Did Hellen really think she was someone special? In the end, she was just another pawn, aiding the boss in manipulating the employees like cattle.
She turned toward the boss, her lips curling into a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Of course," she said, her tone dripping with venom. "Unlike some people, I actually contribute."
Hellen puffed out her chest as if she'd just won an award. Her posture was rigid, her chin held high, but the slight tremor in her hands as she adjusted her blouse betrayed her inner frustration.
I smirked, letting the corner of my lips tug upward as I met her glare. She stared daggers at me, her eyes burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. The boss stood nearby, pretending to be busy, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips as he watched the exchange.
I had hoped that as workers, we'd share some solidarity. But Hellen? She was something else entirely—a wolf pretending to be part of the flock.
By the next morning, the office group chat was buzzing with complaints. My phone chimed nonstop, each notification another blew to my already frayed nerves.
[Colleague 1: Claire, can't you just stay at the front desk and behave? Because of you, we all had to work overtime for free!]
[Colleague 2: Exactly! I was supposed to have a romantic dinner with my husband!]
[Colleague 3: I had a weekend trip planned with my kid!]
Some of them even tagged me directly, their messages dripping with passive-aggressive undertones. [Claire, you've really outdone yourself this time!]
I scrolled through the chat, my chest tightening with every word. It hurt. These were the same people I'd shared years with, laughing in the break room and complaining about deadlines. I never thought they'd turn on me so quickly.
The hostility didn't stop there. At work, some began to sabotage me outright.
"Claire, what's wrong with you? Can't even sweep the floor properly?"
I looked down at the floor I'd just cleaned, only to find muddy footprints smeared across it. A coworker stood nearby, arms crossed, watching me with a self-satisfied smirk. They had done it deliberately, their shoes still damp with fresh dirt.
Frustrated, I clenched the mop handle tighter but forced myself to stay quiet. No point in arguing—they'd just twist it back on me.
The final straw came when the boss called me into his office.
He sat behind his massive oak desk, the polished surface reflecting the sunlight streaming through the blinds. His expression was as friendly as ever, but I knew better. The warmth in his eyes was a facade, carefully crafted to disguise the cold calculation underneath.
"Claire," he began, leaning forward slightly as if we were old friends. "You're still young. There's no need to make things difficult for yourself."
I let out a dry laugh, crossing my arms over my chest. "Boss, what exactly are you trying to say?"
His face fell, the mask slipping ever so slightly. "You've been stirring up too much trouble in the company lately. If this continues, we'll have to take measures to maintain harmony in the workplace."
And there it was—the threat, thinly veiled beneath a veneer of concern.
"In the past, we let small things slide," he continued, his tone soft but firm, "but now we need to operate more professionally."
Then came the announcement. A new set of company regulations, presented with a flourish as if they were some groundbreaking innovation. Most of the rules were the same, but one stood out: a deduction system.
Failing to sweep the floor properly? Twenty dollars deducted from your salary.
Not keeping your workstation clean? Thirty dollars deducted.
I skimmed the list, my stomach sinking with each absurd rule. The deductions added up so quickly that it felt like my wallet had been snatched right out of my pocket.
As the receptionist, I handled most of the company's deliveries, signed for important documents and even booked the boss' car when he traveled. Now, every tiny mistake could cost me a significant chunk of my already dwindling paycheck.
"Young people like you should learn to follow the rules," the boss said, his voice oozing with false sympathy. "If you can't even abide by these simple guidelines, how will you manage in the future?"
Hellen, standing nearby, chimed in, nodding eagerly like a loyal lapdog. "That's right, Claire. We've been lenient with you before, but you've really crossed the line this time."
She circled my desk, her heels clicking against the tiled floor with each deliberate step. Finally, she stopped and gestured dramatically at my workspace.
"With your mess of a desk, I'd say that's at least a hundred bucks deducted," she said, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of nearby coworkers.
Heads turned, whispers spreading through the office like wildfire.
"I knew it! This stupid new rule was because of her!" someone muttered.
"Exactly! We barely make any money as it is and now we're getting deductions?"
"Claire, you better make it up to us! If it weren't for you, the company wouldn't have come up with these rules in the first place!"
Their voices grew louder, each accusation a sharp jab that left me reeling. My pulse pounded in my ears as I forced myself to stay calm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harold watching me. His expression was sympathetic, but he didn't step in to help.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my back and squared my shoulders. "Fine," I said evenly. "You can deduct my salary."
Hellen smirked, clearly pleased with my compliance. "That's more like it," she said. "It's almost New Year's—finding a job isn't easy. You should be grateful that our company is still willing to keep you."
Her words were like salt in the wound, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. Instead, I turned to my desk and muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "If being a receptionist is such a blessing, why don't you take it?"
