To Color Your Life

The day before.

.

Emily parked her old Ford in front of the big house, where she had been only once before.

She looked at her watch - the time was getting closer to the noon. Granny's lawyer, although he was very surprised by the unexpected visit of the girl, and was even more surprised by her request, worked like a real professional.

Emily slammed the car door shut and clutched her bag to her chest as if it contained a secret message that would change the course of the war. By and large, this was not far from the truth.

She walked with a confident step to the front door, where the mistress of the house was already waiting for her.

"Hello dear!" Teresa Evans greeted the girl with a smile and hugged her, "You made me so happy when you said you wanted to come! I thought after that dinner I'd have to persuade you to visit us. My dad, he is like that, he always loves to lead people by a dance." The woman recalled the family dinner a week earlier.

"It's okay, don't worry, Teresa. I had a great time. And thank you for the cakes, they were delicious," Emily smiled back. The girl did not dare to dedicate a kind woman to the tragic fate of sweet pastries. She tried one anyway, albeit half and half with someone.

"Teresa, you said Mr. Pitcher is at home. Can I talk to him now?" Emily had previously clarified where Justin's grandfather was. She had little time, and the question was urgent and important.

"Yes, he is with Jacob in his study. Dad asked Jake to look at some papers, but he said that you can go up to them as soon as you arrive." Teresa led Emily into the house and pointed to the stairs leading to the second floor. "Come up, the first door on the left. In the meantime, I'll check the pie in the oven."

Emily nodded and stepped onto the stairs. With every step, inner fear fettered her, as if she climbed the steps of the scaffold to the gallows, where the final sentence was already waiting for her - pardon or hanging.

The cool leather of her bag turned icy. Or was it her palms? It seemed that the blood in the whole body rushed to the heart, for some reason it pounded and twitched convulsively, like boiling water in a teapot, ready to rip off the lid and burst out.

Emily let out a slow breath and lowered the heat, soothing her overworked heart.

Two short knocks on the door - and she heard the fatal "Come in." There were no escape routes.

"Hello, Mr. Pitcher. Hi, Jacob," the girl greeted the man, nodded to the boss's brother. "Thank you for agreeing to take the time."

Arthur Pitcher looked up from the papers he was studying and looked at Emily. His study room was simple to minimalism: a mahogany table, a couple of armchairs, a bookcase, several framed photographs on the walls and a dried bouquet of daisies under glass which looked like a painting.

Emily suddenly remembered that daisies were the only flowers her grandmother didn't like.

"Why such a business tone, dear?" the man raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Or Justin managed to screw it up, and you came to notify me about that the wedding would be cancelled?"

Well, you will definitely never hear that from me, Emily smiled inwardly to herself. Even if the upcoming conversation does not go as it should, and the boss's grandfather considers her crazy and changes his attitude towards her, she will not abandon Justin under any pretext.

"Mr. Pitcher, I came to you not as your grandson's girlfriend, but as an employee of the Pharaoh publishing house," Emily replied as seriously as possible.

"As the employee?" grandfather exchanged glances with Jacob, "How interesting.... It's definitely interesting," he leaned back in a large leather chair, his fingers were clasped in the lock and lay on the table, "Wasn't yesterday your last working day? You were a temporary intern, not even a permanent employee."

"Your information is out of date, sir. Mr. Barkens signed my appointment this morning. I am now the official model and face of Pharaoh magazine. After meeting you, I will have my first official filming."

"Hmm," the man drawled thoughtfully, "I see. But then you got the wrong door, Emily. You don't need me, you need Roger. I no longer participate in the affairs of the publishing house, let alone your magazine. But your decision surprised me." Pitcher straightened and moved forward.

"Do you understand that by joining the staff of the magazine, you are subject to the same conditions as the rest? If tomorrow the meeting of shareholders decides to close your department, then you will never be able to work in this company ever again, even as a janitor."

Emily knew it all too well. 

"That's why I'm here," she lifted her small purse from her shoulder, the weight of which felt like a ten-tonne anchor. The girl took out a thick envelope and placed it on the table in front of the man, "There is one million dollars. One more million should go to my account in the upcoming-"

Her phone chirped, the incoming message was a notification from the bank about the receipt of funds to the account.

Just in time. Thank God.

"Another million dollars is in my account, and I am ready to transfer it right now wherever you say."

Arthur Pitcher's face instantly hardened. The good-natured smile with which he met the girl a few minutes ago disappeared without leaving a trace.

In front of Emily was sitting not the grandfather of her beloved man, but a calculating businessman, in whose head numbers, and not emotions, were making decisions.

"And what does it mean?" he asked, though he understood perfectly well without Emily's answer.

She understood this too. He wanted to hear these words out loud from her.

Well, that's why you came here, Hayes.

An invisible horn announced the beginning of the battle. The first move was on her side.

Emily squared her shoulders and, meeting the man's stern gaze, replied, "Mr.. Pitcher, as an employee of the Pharaoh Publishing House, I claim my right to purchase your shares for two million dollars."