Ghost Chefs

I pushed on the door and cleared my throat. “Mrs Sparks, I wanted to know if you received my email—“ Leslie Sparks looked up from her computer, crimson glasses perched on the bridge of her nose Even though she should be in her sixties, due to heavy amounts of Botox and plastic surgery she appears to be in her forties, having successfully turned back the hands of time. Always dressed to impress, even today her professional-looking dress is provocative and conservative at the same time. "I did receive it." I held my hands out, bracing myself for her wrath. "I know it isn't what you asked for–“ "It was better.“ "I'm sorry, but I felt the article I sent would make more headlines. I could…" Suddenly, I took in her answer, falling quiet. “... What did you say?""I said it was better Amanda. Well done. This piece, while anomalous, is well done. You are honest, harsh, and at the same time angry and you have every reason to be."I closed my eyes and released the breath I had been holding.

My phone ringing non-stop from the bedroom made me stop my mission of bomb-making.Who knew making pancakes would be so hard? Those chefs on the food network channel make it look so easy. I walked to my room wondering who was calling me. I wasn't expecting any call from the office since it was my day off and so, when I got to the bedroom and found out that it was my assistant at the office — who also happened to be my best friend — calling me, I knew something was up. It's either she wants to torment me with talks about how her mum keeps bugging her to get married at the age of twenty-five or there's something wrong at the office."Hey, Cassie," I said as I answered the call “What's—"“Ama, there's a problem,'' she announced before I could complete my question. “What's wrong?“ I asked, sensing the agitation in her voice. "I know today is your day off but you have to come to see this for yourself."“Can't you tell me what's wrong over the phone? I planned on using today to learn so

The elevator ascended, the buttons on the dashboard lighting up as it scaled the building. Throughout the ride, I was trying my best not to scream, tapping my feet on the floor out of boredom instead. I was craving coffee more than anything. Well, this was going to be only a quick confrontation and I would have been done with it in no time. I exited the elevator and was greeted by the sight of men and women working and moving around in tight-fitted dresses and neatly pressed shirts with neckties that could choke away a quarter of their life force. I felt like throwing up. What is it with them and dressing like they were going on a runway? The fact that their job was to gather news and write articles concerning the fashion world didn't mean they needed to dress up like a stuffed turkey for Thanksgiving. Anyway, I ignored the stares they were giving me and made my way around the people dressed like the doll in the movie- the boy. My jean and shirt stood out amid these barbies. God

I groaned as I flopped onto my back. My alarm clock was beeping, trying to get my attention. With much effort, I slung my hand down on top of the button, silencing its battle cry. I had hoped that yesterday was a nightmare that could have been easily forgotten but, to my dismay, it couldn't have been false. After my mini-battle with Gerald, I was so pissed off that I stormed out of the office and went back home. It wasn't until I got a call from Cassie asking for my whereabouts, that I realized I had forgotten to report back to her on how my interrogation with the greedy Monkey went. After explaining everything to Cassie and allowing her to let out her blazing fury towards Gerald on the phone, I had hit the bed intending to take a break from the annoying event of the day. But it seemed that my body needed more rest because my alarm was the only thing alerting me that it was a new day already. Shaking the memory of the previous day's terrors from my head, I stood up from the bed

"You're right. That is why I called this emergency meeting. Not many people are interested in getting magazines anymore, which is why I need you guys to go and brainstorm on what would be the most suitable team for this year's edition of the Times Magazine.''"Why don't we leave it to Gerald and Amanda to submit a proposal? Whatever comes out best would be used as the theme for the magazine," Rebecca, the head of Publicity suggested."That's a terrible idea,“ I countered."Why?" Leslie questioned. "If you haven't noticed we both have different theories on what is meant to be in a magazine." "This is exactly why both of you are best suited for this project. You guys are filled with lots of ideas,“ Damon chipped in. "True“ Leslie considered. “I need both of you to submit different proposals to me three weeks from now. You don't have to limit yourself to your Department." Now, why do I feel like she is giving Gerald the go-ahead to encroach into my field? The things women do for lov