Another day at work. I place Mr. Crawford's coffee on his desk when he speaks to me.
“Eleanor, pick up that card on the table,” he says, with his eyes glued to his laptop screen.
“Ok, sir,” I say, and do as he says. I pick up the card. It's a business card for a boutique. Is he giving me this because he wants me to shop there? I already told him I won't buy expensive clothes. I know he’s arrogant, but I didn't think he’d force me to buy a new wardrobe.
“During the weekend, visit that place and get yourself new clothes.”
“Alright, sir, thank you for the recommendation,” I say instead of arguing with him, even though I have no intention of going. I think it's better to pretend I took his advice so he’ll let the issue of my clothing choice slide.
“It's not a recommendation. I want you t
