°•

"That's so embarrassing," Andrea shook her head as they talked over lunch the next day, "if I was Peter, I'd quit, man. But then again, if I was that old I'd keep any job just to make that money."

"And apparently he was supposed to retire last year," Crissle said, taking a sip of her iced coffee, "according to the files, anyway."

"Well, damn!" she exclaimed, "I would've given that up as soon as possible."

"Well, he could possibly be fired by the end of this week. Depends on Zayn's mood--" Crissle's phone rang on the table, she picked it up on the first ring.

"Erica, get me an iced green tea. Extra ice," his voice ordered over the phone. She rolled her eyes at his demand.

"Yes sir," she said and he hung up. She set her phone back on the table and scowled. "Is he always this rude?"

"I wouldn't say rude, but," Andrea sipped on her cappuccino, "he wants what he wants."

"If that's what you call it," Crissle stood up, tugging on her jacket, "I guess my lunch break is over."

°•

"Your coffee, sir," she set his drink on his desk, "and it was free cookie day. Chocolate chip."

Zayn furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at her before sipping on his tea. "Keep the cookie."

"Don't mind if I do," Crissle sang lowly, taking the big cookie and stuffing it in her jacket, "is that all, sir?"

"Schedule a meeting for this floor at three o'clock. Bring something to take notes with and print out the papers I sent to you just now. Make eighteen copies. And tell Ms. Cartman to bring her numbers to me at once."

"Yes, sir."

"That's all," she walked out of his office and closed the door behind her. She sat in her chair and picked up the phone to call Andrea.

"Malik by Zayn Malik, Andrea from accounting speaking."

"Ms. Cartman," Crissle started with a smile, "Mr. Malik needs those numbers now--"

"Shit, I'm on it," she ended the call and Crissle laughed, hanging the phone up and opening up her email. Crissle sent out the three o'clock meeting announcement and clicked 'print' for the paper she was told to print out.

"Shit, shit, shit," Andrea cursed, jogging past Crissle in heels as she went to the printer room.

The papers were still printing when Andrea came back. "I forgot all about those papers."

"You literally can't afford to do that," Crissle chuckled, bending down to get the fresh and warm papers, "are you in the clear?"

"Of course," she smiled, "just a little persuasion needed," that was when she noticed Andrea's blouse was buttoned down so some of her cleavage was visible.

"You didn't," Crissle gasped, walking out and turning to her before they went their separate ways.

"I did. See you at three," she skipped off, making Crissle shake her head and return to her seat.

She looked up as Zayn was coming out of his office, flattening out his already wrinkle free suit. "Erica," he came to her cubicle, leaning against the short barrier.

"Yes, sir?" She asked, slightly cringing at the incorrect name he gave her. She hated it.

"Has anyone called in sick today?"

"A Charles Lancaster, but that's it--"

"I fired him, so he doesn't count," he cut in sharply, his brown eyes looking out into the workplace, "which reminds me, look through the previous job applications."

"For?" She urged.

"One accountant and one marketer for the third floor."

"The third floor?" that was the floor Peter was on. Used to be, anyway.

He cut his eye at her. "Are you deaf? I said the third floor so what the fuck do you think?"

She was so tired of his shit. "I needed clarification, that's all. What's the problem?"

"The problem is, Erica--"

"That's not my fucking name," she said lowly, glaring at him. He didn't seem phased though, still giving her a dirty look.

"My office. Now," he snapped, pushing past her and walking back in his office. She followed, closing the door and preparing for the verbal assault she was about to receive.

Crissle was pushed up against the wooden door, two large hands gripping her shoulders and dark eyes staring down at her brown ones menacingly.

"I had already went through four assistants this month," he snarled, pushing her harder against the door, "all I ask -- all I order -- is for you to listen to me and not fuck this up. Do you hear me?"

"I--"

"Do you hear me?" he raised his voice, his grip on her shoulders tightening.

"You're hurting me," she winced and pushed him away, holding her shoulders gently.

"Because you don't fucking listen!" he exclaimed, "and next time I give you orders, you better obey me."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes and walked out before he could say anything else.

Crissle knew she was crossing some line but he crossed one when he pushed her. She walked down the hall, past her coworker's stares and past the cubicles, into the bathroom.

Walking up to the mirror, Crissle Sinclair pushed the neckline of her dress aside. The bruises didn't contrast well against her brown skin but they were still there, and noticeable.

She sniffled, willing herself not to cry but it was hard. Her skin was already sensitive and God only knew how long the bruises would stay.

"Cris," Andrea opened the door and Crissle quickly covered her shoulders, afraid she would notice and do something that would make her lose her job. "What happened?"

"Nothing," the shorter girl huffed, staring at herself in the mirror.

"Don't feed me that, bullshit," she scoffed. She loved doing that. "I've helped a few assistants before."

"You have?" she asked, wincing when Andrea pulled at her sweater again and glanced at the dark fingerprints on her shoulder blades.

"Of course. Mr. Malik has...issues," she chuckled but what was so funny?

"He thinks he's so great," Crissle snapped, straightening out her shirt and standing straighter, "I will last longer than a fucking month, that's for sure."

"I hope so. I actually like you," they both laughed at that, until there was a knock on the door.

"Erica, the meeting starts in ten," Zayn opened the door, avoiding eye contact with her, "cover that up."

°•

this might be the cliché rude ass CEO story but it's gonna be short

I still don't know what I'm doing

bye guYs! xx