The clock is ticking and as I watch the meter on the cab increase, my blood pressure goes along with it, I can feel my purse getting lighter.
“Donuts. Donuts. Donuts!” I yell.
“You wanna make a stop, lady?” the man asks.
“No, I just don’t want to curse.”
“First time I’ve heard that outta a kid these days.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
“How much longer?” I ask, my foot tapping against the floorboard.
“It’s right…here,” he says, turning the corner. Before he can come to a complete stop I’m stuffing the money in his front shirt pocket and yelling, “Keep the change,” even though there’s not nearly enough to qualify for a tip.
I just need to get to the office in record time before Silas offers me any more ‘tips’ on how I need to conduct myself.
I blow through the front door and slide my way to the elevator.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I mumble under my breath.
“You know that’s the service elevator,” someone says as they step into one of the passenger elevators.
I dart inside just as the doors are about to close, much to the chagrin of the other passengers.
My foot keeps tapping with each stop of the elevator as we slowly make our way to the top.
Once the last passenger is off the elevator shoots up to the top and I’m out the door before the ding has even sounded.
“Ms. Jones,” Silas says. “Good morning.”
“Hi,” I say, not having enough breath to get out a proper greeting more than a single syllable.
I look at the clock on the wall, which reads 7:59.
“On your way to your desk?” Silas inquires, with a smirk.
“Yes, I’m on time. I mean, I’ll be on time.”
I breathe in deep and prepare to sprint over to my desk, not caring if I look like a crazy lady with my hair on fire.
I do exactly that and the second my buns make contact with the chair, one of the many synchronized clocks in the office strikes 8:00 o’clock exactly.
I breathe out a sigh of relief and not ten seconds later Silas is standing over the top of me. “These are for you,” he says, dropping a neatly typed piece of paper on my desk and casually strolls back toward his office.
He moves so calmly, so self-assured and with that smirk on his face that I was sure he was the devil, yet he breathed life into me.
I pick up the paper and can’t help but notice it’s heavy card-stock and the paper isn't a professional white color or even off-white. It’s…light pink.
Across the top it reads, “Daddy’s Rules for His Little Girl”
What the…?
#1.) Daddy knows best. Trust and respect daddy. Always.
You’ve got to be kidding me.