Justice For The Billionaire's Daughter

AMOS MARSHALL

OLIVIA

The alarm goes off and I somehow I struggle and wake up. The luminous dial of the clock on the wall is at five o'clock in the morning. I switch on the lights and start preparing myself.

The previous night I had slept late because I had to arrange the room to my liking and place the items we had purchased in their rightful places. The clothes in the wardrobe, the perfumes in their closet and shoes in their rack. The good thing about this room is that it resembles my room back at home, giving me the same warmth, the same feeling.

By six o'clock in the morning I am at the dining table having taken a shower and prepared myself. I am ready to face Mr Marshall for the interview although I don't have a single paper with me except my passport. My newly acquired handbag, full of girlish items hangs by my shoulder as I partake of the steaming hot coffee. Mr Shannon's chef has woken exceptionally early to take care of me. I am almost through when I hear Mr Shannon's booming voice behind me.

“Good morning Olivia. Glad to see you are up." He says.

“Good morning Mr Shannon. You are up early." I say, rising from my seat.

“I came to drive you to work." He says, dangling his truck's keys. “I'll get you a car by the end of the day." At that I think about my Audi, parked in an airport far away. Me, the daughter of Robert Forrester, soliciting for car rides while his garage is full of expensive machines. Unthinkable.

“Thanks. You are so kind. I am through with breakfast, we can go." I say.

“Well, shall we?" He gestures towards the door.

He drives the powerful truck in silence through the traffic, slowly but professionally and parks it outside an imposing building. I look at the clock at the dashboard, it's eight o'clock. I have arrived early. Mr Marshall is expecting me at nine o'clock.

“Here we are Olivia. I wish you luck. This job is yours. Go get it. Mr Marshall is a good man, you will like him." He says.

“Thanks Mr Shannon. I can't thank you enough."

“Don't mention it."

“if you say so."

“I'll come for you in the evening. Just call me at the end of the day." He says as I disembark from the truck. I bid him farewell and watch as he drives from the vast parking lot and when he is completely gone I realize how much I miss him.

I walk through the cobblestone parking lot, approaching the main door to the huge building. I push the revolving door and get inside and what I see overwhelms me and I wonder if I am at the right place.

A huge hall is full to the brim with so many work stations, each one of them attended by sharp looking executives. This can't be Mr Marshall's enterprise. I wasn't expecting it to be this busy at eight o'clock. In any case he had told me to report at nine o'clock. I turn to leave but I bump into someone, a sharply dressed lady with auburn hair and a pin on her nose.

“Sorry. But I made a mistake. I think I'm at the wrong address. Is this Mr Marshall's enterprise?" I ask.

She looks at me from head to toe, disdain written all over her face, her lips curled as if in a silent curse. When she speaks, her voice is full of contempt.

“And who is asking?" She finally asks. It seems to me that I have already made a bad impression. The very first impression.

“My name is Olivia Forrester. Mr Shannon is expecting me." I say in a composed tone, completely ignoring her contemptuous aura.

“Of course he is. And this is not the wrong address. By any chance, do you have an appointment? Mr Shannon is a busy man you know and we are tired of people walking in here as if it were a discotheque."

“He told me to come here himself."

“Really?" The girl is now getting in my nerves and I decide to leave. I need to call Mr Shannon to get to his friend.

“Maybe I should just leave. I can get him on his phone." I say as I brush the girl aside. Our little conversation has attracted the attention of almost everyone and as I reach for the door I can feel all eyes on me, plus some intense murmuring.

Suddenly the revolving door opens before I reach it and Mr Marshall himself walks in. He's so happy to see me.

“Oh Miss Forrester. You are here. Please, join me in my office, this is indeed a good day. This way." He gestures towards where I can see the glass lifts busy taking people up and down.

The murmurs increase as I follow behind him. From the corner of my eye I can see the girl looking in disbelief as Mr Marshall laughs at something I have told him. Everyone must be wondering who I am. Mr Marshall has his own private lift, whose doors open when we come near them. There must be a remote mechanism or a face recognition device somewhere.

At the seventh floor he directs me to his office. I notice that it's quiet up here with little activity. Up here there are only offices, no work stations.

“Miss Forrester, your office will be next to mine, but you need to join me first so that we can iron out some issues." He tells me as we walk into the spacious office. He gets behind a huge mahogany desk and sits on a swivel chair, then he pushes on some button and I hear a bell ringing down the hall.

“Welcome to MARSHALL LIMITED miss Forrester. As I told you yesterday, you will start working as my personal assistant. I bet you know what that entails." He asks me.

“Yes sir. I have worked as a personal assistant before." I answer, not bothering to tell him that I was my father's personal assistant even in my teenage years.

“Well, here you have an opportunity to climb up the corporate ladder. You see, I am going to retire very soon, as soon as my son Amos comes back. If you work for me well I will make sure that you go up the ladder." He says, scribbling something on his notepad. As I look for the right words we are interrupted by a uniformed chef who comes in with two flasks and a tray full of croissants.

“Help yourself Miss Forrester." He says.

“You see, we have a problem here. Some of our employees need to be fired. There is a lot of uncourteous behavior especially with our junior staff at the ground floor. Only my son can conduct the purge." He says. I feel like telling him what I went through with the lady earlier but I change my mind.

“This company needs fresh ideas, and when I saw you, and with the background Mr Shannon gave to me, I think you qualify for a bigger position here, but you must prove yourself." He goes on.

“Thanks Mr Marshall. I promise to do my job with dedication. I won't fail you or Mr Shannon for your kindness." I say.

“Well, then I'll show you to your office." He says.

The said office is bigger than my office at FORRESTER INCORPORATED. One wall has nothing else but filing cabinets and on the table is a workstation. Everything is sparkling clean, evidence that someone does the cleaning even when the office has no occupant.

“Your work is quite simple." He says, but I know, a personal assistant's job is never simple.

“You need to be in charge of my diary. Also, responding to correspondence and other general and administrative duties. Nobody sees me before contacting you. That includes the top management of this organization. You are surely going to make some enemies but that's what comes with the calling." He giggles at that and I find myself smiling. “The company has a car for you, and the man in charge of the carpool will take care of that. Don't go home in a taxi." He says. I make a mental note to call Mr Shannon and inform him not to bother coming for me.

“Thank you sir." I say.

“Also, if you have any questions, just use this phone to ask me." He says, pointing to a fixed line as he leaves the office.

Just like that I get a senior position at MARSHALL LIMITED. I immerse myself deeply in the running of the company and Mr Marshall is happy about me as the days pass. Most of the time I can hear what he's saying on the phone and he says good things about me.

But many staff members hate me, especially the girl who blocked me on the first day. I gather that her name is Beatrice. I bump into her frequently and she can't hide her hatred for me. I wonder whether there's something known as hate at first sight, because this is what she felt for me the first time she saw me.

Well, she doesn't work under me and even if she did I wouldn't fire her for flimsy reasons like failing to like me.

Six months down the line and I am now conversant with the operations of the company. I am so powerful to the extent that even the managing director has to talk to me before seeing Mr Marshall. Sometimes I can issue directives without consulting Mr Marshall and he doesn't contradict me.

Then one afternoon the bell on my desk rings to indicate that Mr Marshall wants to see me. I quickly walk over to his office and I'm surprised to find that he has company. There's a man seated, his back to me, facing Mr Marshall, and they are in deep conversation. I wonder how the man gained entry without my knowledge. Also, I had done away with Mr Marshall's appointments for the day.

“Excuse me, miss Forrester. Please join us. This is my son Amos. Naturally he doesn't need an appointment to see me." The man turns in his chair and I behold the finest specimen of mankind I have ever seen. I lose my concentration immediately and I wish I could excuse myself and dash to my office until I gain some composure.

I don't get such opportunity because the gentleman rises from his seat and extends a hand in greeting. It's the softest male hand I have ever shaken, but it's strength can be felt, taking a recess, waiting for the opportune moment.

“I am Amos Marshall." He says, exposing a set of bright teeth. A waft of expensive cologne lingers around him.

“I am Olivia Forrester." I say.

“Pleasure to meet you."

“Thanks."

“Dad tells me you are an asset he can't let go." I am flattered and this drains the blood from my face.

“Thanks Mr Marshall."

“No. Call me Amos. From tomorrow, I am taking over from dad. And I want to come in with some changes to this company's structure. Can I rely on you Olivia?" He asks, his blue eyes locked into mine. I can't hold it, and I bow my head.

“Certainly. Mr Marshall has been kind to me and I'll continue in the same spirit."

“Thank you Olivia. I expected nothing less." He says, then extends his hand for another handshake.

His touch sends some message to my brain, but I warn myself. I am not here for my feelings, but for a very important mission.