11. Chapter Eleven #2
But she was a woman. Women were known to put on a show with happy faces, yet the one Margaret wore seemed genuine.
She cared for every person who came in, seeing them as a human being rather than a nuisance with questions.
However, nothing about the world was cheerful, especially work.
This woman was naive. If she had experienced what life was like outside her little box, she’d have a different perspective.
Miss Nicholson had been quiet the last hour, reading the same file.
She needed to work faster. Perhaps if Roger presented her with a heavier load, she’d be overwhelmed and quit.
Her feminist dream would die, and she would return to planning garden parties and organizing charity events or whatever women did.
Roger dug into the file cabinet, retrieving files he hadn’t updated.
Those clients had returned, paying their bills for the month.
It was Roger’s first day as the sole accountant again, but the need for another employee remained—one who could take the girl’s place.
This young woman might have the ability to type and operate a phone, but she didn’t deserve it.
The position was handed to her without an interview or trial run.
Her father gave her the job as if it were Christmas morning.
Roger was sickened by the thought. People like her needed to be qualified and work hard for positions—just like he had.
His former boss at Tibet’s Manor had given him the responsibility of an estate manager when he turned eighteen. The pay didn't change but he was used to being at the bottom. Being promoted was what Roger worked hard for; he earned that position.
Roger gathered the files and walked towards Miss Nicholson. He slammed them on her desk. She nearly jumped, and her hazel eyes locked with his. Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip then stopped. The sight of her trying to avoid biting her lip made Roger want to smile.
Miss Nicholson was frightened of him.
“Organize these. The accounts need to be updated.”
Miss Nicholson didn’t question him. Even though balancing the accounts was his job, she didn’t object. She shot him a smile and took them into her possession. His plan didn’t work. Why didn’t she lash out at him?
“Is there anything else you need me to do?” she asked with a gentle and soft demeanor.
Roger ignored her sweet features. She was nothing but a spoiled girl in a place she didn’t belong. She wouldn’t last long on his watch. If she wanted to play independent feminist, he’d give her responsibility.
“No.”
Roger walked away. Mr. Nicholson was still in his office, doing whatever he did throughout the long hours.
Roger longed for those stressful times again.
During those times, he didn’t focus on his troubles.
Troubles happened during rest. Most nights, Roger stayed awake as long as possible, sipping whiskey to calm his nerves, but his terrors hadn’t improved.
He’d had temporary relief, but the nightmares kept returning, repeating each of his regrets.
He’d see Ian, his singed body in front of him, lying lifeless.
Roger closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath.
He laid his hands on the counter. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. Get busy. Forget about this.
Roger took the account balance history from the shelf behind him and crossed out the names of those who had paid their remaining balance today and yesterday.
Only three names crossed. Roger wiped the sweat from his forehead.
He needed to be busier. He looked up and observed Miss Nicholson still balancing her files.
He tapped his pen on the counter, waiting for her to finish.
He needed more to do. Appointments were finished, and he had completed all the accounting tasks for the day. He needed those files.
Now.
So much for making her busy. Miss Nicholson was supposed to finish quickly and balance them wrong. Then he’d have more to deal with, along with scolding her. Balancing them would be easy but correcting them would be another responsibility.
A half-hour passed by, and Roger observed Miss Nicholson again.
She had neatly stacked the files and pushed them away.
She didn’t seem stressed at all. Roger would have to try harder to discourage her, a challenge he’d accept.
Miss Nicholson grabbed her purse and coat and stood, not showing any blemish of fatigue.
It was five o’clock now and the workday was over.
Before thinking, Roger let his emotions take over him.
He needed those files. He needed to be stressed.
He needed his mind to be off his troubles.
He stormed over to Miss Nicholson and snatched the files from her desk.
She stood still as he looked through them.
Roger groaned. Most of the accounts were untouched.
Thirty minutes of her doing hardly anything!
He glared at her pale face and lifted the files. “These haven’t been updated.” Miss Nicholson opened her mouth to speak, but Roger interrupted her. “You didn’t do as I asked. I simply requested one simple job, and you haven’t finished.”
Miss Nicholson managed to keep a straight face. “I will see to them tomorrow. I promise.”
Every muscle in Roger’s body tensed, and his fists balled up so fiercely that his short nails dug into his skin. “Your shift ends when you finish your job, Your Highness.”
He imagined Miss Nicholson to falter and cry, but she surprised him. She slipped her arms through her coat sleeves and looked him straight in the eyes. “I said I’d do it tomorrow. I have errands to run. If you have any problems with that, take it up with my father.”
Miss Nicholson huffed, and Roger watched as she walked out the glass door.
“Spoiled brat,” he muttered. All she had to do was confront her daddy if anything wasn’t going her way.
It made Roger so mad he could punch the wall.
This girl could get away with anything as long as her father was present.
People like her drove him mad, demanding and dictating anything and everything to fulfill their desires.
Hadn’t the Germans done just that, and hadn’t that been the source of the war?
America may have won, but so many of their troops didn’t.
It wasn’t fair. Why did people have to suffer because of others’ selfishness? The war wouldn’t have had to have been fought if Germany had been content. And Miss Nicholson wouldn’t have failed to organize the files had she simply put herself aside and stayed for another half hour.
In a rush of rage, Roger threw the files to the floor, groaning as papers fluttered all around the room.
They’d have to be reorganized again, but that wasn’t his problem.
It wasn’t his job to organize anymore. He was hired as an accountant, not a secretary.
Despite this, he began scooping the papers.
He’d have to hurry before Mr. Nicholson came downstairs.
Then he’d be in trouble. At least Miss Nicholson would have more work to do the next day.
Perhaps that would teach her a lesson to not abandon her duty to “run an errand.” That’d be something to cry to Daddy about.
Roger picked up the stack of papers and the empty files.
As he stood to place them on Margaret’s desk, the roar of an engine tore through the air.
The only reason would be a race, but why would there be a race at this hour?
His gut tightened. Something wasn’t right.
He stepped outside, his arms crossed over his body.
At last, an automobile came into view, swerving wildly, veering off the road, and crashing onto the sidewalk.
The vehicle’s tires screeched and kicked up sparks as it jolted over curbs.