, you also don’t understand English,” he says, confusing me. Why is he saying I don’t understand English and calling me dumb? If anyone has a problem with English, it’s him.

“Sir, I don’t understand what you’re saying?”

“Wow, so you really don’t understand English. I asked you if you were ready, not if the things I asked you to do earlier were done.”

“Oh.” I realize I’m in the wrong. But he can’t blame me. Why would he ask me if I was ready? It’s not like he told me I was going anywhere.

“Now, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I do. But why are you asking me if I’m ready?”

“Because you’re coming with me.”

“Coming with you? To where?”

“Do you think I asked you to research Mr. Moretti because I needed it?”

“Yes,” I say, hoping my answer is correct, but I have a feeling it’s not.

“Then you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Excuse me,” I say, getting offended with him constantly calling me dumb. Just because I don’t know how he thinks doesn’t mean me dumb.

“You have two minutes to meet me downstairs with everything we need for the meeting. I hope that brain of yours knows how to remember things, because if it doesn’t, so help me God, I’ll make things unbearable for you here,” he says, walking to the elevator.

As soon as he leaves, I quickly pick up the contract and the report I did on Mr. Moretti with everything I think I’ll need for the meeting. Why didn’t he tell me earlier that I was going with him for a lunch meeting with Mr. Moretti? He just likes making my life difficult.

After I have everything, I take the elevator down to the underground parking lot. I don’t know if my life can become any more difficult, but it does. I don’t see Mr. Crawford anywhere, and I don’t know which one is his car. I try looking for the most expensive vehicle; since he’s the CEO my guess is he’ll have the most expensive car. Unfortunately, almost every car here looks the same to me. I hear my phone ringing, and even without fetching it from my purse, I know who’s calling. I bring my phone out of my wallet and answer the call. Before I can open my mouth to speak, he beats me to it.

“Where in God’s name are you? Didn’t I give you two minutes to meet me downstairs?” he asks, barking in my ears.

“Sir, I’m in the parking lot, but I can’t see you.”

“Who asked you to go to the parking lot? Get to the entrance of the building before I turn you into dust.”

Turns me to dust? How can you turn someone to dust?

“I’ll be there shortly, sir,” I say, hanging up the phone.

I take the elevator back to the first floor and quickly walk to the entrance of the building. I find him standing beside a black Mercedes.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” I say once I’m beside him.

“Don’t ever use that word with me again. I’m beginning to hate that word because of you. Now get in the car. You’ve already made us late.”

“I am s--” I’m about to say sorry, but the glare he gives me makes me shut my mouth. I enter the passenger’s seat while he sits behind. I can only imagine what he’d do if I tried to sit in the back. He’d have killed me right here and now.

“Andrew, the Prime House restaurant,” he says to the driver.

“Hello,” I say to the driver, with a friendly smile on my face.

“Shut your mouth and sit there quietly,” Mr. Crawford says before Andrew can respond.

***

We arrive at the restaurant shortly. Mr. Crawford steps out of the car and quickly walks into the restaurant with me following behind him. We’re taken to a private room in the restaurant. Inside is a handsome Italian man already seated. He has black hair and green eyes.

“Good day, Mr. Moretti. I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad on the way,” Mr. Crawford says as he takes his seat. I stand because I don’t know if I should sit with them or not. The only chairs available are the ones around the table.

“No need for apologies. I just got here myself,” he says in a thick Italian accent.

“Thank you for understanding. Shall we begin?” Mr. Crawford asks and extends his hand to me. I look at him, confused. He harshly pulls me down so my ear is on the same level as his mouth. “The documents for the meeting,” he says, gritting his teeth as he whispers into my ear. I can feel his anger at me with the pressure of his hand has on my arm.

“Sor--” I almost say the word, but he stops me by increasing the pressure on my arm. “Here you go, sir,” I say, handing him the documents. When they’re in front of him, he releases my hand. I’m sure there will be a bruise there later. I’m lucky I wore long sleeves today.

Halfway through the meeting, Mr. Moretti speaks to me.

“Excuse me, did you say something to me?” I ask, wanting to be sure he spoke to me and not Mr. Crawford.

“Yes, I did. I asked why you refused to sit down?”

“Oh, I didn’t think it would be proper for me to sit down.”

“Why would you think that? Please take a seat, dear,” he says, gesturing to the seat beside Mr. Crawford. I look at Mr. Crawford to see if it’s alright to sit down, but his face gives me nothing, just the usual stern look.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, taking my seat beside Mr. Crawford. I try my best to sit as far away from him as possible. Maybe sitting down wasn’t a good idea. The second my ass touches the chair, I see my death before my eyes. The blazing glare in Mr. Crawford’s eyes is making me want to pee my pants. I don’t understand why he’s so angry. It’s not a big deal. I’ll have to wait for the meeting to be over to find out, but I hope the discussion never ends so I don’t have to face his anger