Wren Zhang (ex_transpare192) wrote in x_fluff_x, @ 2008-11-25 10:50:00 |
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Working at an auction house was tedious, yet oddly satisfying at the same time. Wren spent most of her days at Holland's either working with potential clients (to secure collections of artwork or antiquities) and working with the items in question. There was a lot of prep-work required for her to do on any given day, as one had to make sure the pieces were authentic and more importantly, weren't smuggled into the country illegally. Needless to say, Wren spent a great deal of time holed up in her office doing research, taking pictures, talking on the phone, etc.; and only did she leave her office to go out to meet clients or the Big Boss (whoever was in charge at the time) upstairs.
Today she had to do the latter; it was nothing serious, but she wanted to discuss the possibility of getting some time off sometime in the near-future. Wren had been working herself to death for months now. After everything that had had happened with the Professor, Jean Grey and Scott Summers... it had left her feeling really depressed. It was really no surprise that she had opted to throw herself into her work instead dealing with her grief in the normal way. Wren had never been good at expressing her emotions openly and most people who knew her well enough, were very much aware of this fact.
After finishing up one last round of photographs, Wren placed her camera back onto her desk and exited her office, briskly. Moments later she had entered the elevator and began her descent to the upper levels of the building.
Nathaniel Holland was her boss and he also happened to her biological father. And from her understanding, he was in the office today - no doubt checking up on things goings-on at the auction house. Most of his time was spent at his other, more lucrative businesses; so his visits to this particular establishment were few and far between, and generally happened towards the end of the fiscal year. (No surprise there.)
When the elevator reached its destination, the double doors opened and she made her exodus. The top floor wasn't nearly as business as it was a few floors below. Most of the head execs putzed around up here, drinking coffee, eating donuts, etc. And, of course, there was always the occasional meeting.
Stopping at her father's secretary's desk, Wren cleared her throat lightly to get her attention. (She was busy doing something or other on the computer.) "Delia?" Wren called, when the woman continued with her business without giving her any clue that she knew that she was there. This caused the woman to scowl into her computer screen, before she replaced it with a fixed smile and turned around in her chair. "Yes, may I help you?" the frizzy-haired woman asked, saccharinely. "Actually, yes, you can," Wren said, straightening her back a little further; the way she usually did when she was forced to socialize with someone she didn't particularly like. "I need to speak to Mr. Holland; is he available?"
There was a moment's pause, as the other woman checked-what Wren guessed to be, her father's schedule. Delia pursed her lips slightly and sighed, before turning her buggy eyes up at her. "Yes, he's free until five; would you want to see him now?"
"Please."
Delia merely nodded her head and picked up the phone on her desk, punching in one of the buttons. After what seemed to be three rings, Mr. Holland had picked up and his secretary informed him of his visitor. Seconds later, he told her that she could send Wren in.
"He's ready to see you now," Delia informed Wren, sounding rather bored. Wren nodded her head curtly and said a quick 'thank you,' before disappearing into her father's office.
Little did she know that the Mr. Holland sitting behind her father's desk wasn't the one she was expecting to see.