Thrust Into His Arms Chapter 1— The Helpful One

Gweneth Pov

My desk is piled high with docunts and files folders that are threatening to collapse on and the floor like an avalanche any second now.

My eyes were peeled to my brightly glowing computer screen. My fingers are flying all over the keyboard. At a point, they beca too numb and sweaty that I had to pause typing to stretch them out and press them flat against my cotton skirt to combat the sweat seeping out. I blow out my cheeks.

Screw my eyes shut and shake my head from side to side repeatedly. I grab the mug sitting next to my computer keyboard to take a sip of coffee only to find it empty. I sigh. This day had been anything but smooth for . The entire week collectively. My eyes are tired, I am feeling dizzy as well as a splitting migraine from taking over a thousand calls from disgruntled shareholders who had cursed out like I was the one who steered Bill and Julie’s Co into bankruptcy.

My feet hurt from running around gathering materials for back to back etings all day. I badly need a cold shower. The sll and taste of ran noodles, and the comfort of my bed and the sweet warm protective feeling of being in my apartnt. I wistfully glance at the other employee desks on my way to the pantry. They had long been empty since 7pm. Which is the normal closing ti for everyone else. I say everyone else because I hardly ever leave work on ti. I always had to stay behind and do work that was not assigned to at all in the first place. 9pm. Everyone else are at their hos having the ti of their lives but I am still here working like a monster doing a task that was initially assigned to the directorate manager—alone, and without the help of anyone else.

His words had been that I am a hardworking employee, and the only person he could fully entrust with the task. If anything goes wrong, it will be catastrophically my fault. And I will get chewed out by the executives. But if it goes well, sole credit goes to the directorate manager. This effort of mine will be overlooked like water under a bridge. So I have to push through my fatigue and pay attention to every single paper, shredding the ones with traces and evidence of the company’s mismanagent and embezzling by the top executives. Clearing the slate clean before the company’s takeover by another large company. No one could look through all these files, shred them and make new ones in three days much less in a span of few hours.

Anyone but .

I am a working machine. Everyone single one of my colleagues knows that. They even nicknad "The Alphago"

It’s not a praise. It is a just a cover-up term for a pushover. My efficiency is my biggest strength and also my weakness. I am the first to clock in and the very last to clock out. My workload is more than any other employee and executive of Bill and Julie’s Co. Most of the ti I don’t mind it. I happily did others work when asked to even though it is not my cup of coffee. My certification is laughable even by the tiniest companies standards. It was by bare luck and miracle that I landed a job in the renowned

Bill and Julie’s Co. I cannot compare to most of my colleagues who graduated from prestigious colleges. So I work twice as hard than the other employees. Using efficiency and hard work to compensate for my unimpressive certifications.

I have kept that up for the three years that I have been in this company all so I would one day be promoted to a manager. That one day actually ca. I got the promotion, but then disaster struck the company just two weeks after. Now I am at the risk of being laid off, except only by the rcy of whichever bimbo is coming to takeover as Ceo.

Also my inability to turn down work requests from my colleagues—or anyone else. I don’t say no because I am quiet and helpful. I like being helpful. I am an unspoken woman who only lashes out in her mind where no one else can hear her. I readily volunteer against my mind to do work for others. Then I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth. I just can’t help it though. Being helpful is in my nature. Even in highschool, I was the girl who stayed to help stack chairs when everyone else had already left. I helped cleaned the library and arrange books that the other students scattered. I help the janitor out with his job whenever his back hurts. I built an image of being helpful and reliable wherever I went. It’s a great thing though. But most people take it for granted like the directorate manager and so of my colleagues.

Reinvigorated by the coffee, I begin working on the files again as soon as my finger cramps lessened and beca bearable. I tried to not think about the fact that I am the only employee in the whole large 24 floor building who is yet to clock out. Finally! Relief instantly washes over my weak cells as I finished shredding the last batch of files. I arranged the new modified files into folders and put them away.

I can go ho at last. Shit! The ti was a few minutes past 11pm. A couple more minutes and it will be midnight. And I still need to co to work early at dawn to prepare for a shareholders eting. Sighs. Good fucking going Gweneth. Luckily there is no need to bother with pricey cabs at this hour when my fiance now lives close by. His place was a just a short trek distance from where I work.

"Why do there have to be so many stairs?" I said languidly as I trudged up the stairs to Neil’s apartnt. I can’t wait to recharge myself in his big warm hug and smothering kisses. I am not too tired. We can end up dancing on each other all night long. I smile to myself at my silly, naughty thought. I don’t get like this often. I am touch-starved. I miss Neil’s touch. I miss his scent and the feel of his thickness inside . Co to think of it, I don’t really recall the last ti we had each other.

All damn thanks to our conflicting work schedules. I reached the door, and I type in the pass code which is my birthday. I push the door open. My self announcent words of "Sugarplum, where are you at?" dies on my tongue. My whole body freezing at the sight my eyes t on the couch.