DASHA was the name of the media company that you worked for. It did not specialize in news, no. It specialized in reputation. Working behind the scenes to subtly influence the masses. Its clients included politicians, celebrities recovering their image, advertisers buying information about their clientele before spreading slogans bordering on propaganda. It was a billion dollar industry.

The company was influenced by many different wealthy individuals, but it was primarily owned by the Brooklyn family. David Brooklyn was the chief executive officer, his wife Marissa Brooklyn was the very head of HR, and their thirty year old son Luke Brooklyn was the chief operating officer.

Luke Brooklyn was the most demanding boss that you had ever worked for. Not that you had worked for many people. He had hired you as his main assistant because his mother had befriended your mother, a simple hairdresser. Your mother didn’t have many connections to the elites besides the Brooklyns, but what she did have was a gregarious personality and an undeniable ability to advocate for you. Luke had hired you to appease his mother, and while he held no resentment towards you specifically, he was a nuisance to everyone.

He constantly demanded things while only giving short snappy descriptions of what he wanted, and would be appalled when you had not read his mind. His routine was down to the second, and when it was not accommodated to his exact expectations, he would give you that same look; the disappointed face of a severely inconvenienced man.

The only person that he held to higher standard than you was himself. He only looked so perfect because he would obsessively prune every detail, using ice packs and makeup, and spending far too long suit-shopping or at the gym in his penthouse home. Repulsed by failure, he would go into despair at his desk when he did not measure up to what he had planned. It was no wonder he was only close to his mother, Marissa—his life was full of conditions, and only a mother’s love was unconditional.

You were one of the few to witness his unnerving nighttime meltdowns, because he often kept you so late working overtime. And still, you tolerated all of it. You needed the money, and most of all, you needed the opportunities that would open up afterwards.

The morning began with Luke tossing his long black coat on your desk, covering your keyboard. He never hung up the coat himself. The secondary assistant, Jackson, was panicking trying to fetch Luke’s coffee with a ‘note of hazelnut’, as Luke had put it. Luke was currently ignoring him, focusing on you.

“I want every summarization you wrote yesterday on my desk, and I want you to change your scarf. Gingham pattern gives me a headache,” he informed you, and turned away without awaiting another answer.