Update9 Jan 2014 01:15
Molecules stood at the picture window of his new, corner office in Lexington, gazing out at the landscaped gardens that surrounded, now deeply frozen and snow-covered in the depths of this harsh, Arctic vortex. In the distance glistened Shire Tower, those one hundred and forty-three floors representing all that he aspired to. "So many changes", he murmured, as his mind wandered over the last few, hectic months. The scene outside brought to mind his former secretary, Voskoboynikova. Had he done the right thing, sending her back to her Siberian village? She was probably right now in the arms of some fur trapper, looking out at the snow, just as he was, he thought with a sharp twinge of regret.
Our CEO's musings were abruptly interrupted by his door crashing open. In strode Mrs Bernstein from the Bronx, his new secretary, her thick-knit, sensible skirt swishing as she approached . "Waddaya doin' starring outtada window doin' nuttink?", she shouted, placing the coffee tray down on his new, mahogany desk with a bang. Pulling a sheaf of papers from under her arm and hitching her powerful, horn-rimmed spectacles higher up her nose, she continued, "Der ain't no time to be dreamink' about de past, we got woik to do".
Had he done the right thing, hiring this middle-aged maelstrom, he wondered? It didn't seem to have helped him forget, as he had thought it would....
TO BE CONTINUED.....