Bidault-Mitchell Inc: A Series - Bk1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Starting a series.

Submitted: March 20, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 20, 2017



The sound of phones ringing,and fingers tap dancing across keyboards became an ever intensifying roar as voices muted across the halls. You could feel the the frightened hearts pounding through the cubicles as she swayed through the building. Her icy grey eyes settling upon one individual after another as she sped through the corridors. Dr. Clara Lea' Bidault was not only CEO of Bidault Ent. but the feared founder of the entire establishment. Her presence in the building was a truly rare event, and whispers swept across the pickled wild cherry wood floors like a cold breeze cruising inside. While it was unusual to see the Doctor first hand, it was not unusual or very hard to find her firing you. People crept by in desperate attempt to go unnoticed or look busy. Clara owned several company properties all over the world, she hated coming to the United States; and any business that she had to come and handle personally in the country was bad business in her perspective. Today however Clara decided to entertain today's meeting. She felt her flight into America had been rather unpleasant, and really it wasn't to any fault of the flight company just rather her utter distate for leaving France. Her Oscar de la Renta ivory crystal-detailed Faille-Louisa platforms clicked sharply with each sway of the hip as she headed toward the grand conference room, her personal assistant in close pursuit on her right side. Clara's voice rang through the building like a school bell, crisp and clear cut.

"I want you to mark down that I'm tired Oceane and that L'amerique est sale,"

Her assistant looked up from the paper she was scribbling across with eyes of uncertainty and confusion.

"Pour l'amour de la baise! Yes, Oceane I really want that written." She barked to the timid girl. The girl started whole-heartedly scribbling across her papers once again.

"Yes ma'am," she muttered hastily trying to keep up with the doctor. She looked like a flailing albatross in comparison to the swan like grace of the doctor flowing through the halls, stumbling and shuffling about this way and that. Oceane rearranged a few color coded folders in her arms and attempted handing one to Clara.

"This is a summary Dr.Bidault of Mr.Mitchell's financial reports and other busi--"

"What"- Clara snatched the folder from her assistants hand-"No no no, you're not gonna bombard me with this trash, this is trash. Trash. Do you want to be trash? Because that's what you're bringing me. Trash. " she retorted waving the folder in her hand at Oceane.

"Hunh, incroyable! I. Did. Not. Hire. You. For. This. No!" She shouted She tossed the folder onto the ground and stepped over the spill of black and white research and statistics. Oceane looked around at all of the eyes staring in her direction. No words spoken just amused and hesitant eyes. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she looked floorward following closely once again after Clara. She rapidly pulled her sanitizing hand cloths out of her pocketbook, rushing to get to the door before her agitated employer so she could disinfect the doorknob.  Clara pushed her aside however, grabbing the door tightly and locking  her storm-cloudy eyes with Oceane before whispering,

"Don't get fired today." and swinging both doors to the grand conference room open theatrically wide.

::To Be Continued


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