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Ctrl Alt Defeat: A Secretary's Takeover 01
🕑 Added 2024-04-09 09:00:05 +0000 UTCChapter 1: Doing Things the Wright Way
The grand facade of the Wyatt Hotel loomed overhead as Morgan Wright, chest puffed out in a display of misguided confidence, led the way toward its lavish entryway. The thud of his costly Italian leather shoes echoed commandingly with every step he took. Trailing just a step behind, burdened with two large, wheeled suitcases, was his personal assistant, Mia Bishop. Her expression remained a practised mask of patience as she struggled to keep pace.
"Did you ensure the suite is the best they have?" Mr Wright's voice pierced through the bustling traffic, laced with a familiar blend of demand and expectation.
Struggling to keep the overloaded suitcases rolling in a straight line – filled with an unnecessary volume of belongings for such a short business trip – Mia glanced up. Bracing herself for the weekend ahead, she responded, "Yes, Mr Wright. The Imperial Suite, as requested. she replied, her voice steady despite the inner unrest that churned at having to spend an entire weekend catering to her demanding boss’s every whim.
(See image 01)
This weekend was critical for both Morgan Wright and Mia Bishop. Stitch & Sovereign, once heralded for its excellence in bespoke tailoring, had faltered under Morgan's erratic leadership. The company, a legacy of Morgan’s grandfather, now bore little resemblance to the esteemed enterprise his father had managed before him with such vision and integrity. Morgan’s attempts to fill his father's shoes had been clumsy at best.
The lobby, with its high ceilings and gleaming floors, stood in stark contrast to Mia's inner frustrations, its serenity mocking her disarray. They were there in a last-ditch attempt to save Stitch & Sovereign at an annual meet-and-greet - an event that attracted some of the big wigs of the fashion world. It was an opportunity to network, secure investment, and steer the company away from the precipice of bankruptcy. And their greatest hope rested on Mr Horton, a titan of the industry.
"Passports, Mia," Mr Wright demanded as they approached the reception desk, snapping his fingers inches from his assistant’s face with a rudeness that bordered on obnoxiousness.
Mia stopped, wrestling with the heavy suitcases, fighting the impulse to snap back. She forced a practiced smile and, reaching into her bag, smoothly handed over their IDs to the receptionist, beginning the check-in process. She shot Morgan Wright a quick, disapproving look. His obliviousness to his shortcomings in an industry his family's company once led was a constant source of frustration for Mia as she endured his domineering commands.
Yet, her loyalty to Stitch & Sovereign was deeply rooted in her admiration for Morgan's deceased father, with whom she had worked closely for almost ten years. The unexpected inheritance of twenty percent of the company shares, as revealed in Mr Wright Sr's will, tied Mia's fate closely to the company's. So, despite her contempt for Morgan Wright's misogynistic tendencies and ineptitude, her resolve was unwavering. This weekend could change everything. It had to.
As Mia concluded the check-in process, Mr Wright loomed nearby, his impatience palpable. His thoughts were already racing ahead to the crucial meeting set for the next evening. "I trust you've confirmed the meeting with Mr Horton?" he queried, barely allowing Mia a moment's peace.
"Yes, Sir. 5 p.m. tomorrow. Everything's arranged. I confirmed before we left," Mia responded, her voice calm and controlled, concealing the growing frustration within.
Mr Wright, momentarily appeased yet quickly finding another issue to probe, turned his attention to a different matter. "And what about that beauty appointments we discussed? You've booked yourself in?" The implication was clear: Mia's compliance was expected, her personal feelings on the matter irrelevant, a presumed part of her duties as his assistant.
Mia's frustration surged once more at the mention of the topic, leading her to roll her eyes. "Is that really necessary, Sir? Will it truly make a difference in the grand scheme of things?" she asked, seeking to escape the demeaning demand.
"Absolutely," Mr Wright asserted, as though the entire success of their endeavour hinged on Mia conforming to his outdated standards. "As my secretary, you need to look the part in front of Mr Horton. For him to take us seriously as an important player in this industry, it’s completely necessary."
Biting her tongue to hold back a torrent of retorts, Mia acquiesced with a strained smile, "Yes, the appointments are scheduled for the morning," while inwardly despising the idea of being primped and preened at the behest of such an antiquated mindset.
"And you have your outfit ready? A skirt and heels as I requested?" Mr Wright pressed on, his expectations unmistakable. "We’ll have none of those unflattering trouser suits you’re so fond of this weekend."
"Yes, Sir," Mia replied sharply, her mind teeming with disdain for his sexist expectations. "I've selected a skirt and a pair of heels that are appropriate for the occasion."
"Short and high, I hope," Mr Wright remarked casually, hands in pockets, oblivious to the discomfort his remarks caused, not only to Mia but also to the receptionist who couldn't help but overhear and grimace at the exchange.
(See image 02)
"The skirt is as short, and the heels are as high as I feel comfortable wearing," Mia countered, her patience fraying at the edges.
"Unacceptable," Mr Wright retorted sharply, his insistence on his vision of perfection leaving no room for Mia's comfort or choice. "I'll need to see it once we're upstairs. Everything must be flawless for this meeting. I can't have you ruining things for me, Mia.”
"Yes, Sir," Mia responded, her tone laced with a mixture of resignation and burgeoning resentment. The prospect of having her clothing inspected and sanctioned by Morgan Wright marked an all-time low in her role as his assistant. Nevertheless, driven by her commitment to the company and her personal stake in its success, she was prepared to bear this indignity. She consoled herself with the thought that the day she could sell her shares and sever ties with the company - and, by extension, Morgan Wright's tyrannical oversight - was drawing ever nearer, heralding the start of a new chapter in her life free from the shadow of this a misogynistic buffoon of a man.
Their arrival at Morgan Wright's room was met with immediate dissatisfaction. Despite an opulent suite that seemed to stretch luxuriously across the top floor of the hotel – a suite that the company, teetering on the brink of financial ruin, could ill afford. Morgan Wright, fussy where his own comfort was concerned, found fault in the most trivial of details - the temperature of the room was not to his liking, the view from the window was 'underwhelming', and he lamented the absence of a particular brand of mineral water he preferred. Mia, accustomed to his grievances, methodically organized his belongings on the polished desk, tuning out his complaints until he finally halted his grumblings, albeit temporarily.
The transition to Mia's room underscored a stark contrast to the opulence of Morgan Wright's lodgings, leading them to the most budget-friendly option the hotel had to offer. Her room, while clean and serviceable, was a clear indication of Mr Wright's valuation of her contributions - minimal at best. The décor was simple, the room smaller, and the amenities far from luxurious, a stark contrast to the extravagance of his suite.
No sooner had they entered her modest quarters than Mr Wright reignited the debate over Mia's attire for the imminent meeting. Despite her attempts to reason with him, his insistence was unwavering. Reluctantly,
Mia retreated to the bathroom and emerged minutes later, clad in a stylish pencil skirt that fell just below her pantyhosed knees. She paired it with a crisp white blouse and elegant black pumps, the heels of which elevated her stature by three inches.
"No, no, no! What is this, Mia?" Mr Wright's words were like a cold draft, his disappointment palpable. "This won’t do at all."
"And what exactly is wrong with it, Mr Wright?" Mia challenged, her arms folded, her frustration evident. She believed her outfit struck the perfect balance between professional and feminine, notwithstanding her personal discomfort from having to wear a skirt in the first place.
"That skirt covers far too much of your lovely legs, and my grandmother wears higher heels than those," Mr Wright exclaimed, blind to the growing resentment in Mia's gaze.
“Then perhaps your grandmother would be better suited to assist you in this meeting," Mia snapped back, her patience worn thin.
Mr Wright's reaction was almost theatrical - the comical drop of his jaw and his spluttering attempts at a rebuttal painted a picture of affronted entitlement. "How dare you speak to me like that, Mia!" he blustered, his voice rising. "I should fire you on the spot for such insolence."
The tempting thought of quitting flashed through Mia's mind, offering a brief respite from the indignities at the hands of her chauvinistic employer. However, the grim realization that Mr Wright would likely mess up the crucial meeting without her assistance - erasing the value of her twenty percent stake in the company to zero - forced her to swallow her pride. "I’m sorry, Sir," she said through gritted teeth. "I just don’t feel comfortable wearing provocative clothing. I let my feelings get the better of me."
“Well, keep those feelings to yourself in future. I don’t need to hear about them,” Mr Wright snapped back with his characteristic lack of sensitivity. "Tomorrow, you have some shopping to do. I expect a skirt that ends mid-thigh and heels twice the height of those. And for heaven's sake, try to liven things up a little; we want flirty, not frumpy," he ordered, eyeing Mia in a way that left her feeling deeply objectified.
"Understood, Sir. I'll take care of it first thing in the morning," Mia replied, her smile forced, her eyes sharp with concealed irritation.
“Make sure you do, Mia. I’ll be heading down to the bar now. Keep your phone on - I might need you for something,” Mr Wright declared, inflating his chest with self-importance before turning to leave.
"Certainly, Sir," Mia murmured softly, waiting for the door to close behind him before allowing herself a moment to vent the pent-up frustration that had accumulated throughout the day.
After enduring hours under the relentless demands of her boss, Mia finally found herself alone, embracing a moment of much-needed tranquillity. She discarded her confining work attire for the comforting embrace of a hot shower, afterwards slipping into the soft refuge of her comfy pyjamas. Tucked under the covers of her modest hotel bed, she let the unfolding narrative of a movie on the TV temporarily dissolve the weight of her professional responsibilities.
Yet, this fleeting retreat into peace was sharply interrupted by the intrusive ring of her phone. With a resigned sigh, Mia glimpsed the caller ID, bracing herself before responding, "Mr Wright, how can I help you, Sir?" Her tone was a mix of weary resignation and dutiful professionalism.
A pronounced groan on the other end served as a prelude to Mr Wright's distressed declaration, "Oh, Mia. It's all gone wrong! Pack the bags; we're leaving."
"What!" Mia's response was immediate, her previously relaxed demeanour replaced by alert tension. "Slow down for a moment and explain what's happened."
"The meeting with Mr Horton is off. Without it, there's no point in staying," he stated, despair evident in his voice.
"Off!" Mia repeated, her voice reflecting her astonishment. "I haven't received any notifications to that effect. Why do you believe it's been cancelled?"
"It just is, Mia," Mr Wright lamented, his voice filled with frustration. "Now, please pack your bags and arrange our transport home."
"No!" Mia's reply was sharper than she had intended, her exhaustion and frustration reaching a boiling point. "It's nine o'clock at night after a long, exhausting day. So, unless you provide a clear explanation, I won't be doing anything of the sort. Perhaps you should come to my room where we can discuss this."
A brief silence ensued, during which Mia prepared for a possible tirade, having openly defied her boss with such boldness. Surprisingly, Mr Wright's answer came in a subdued tone, "Okay, I’ll be right up," leaving Mia unexpectedly disarmed and filled with a wary sense of anticipation.
Comments
Anna Komnena
How exciting! Let me take a wild guess: That nincompoop somehow offended Mr Horton at the bar, so there's no way he can conduct the meeting with him. Mia as shareholder will have to take over, but he can't let her go alone, right? So he needs a disguise so impenetrable, so completely different from his nomal attire, that Mr Horton will never know who that person accompanying Mia is ... Thank goodness the appointment at the beauty salon for a "sexy secretary look" is already booked ... Phew!
