SOPHIA'S POV

"Hello, is this Sophia of Reynolds Enterprises?"

I am tempted to throw a question at the male voice on the other end of the phone, instead I skip what might turn out to be a banter.

"Yes," I simply say, out of courtesy. "How may I help you?"

"Well, no offense intended but it is the other way round," says the caller.

I lean away from the receiver, staring at it, as if the caller's face might miraculously appear. "Beg your pardon?"

"I'm the one who's going to help you," offers the caller.

"Who is this?" I ask, taking out pen and flipping open my writing pad.

"We would like to make you an offer. One that would change your life, make it more comfortable, because there are a lot of benefits."

"Are there?"

"Quite frankly," says the caller.

"I am currently comfortable with my present status. And you haven't answered my question. Who the hell are you?"

"You'll know, Sophia. Soon enough."

"What do you mean soon enough?"

"At exactly two in afternoon, some men will walk into your office and they will accompany you someplace where the proposition will be discussed."

I check the Nikko clock on the wall above my shelf. Five minutes before two. This caller has obviously planned this out quite well, or he's just playing a hoax. I write his words down on my writing pad.

"And I know what you're thinking, Sophia."

"Do you?"

"Quite. You'll probably want to call security as this call is going on but there will be no need for that. The place where the proposition shall take place is in the same building you're in."

***********

My work at Reynolds Enterprises involves professional marketing. I take care of promotions, make plays that keep the company's net worth going up, rather than south. I am usually to go-to girl when it comes to marketing strategies, and for some reason, only allowed to give reports to the CEO, Ethan Reynolds in the conference room with other executives, never alone.

I wonder what they all are afraid of.

I replace the receiver in the cradle and look at what I have written down on my writing pad.

“An offer that will change my life”?, “Lots of benefits”? “Know who he is soon enough”? “Accompany me to a meeting place which happens to be in this same building.

The time on the Nikko wall clock says three minutes before two.

I begin considering my options. Should I be worried? Afraid? If some strange person has called to tell me about a mouth watering offer, possibly pitch something to me, and also reveal that I'll be meeting him in this same building at 2pm for a discussion, should I believe it may be from one of the executives?

Another glitch in this job of mine is that I don't have a secretary. Anyone will think that Reynolds Enterprises can assign someone to me, but for some reason, they haven't. Or won't. I have no idea.

Two minutes before 2pm.

I take all the files off my desk and stow them in a drawer which I lock. Then I place a call to the Chief Functions Officer.

"Hello," drawls Gareth Dewey.

"It's Sophia, sir. I would like to make an inquiry."

"About what?"

"Is there a meeting holding someplace in the building by 2pm?"

He stalls for a moment. I imagine the man turning to look at the wall clock. "That I don't know about? No."

"I see. Thank you, sir," I reply, and add nothing further.

A minute before 2pm.

I remember the first day I walked into Reynolds Enterprises. There used to be a man here, who perturbed me for my contact information like his lof depended on it. I gave him my name, and my number. But not my address, that he found out himself. He came over to my place one night without an invitation, ate dinner, watch TV, and wanted more than just a peck on the cheek, one which I didn't even endorse. I had to report him the next day at the office. He was demoted, and when he couldn't stand the shame, resigned. Long story short, I took his position as marketing officer. And I've been darn good at it since then.

Today just feels like history repeating itself. Though, I wonder whose job I'll be taking.

I get to my feet as the long hand on the Nikko wall clock strikes twelve. The door opens immediately like someone has been behind it all along. I should have bothered to check. Authenticity matters a lot these days.

Two black suited men walk into my office space and stand at ease before me. I look at their faces. Handsome, but serious.

"You have to come with us, miss," says one of them. He stands on my left.

"Where?"

"You've been briefed."

"No, I haven't. Telling me that it'll be in the same building isn't a briefing."

"Don't worry, miss. You won't get lost," says the one on my right, as he stands sideways and holds out his hand towards the door.

"Will you be bringing me back?" I ask.

"You'll be coming back, miss."

I take my phone and follow the men out the door.

**********

According to the yearly brochure, Reynolds Enterprises was established by the grandfather of the current CEO, someone named Martin Reynolds. I have never met the man myself, but with the little I've heard about him from the mouth of other female execs, his grandson, Ethan Reynolds is a chop off the old block. He is the reason why Reynolds Enterprises has better hallways then even most publishing houses.

And walking along them makes me feel a sense of calm and fervor. I have never seen my escorts before, so it stands to reason that they do not work with Reynolds Enterprises. Possibly some official detail I don't know of yet.

Well, I am about to.

We take the elevator to the topmost floor, where one can see the streets of New York city below. It is the office of the CEO. One of them opens the door for me and I walk in.

This is the first time I'm entering his office. And the moment I see the face of his mother, I grow a bad feeling about this meeting.