There he was in the flesh. The owner of the Weekly Skylar, Mr. Bently. He was living up to his name.Bent-on-world-destruction. Bent-a-car-with-my-bare-hands. Bent-pole-up-my-ass.
Mr. Bently was a fifty-something man with so much fat and grease in him, he makes McDonalds jealous. He was divorced with his wife because she found him with a hooker. And it wasn't his first one. He and his little wifey-poo had four children and he still wanted more...
"Womanizer," she whispered to herself.
"What did you say, Miss Maxwell?" Bently yelled, his face a dark red.
"Nothing, sir," she replied.
Mr. Percy Bently was short, fat and gullible. He looked like a stoned elf more than anything. His bald head was as shiny as the chrome on his Mercedes-Benz. He wore cheesy checkered suits with mismatched ties that could only be found at K-mart.
"This piece of shit you call an article received the lowest rating we've got in ten years," Bently told her. "Ten years, Hailey. I know this is only your first article as a reporter, but I hired you because of your talent."
"That's wonderful, Mr. Bently. But you have to understand the concept: people don't like reading an article twice. Get better material and problem solved. I honestly thought you'd known that."
"That doesn't matter. A true writer can make anything sound good," Bently defended his point.
"Percy - mind if I call you Percy?" she interrupted herself with thick sarcasm.
"Yes, indeed, I do-"
"Wonderful, Percy. Anyway, a true writer makes everything sound good. Including stories about prostitution and divorcing." She paused and looked at him, hinting very obviously. "People can only do their best, and if the public does not like it, then that's that. End of story and end of meeting."
She stood up and left the large meeting room. Walking through a sea of cubicles, Hailey found her own. Grabbing her keys, she left one hell and got ready for the next.