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“Good morning, Madam. You have a meeting at eleven this morning with the textile company that brought a proposal to us for the new factories. Then at two in the afternoon, you have to do the interviews for the new manager of the Hong Kong branch. Then at six…”

She stopped the speaker with her signature death glare. This was the first time she was actually looking at the new secretary of her office since she stepped off the elevator leading to the floor of her office. She was a rather tall young brunette, late twenties and she had a bit too much make-up on and her smile was obviously practiced. ‘Fake’ was the first thing that came to her mind. This woman’s personality, her smiles, her politeness were all fake and she hated it.

“Who are you?” she asked still holding her death glare. She knew very well who the woman was but she knew it would be intimidating to ask anyway.

“I’m your new secretary ma’am. My name is Helen Harvey.” she replied with a gulp, obviously terrified of the glare se was receiving. “Mrs. Ramsbottoms resigned last week”

“That explains your naivety at the way things work here,” she switched from a death stare to a straight out flat look, “I don’t need a secretary to remind me about my upcoming meetings and appointments. Even my personal assistant doesn’t do that. I’m paying you handsomely just to manage your table, receive my visitors, receive and forward my calls and mails, and keep your mouth to yourself. Only speak when spoken to and do not damage property. I hope we are clear, Miss. Harvey?”

She didn’t wait for her to answer before she turned her back to her and clicked off into her office. Her office was her home away from home, her private place and this was where her business success took place. It was completely monochrome with white walls and black furniture. Even her mugs were white and black. She loved the way she could feel the softness of the carpet beneath her shoes. The best part was the view; it had a wonderful view of New York City through glass walls. The Big Apple was just at her fingertips in her office. She loved it.

As she made her morning coffee, she thought of her new secretary and she knew she would definitely miss Mrs. Ramsbottoms although she was never nice to her. She was never nice to anybody really; she chuckled as she replayed her encounter with her secretary again in her mind. The poor girl must have been scared shitless, thinking she was going to fire her. But she wasn’t wicked and nobody deserved to be fired on their first day at work. She tended to have the same effect on other people as she did with Miss. Harvey when she used her death glare. She was well known for it at home.

Home… a place she hadn’t been to in years, it was locked away far in her heart and she never intended to open it anytime soon.

To get her mind off her thoughts, she decided to check through her mail, both paper and electronic. She had trained her brain to multitask years ago because she liked to keep herself busy and oversee the affairs of her business right from the headquarters. Thousands of workers around the world depended on her one single brain to feed and she could never let them down. She had started this thing and now, she could never stop. She had successfully handled her business for six years and she would do so for many years to come.

Looking through her paper mail, she saw a tabloid and her face scrunched up in disgust…a tabloid for crying out loud. Unlike almost every other woman, she hated those things like they were an itch on her behind. Why analyze nonsensical issues when there are serious issues to address. People needed to know about pollution, recycling and the need for trees but instead, they were being informed about fashion, make-up and the lives of people who never thought of them.

This particular tabloid had her face printed on it. The cover story was ‘TEN YOUNGEST FEMALE BILLIONAIRES’ and as she suspected, she was number one. Yes, she was a twenty-eight year old woman with a forty year old mind and a twenty year old body. Don’t forget that she was also worth several billions of dollars. She had worked hard and suffered for her money so she was proud to announce it. She noticed that, written in tiny prints under the heading were the words, ‘HISTORY, FASHION, STYLE AND LIFE NOW’. Now this, she had to read, she wanted to see what they had to say about her history. The article was a countdown from ten to one. The first nine were celebrities she had no business with. She was number one and the only business woman in the article. As she suspected, there wasn’t anything tangible about her. She smirked, they didn’t even have the courage to ask her for an interview. She would have entertained them, just not to their satisfaction. A sardonic smile was plastered on her face as she read the rest of the article:

HISTORY:

Funny enough, research shows not that much history about Jean Taylor. Was it all buried for a reason? She was born and bred in Africa and moved to New York at the age of twenty to study clothing and textiles. She made it and by the age of twenty-two, had started building her own textile empire.

FASHION:

Looks like this woman has the bucks to purchase hand-sewn Armani suits and like her shoes can feed a family of six for half a year. She definitely dresses with the aim of spending some cash.

STYLE:

Some may say her style is boring and some may say it is just official, but whatever you may think, its pretty obvious that this woman is down to business. However, a closer look at her wardrobe will show that she has a hunch for class. But then who wouldn’t be when they’re that rich?

LIFE NOW:

Residing in one of the most expensive estates in New York, she doesn’t come out much and has never been spotted in any club or bar and sources tell us that she doesn’t drink or smoke. Moral right? That’s what this lady seems to be. She doesn’t smile, her workers fear her and she has never had a history of relationships. What a boring life.

She just laughed at the article. They were right about every single thing. But what freaking sources? Attached to the tabloid was a letter from the media company asking her to help them lengthen their article because they wanted to start a whole segment about her. She shook her head and dropped both letter and tabloid in the bin on her way to a meeting. Her life wasn’t a reality show of any sort, no matter how uneventful it was and she wasn’t ready to let anybody turn it into a freak show.

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