Mr.Right

"You're fired!" The words slip out of my boss' mouth as I blink at her, my mouth hanging open. She's sitting behind her office table, on a swivel chair, and has a look of disdain in her eyes as she stares at me. Her lipstick-covered lips are turned down in a deep frown, while she taps the tips of her fingers on the table.

To say I'm scared of my boss would be an understatement. This woman is terrifying. She's a cranky old lady who sometimes looks like Samara in the movie 'The Ring'. Other times, however, she looks more like an older version of Ursula the witch.

...And yes, I just described my boss as a cartoon character.

But it's not just her looks that make me want to vanish into thin air anytime I see her. To straighten this out, my boss - Mrs. Freeman - is the blackest woman I've ever seen in my life. Except that's probably less about her race and more about how much time she spends under the sun.

Unfortunately for me, I'm just a fill-in for someone who quit her job months ago. Any other person she hires is either a black American or a full African. I'm another girl who got lucky enough to be available when she needed a reporter to work on tight deadlines, and I need the job and the money so I try not to say things along the lines of 'friggin' racist faggot'.

With that in mind, you can imagine how I'm feeling, now that I realized all I've worked for has been for nothing.

"B-but Mrs. Freeman, I c-can't get f-fired. I need this job." I try to sound as convincing as I can but I can't stop stuttering when I'm upset or flustered. You have to be a tough rock to be able to work for Mrs. Freeman. And me... I'm, well, quite the opposite.

"I don't think so, young lady, otherwise you wouldn't have acted so foolishly and leaked that kind of information. This company is about to be sued because of you, for heaven's sake!" Her harsh tone makes me flinch.

"It's not entirely my fault." I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm actually speaking up for myself for the first time in my life. "You said, Mrs. Freeman, that I could 'publish any recent, mouthwatering and honest news I like, in order to gain back the fame that Acquia Private took away from us' and I did exactly that. We got back our fame."

"Fame?" She spits out "Yes, we've gotten famous. We're going to be the first ever private company to get sued by a Mayor. Now, how does that sound to you?"

Feeling intimidated and inferior already, I look down at my shoes and fiddle with my fingers. "I was just trying to be an honest reporter like you said. I didn't mean any harm, Mrs. Freeman."

"Look here, March Greene."

"It's April White." I know this isn't the time for corrections on my name - not, at least, when I'm about to be fired. But I don't like people getting my name wrong and the look on my boss' face clearly shows how done she is with being my employer. If looks could kill, I would have been six feet under.

"When I said 'mouthwatering and honest' news, I didn't mean you should go digging up the Mayor's life to find he has three illegitimate children outside his marriage." She sets her glasses - which have been resting on the bridge of her nose - on the table and interlocks her fingers in front of her. Then she leans forward to look me square in the eye. "That's simply being nosey and it is unacceptable. You ruined his marriage and reputation because you're some silly excuse of a girl. He wants this company sued, he wants the reporter who dug up his dirty secrets to be fired, and I will listen to no other excuses from you about why you did what you did. Please take your things and leave my office."

I glare at my brown box stacked with my office things, as if it was the cause of my problems, and drag my feet along the floor to where it rests on the table.

I pick it up.

I was bound to get fired because of Mrs. Freeman's inexplicable hatred of me, but I didn't know that it would be this soon.

With my head down in frustration, I drag my feet back across the room towards the door. I'm about to reach out for the doorknob when I hear her call out my name. Well, it's not exactly my name. It's a random month of the year... But I couldn't care less this time.

My neck cracks when I whip my head around to look at her. This is it! She's finally realizing that she can't lose one of her talented reporters just because of some measly old man who should've been in an old people's home. He definitely shouldn't have been a mayor.

"You don't expect me to allow you to leave this place with your I.D. card, do you?"