It’s good to be king.
King of the world, king of the company, it didn’t matter. You finally did it. It took years of climbing the ladder, kicking off anyone who tried to drag you down. You kept your friends close, your enemies even closer. You finally reached the top of the mountain, and to be perfectly honest, the view was pretty damn great.
King James. It has a nice ring to it. Biblical even.
And now that you finally reached the pinnacle of the mountain, nothing better to do than lean over your royal balcony and watch the legions and legions of appreciative subjects screaming their adulation and love for you.
“Hey buddy, I said are you gonna pay me now or am I gonna have to call the cops?”
Well, most of them anyways.
Jolted begrudgingly from your day dream, you reached into your pocket and produced your leather wallet to reward your driver. Pulling out a few dollars, you handed it to the man who greedily snatched it up and turned back towards the wheel. Not even receiving so much as a “thank you,” you grabbed your briefcase and exited your royal carriage, known by most peasants as a taxi cab.
With your trusty brown briefcase in one hand and a foamy latte in the other, you briefly turned back to the taxi window and admired your reflection.
Dressed in your premier apparel consisting of a brown jacket, a white buttoned shirt with black tie, khaki pants, and polished dress shoes, you were the spitting image of the “rags to riches” success story. Now, all that’s missing is a scepter.
Breathing in the excitement and letting your emotions breathe out, you reopened your eyes and simply marveled at your castle: the office building.
Towering above the urban village with its metallic glass panels and giant bold lettering, you couldn’t help but break into a goofy smile as you realized that all of this now belonged to you. Figuratively speaking, of course.
Normally, you would flaunt your new cornucopia of wealth by showcasing your first (of many) sports car, one truly befitting that of a king. But seeing as how this was your first day as the new “chief of office,” a more humble and nuanced means of transportation would work more to your advantage.
Straightening your tie, you took a quick sip of your coffee to wet your lips for conversation before pushing open the glass doors and making your presence known.
Inhaling deeply, the smell of fresh victory (and artificial freshener) was definitely a new yet most welcoming one. It was one that had eluded you for so very long, but now it was a smell that you hoped would greet you daily in the coming years.
Carrying yourself with the professionalism and poise befitting of a king, you couldn’t help but smile a bit inside as you caught the lingering glares of your passing colleagues as they saw you strut confidently past them. A platinum name tag was pinned to your left coat pocket, one that simply read: Junior Manager.
It was approximately five steps in that a new smell permeated your nostrils, one that reeked of bitterness and jealousy. It was almost refreshing to see so many of your colleagues who claimed to be the best of friends finally reveal who they really are deep down. Some gave you the cold shoulder while most didn’t even have the decency to give congratulations for your promotion.
"Figures. They like you when you're on their level, but dare to climb up the ladder and they just want to pull you down," you thought to yourself, brushing past a few coworkers who merely glowered at you resentfully.
Vowing not to let their negativity take you out of your unusually uplifting mood, you decided to pay a visit to the office receptionist and rub your victory in even more. After all, nothing better than a heaping pile of public humiliation to help her eat her words, right?
Walking up to her natural habitat, you took another sip of the beverage before you two inevitably locked eyes and a sly smirk crossed your face.
Candice.
No doubt the co-conspirator of several smear campaigns led by the queen bitch herself to get you fired, her malevolence is matched only by her disdainful mood She is the center of office gossip, somehow knowing about enough embarrassing incidents or humiliating nuggets from anyone’s past that would put TMZ to shame.
There is no doubt that you would’ve been “future-endeavored” had she found out about your...secret, primarily because of who she would’ve told it to: Denise. The two were determined to run you out of the office from the day you were first hired as an intern, but you stood your ground. They were practically foaming at the mouth to get some dirt on you, but you kept your record spotless. And now that the day of reckoning was finally here, well, you know what they say about payback.
It was truly one of those rare occurrences in your career to legitimately see Candice at a loss for words, or rather trying to piece together some that won’t get her suspended for professional misconduct.
A bitter, ugly snarl carved into her powdered face, accented only by her brown eyes staring daggers into your smug expression.
Despite the fact that she was a monster on the inside, she was by no means unattractive on the outside. She sported a very slender and womanly figure, with curves all in the right places. With her naturally brunette hair tied in a bun, at least two earrings clipped around each ear, and her facial features sharp enough to cut through wood, the only thing marring her face was the sheer abundance of overindulgent makeup that she had applied.
Neck down, she wore a white blouse complimented a light red jacket along along with a crimson pencil skirt that ended at her knees. That was the extent of her, with the receptionist table obscuring the rest of her waist-down.
“Good morning, James,” she greeted curtly, without any of the trademark warmth or enthusiasm you’d usually expect from a receptionist. Then again, Candice and warmth is an oxymoron in itself.
“It always is until I speak to you, Candice,” you replied in kind, much to her visible chagrin.
Hiding her irritation behind a few twitches in her lips, she tried resuming her work typing furiously into the computer.
“Yes well….congratulations on the new promotion, James,” she stated with her teeth gnarling into a forced grin, barely concealing her disgust at having to utter such a blasphemous phrase.
“Actually, it’s Mr. James now. Our clients would appreciate knowing who the man in charge is, don’t you think Candice?” you smiled coyly, your grin growing ever wider as her disdainful look only magnified.
Biting her lip for a moment, a wicked smile crossed her face as she leaned in to retort. “Yes but with all due respect, Mr. James I’m sure that Kim will take offense to that statement. She does run the building, you know.”
“For now,” you shot back defensively as Candice reminded you of the natural pecking order. You were king of the castle at last, but the whole kingdom was still a work in progress.
“And I see you’re still working hard, or hardly working. I can never tell with you,” you smirked, seeking to regain control of the verbal one-upmanship while resting your elbows on the counter casually.
“Well unlike you, Mr. James I actually take my job seriously. You won’t find me trying to flaunt my new job promotion to my colleagues in some pathetic attempt to overcompensate for something that we both know was never there in the first place,” she sneered vindictively, her lips pursed in a triumphant snicker as her last words hit you like a freight train.
It definitely jolted you for a moment, but you had a rock-solid foundation that was never there in your previous encounters with Candice: job security. And now, after years of taking her crap, it was finally time to pay it forward and then some.
“Oh, you mean like how you prance around ruining other people’s lives just to make yours worthwhile all while you’re stuffing your pudgy little face with Weight Watchers when no one's looking because you can’t handle the truth,” you declared loudly, catching the attention of some passing clients and colleagues who had been eavesdropping on the conversation.
Candice's smile vanished off her powdered face as she felt at least a dozen eyeballs from all directions bearing down on her. Her previously smug expression was replaced with a seething scowl as she caught a few of her colleagues snickering under their breath as they passed by.
“And the truth does hurt, doesn’t it Candy?” you smiled, taking a smug sip out of your latte as she fixed you with a downright murderous expression before regaining her composure.
“Very….funny,” she grated irritably, nearly breaking her pencil in two as her veins threatened to pop.
“You know I’m no comedian, but you would sell out arenas if you ever picked up a mic, Candy. I mean, seeing as how your whole career here is a joke and the closest you’ll ever get to real success is carrying my bags when I walk through the door you could definitely relate. Then again, I guess you and Denise finally have something in common now besides being conniving little bitches,” you grinned, continuing to cut inches through her previously impenetrable skin and hurt her where it counts: her ego.
In that split second, you wished you had a camera so that you could forever document the almost comical image of her passive-aggressively fuming while her face grew redder than a tomato.
With her eyes bulging like eggs and her lips quivering in both anger and embarrassment, it was the ultimate comeuppance to a woman who once made you eat the same public shit and pretend to like it or else suffer the consequences.
And now, you were the consequences.
Straightening up your tie with a pleased and victorious smile painted all over your face, it took all of your self-control not to burst out laughing as her mascara even began to smear off.
With a deep breath, you stated your actual business:
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