𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄. She sighed angrily to herself as she hurriedly tugged on her shoes, shoving her hair away from her face as best she could without completely messing it up, grabbing her purse from the hook where it always hung and dashing out the door, nearly forgetting to lock her apartment in her hurry. 

She hated being late. While it wasn't reasonable to think she would never be late, it simply meant she tried to avoid it whenever possible, waking up far earlier than truly necessary in order to arrive as early as acceptable. Sometimes there were valid excuses for tardiness, and if so, they were excused and no more thought was given to them than needed, but as much as she would have liked to say she had an excuse, she was a terrible liar. 

Things had been going as smoothly as could be expected as Muna hurried down to the car lot and threw herself in her car, hoping that she could speed up a bit by driving, only remembering to put on her seatbelt several minutes later when trying to reach for her purse at the drive through of a popular coffee shop, realizing the strain of reaching in the backseat wasn't as easy as it should have been with her seatbelt on. 

With the tray of coffee now sitting at her side and the ungodly amount of traffic ahead of her, Muna was ready to keel over. She groaned as she continued to wait in her seat, her heart rate rather quick for such a situation, wiggling in place as if doing so would encourage everyone to hurry up and move, her phone buzzing at the numerous texts from her coworkers demanding to know where she was, and it was for what seemed like the millionth time that she cursed her boss' policies, this time as loud as she wanted because she was alone instead of under her breath like usual. 

She debated putting on some music to lighten her nerves, but she knew from previous experience that listening to music wouldn't help in the slightest, so it was easier to simply sit there and worry, the tight feeling in her stomach winding up even more as she let loose some steam by honking the horn, pulling out her phone to take pictures of the road as proof of the validity of her excuse. 

She really should have walked. 

Just as she was placing her phone back in the cup holder, she felt in buzz yet again, the vibration clashing uncomfortably with the plastic of the holder, snatching it immediately and nearly throwing it out the window until she saw her coworker's name pop up, answering the call and pressing it to her ear. 

"If you're calling to tease me, I don't want to hear it," Muna answered in lieu of a hello, a smile working its way across her face despite her attempt to stay serious, knowing she would see right through her seriousness. 

"I got your text, don't worry, you have a valid excuse," Naomi replied, laughing softly at the woman's mixture of groans and curses, sympathetically clicking her tongue at her frustrations. 

Despite Naomi only being a cub reporter, the two had hit it off almost immediately, the friendship that had blossomed out of pure coincidence now stronger than anyone predicted. While she certainly wasn't the youngest reporter they had brought on, the twenty-two year old reminded Muna so much of herself—meticulous and desperate to prove herself, traits she was all too familiar with—that she felt compelled to bring her under her wing.

"Does anyone notice I'm not there?" Muna asked, knowing fully well what the answer would be, feeling an overwhelming desire to hit her head on the steering wheel. 

Naomi hummed, and she could imagine the young woman was rocking in place as she surveyed their floor. "Maybe you should just focus on getting here, we're gonna start pitching stories really soon." 

"I would if I could!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands then quickly returning them to the steering wheel before realizing the car was stationary anyway, "It's not like I'm doing this on purpose, everyone in the office already hates me, I don't want to give them more of a reason." 

"No one hates you," the younger woman reassured, her nails clicking against a keyboard as she spoke, "Just a couple people, and they don't matter anyway, we've already established that they're terrible." 

"At least we can agree on that," Muna sighed, her spirits soaring as the traffic began to ease and she was able to begin inching her car more and more, letting her know that she might arrive soon; hopefully she wouldn't set a new record for coming in late at this point. 

It wasn't until nearly twenty minutes later that she was able to get to work, running into the building and attempting to use the time in the elevator to compose herself, patting her hair and smoothing her skirt, shaking her shoulders back and doing her best to stare proudly at her reflection despite the butterflies in her stomach. The doors opened all too soon, and Muna was left to walk as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself to her desk, placing down her purse and briefly looking over her company-issued laptop when a gruff voice made her heart stop. 

"Look who finally decided to show up," Herman Tapper said roughly, now standing directly in front of her desk, his arms crossed, "We've been waiting for you, Tekin, is this how you treat your coworkers?" 

At that, he raised a hand to point to one of the conference rooms, and she raised her head to find fifteen of her coworkers sitting down at the long table, glancing at her with various looks of sympathy and annoyance, biting her lip as Tapper continued. "Don't worry, I didn't start without you." 

Muna picked up her laptop and made her way to the conference room, her head held high with as much dignity as she could, taking her seat beside a reporter she didn't even know the name of, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly in an effort to calm down. She could see Naomi at her own desk through the glass windows trying to catch her eye, her eyebrows raised in a silent question. She responded with a miniscule nod, and the younger woman offered her a sad smile before turning back to her work. 

"Tekin!"

Her head snapped up from where she was preparing to take notes on her laptop, staring at her boss at the head of the long table, fiddling with a dry erase marker in his hands beside a whiteboard as he looked at her expectantly. They'd hardly even started the meeting and she was already behind, judging from Tapper's annoyed expression. 

"I asked you a question," he said slowly, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table, "Are you not able to pay attention now too, in addition to not following directions and coming in late?" 

Muna was tempted to ask what directions she hadn't followed, especially since it wasn't her fault she was late, she couldn't control traffic, but as soon as she opened her mouth, she was interrupted by another male voice smugly jumping in. 

"If you don't choose now, you'll end up getting something terrible," James Sullivan said, leaning backward in his chair and shooting her a knowing look, pointing at the whiteboard. 

Arrogant and narcissistic, James Sullivan was the bane of Muna's existence. Despite having two Pulitzers for his work and being well-known in the reporting world, James was Tapper's lapdog from the moment he walked in, criticizing her writing style and sometimes even rewriting her own articles at Tapper's request, the shared by-line when it was published always making her want to scream and hit something. 

She looked at the whiteboard and saw their familiar layout for choosing which articles to write, everyone's names written within a chart divided into genres in order to maximize neatness and efficiency. Her name was the only one left blank, and she snapped back to attention when she heard her boss clear his throat, someone behind her holding back a snicker. 

"Have you chosen an article, Tekin?" Tapper asked condescendingly as if to spell it out for her, "Or do you need even more time?"

Muna shook her head before immediately nodding again, clearing her own throat as she tried to communicate what she wanted to say, folding her hands in her lap so she wouldn't wave them around as she usually did when trying to explain something. "No, I—well, yes, I did choose one, it's about the city's new fashion district." 

"Fashion?" Tapper repeated, looking expectantly around at the everyone at the table, James being the only one to laugh along with him, "You expect me to approve an article on fashion when you disrespect me and everyone here, not to mention your own clothes look like you've slept in them for a week? Very funny, Tekin." 

"There's nothing slight about fashion, it's one of the most visceral forms of art," Muna found herself saying, swallowing hard before continuing, "We tell a story of who we are based on what we choose to wear, whether we realize it or not." 

"Cute," Tapper said, disinterest practically oozing from his words as he continued to look through a pile of papers, handing them out to various people at the table, "Johnson, you've got a new angle on the homeless crisis, make sure you get on to that. Lowell—" 

"New legislation is allowing designers to set up shop in industrial spaces that have been abandoned for decades," she added, holding her head a little bit higher as she caught his attention, feeling more emboldened, and she didn't know if that was a good thing, "A place that's a breeding ground for crime is going to be surrounded by color and life, more job opportunities. The article isn't about clothes, it's about community and growth and hope—"

"You'll be writing what I say you'll be writing," he said firmly, snatching off his glasses and glaring at her with a tone of finality, "And I won't tolerate an outburst from someone that makes their coworkers wait for the better part of an hour just because they can't be bothered to come in on time!" 

"There was traffic, I'm sorry!" Muna exclaimed, reaching her hand into her pocket for her phone before realizing she left it in her purse at her desk, "I have pictures, it's not like I wanted to be late, and it doesn't affect my ability to write, so I don't see how—" 

"No, no, you don't talk to me like that," Tapper said, his voice dangerously low, the other reporters glancing at each other nervously as they watched, "Everyone else is dismissed. Tekin, stay." 

Muna gulped as she watched everyone else gather their assignments and laptops, filing out of the room with low murmurs, some giving her nervous glances. She straightened her back as the last person left the room, shutting the door behind them, and she became well-aware of everyone in the office whispering and glancing at them, each glad they weren't in her position. 

She wished she'd kept her mouth shut. 

Tapper licked his lips as he straightened a stack of papers by banging them on the table before speaking, his voice still low. "If you have a complaint, you come and whisper it into my ear, you don't blurt out excuses in the middle of a meeting, and you, of all people, should know better. You have a degree in International Relations, for crying out loud—start acting like it." 

"Sir, with all due respect—" she began, because it was just like her to grovel in front of someone with an ounce of authority, no matter how much she hated them. 

"That's enough," Tapper snapped, rifling through the stack of papers and locating a thick stack, slamming them in front of her, "You'll be covering an astrophysics breakthrough, per a favor I owe a friend. Make sure it's well-written the way I like it, or I'm sure James will be more than happy to rewrite it."

Muna couldn't believe what she was hearing; this was not what she signed up for when she became a journalist, she wasn't there to cover a man's debts just because of a petty grievance. "Sir, with all due respect, I'd rather write about the new fashion district." 

"You know what? That's a good idea," man scoffed, splaying out his hands. "Do both. I want them on my desk by lunch."  

"Wait, what—that's not—I don't—" Muna stammered, pushing herself up, the chair rolling backwards and hitting the wall, her hand bunched into fists at her side, her words lost on a man that cared for nothing that she had to say, getting angrier by the minute as he waved a dismissive hand in her direction. 

She growled, loud enough to make sure he heard her but not nearly enough that everyone watching them closely outside the conference could—she didn't need them thinking she was weirder than they already did—before snatching her things and storming out, attempting to slam the glass door behind her but forgetting that it closed on its own, only resulting in humiliating herself anymore. She was tempted to drop her things and storm of to clear her head, but seeing as how she needed to write two articles and finish them in several hours, Muna decided to settle on walking angrily to her desk, her heels clicking sharply, collapsing in her chair and allowing herself a full minute to fume. 

Muna liked to think she wasn't a difficult person to get along with, but Tapper was really starting to get on her nerves. She had no idea what she had ever done to deserve his hatred, if she had ever done something to make him mad in the six months they had been working together, ever since her old boss had sold the building and began a new chapter in her life. She didn't like having people not like her, and it was a new feeling, people usually liked her when they met, always commenting on her constant smile and chipper attitude no matter what was going on. 

But that didn't mean she didn't have much to be sad about. While she did like to smile, both for her benefit and other people, she had a habit of being eccentric and overachieving, that never stopped her from doing her best and trying to get the job done, and it wasn't going to now.

So she opened her laptop and began her research, taking note of the murmurs about her outburst beginning to cease, her anger slowly turning into hardened resolve, determined to finish her work before lunch if she could, just for the satisfaction of seeing Tapper's face. 

Because she wasn't anything if not trying her best, but that didn't mean she would succeed. 

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

Yikes I'm sorry for this chapter, I don't know where I went with this, but it's here and out and not in my hands anymore. I don't know how jobs work so I hope this was at least somewhat believable, I seriously dislike where I went with this

Thanks for reading!