In the evening time, the gleaming conference room was abuzz with the chatter of affluent business leaders as they filed in for the quarterly business meeting. Desmond strode confidently into the room, his designer suit and Rolex watch exuding an air of success.
He made his way to the front of the room where the other attendees were mingling together and sipping their champagne. Desmond was about to grab a glass for himself when a familiar figure caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat as a wave of emotions washed over him—shock, anger, disbelief. It was her again. Anabel, his ex-wife. But how? She was working as a lowly janitor in Orton's group. And now, here she was, rubbing shoulders with the crème de la crème of the business world.
"What in the hell is she doing here? Was she invited to work as a junior in the conference room? But she just started a few weeks ago."
Desmond marched over, his Italian loafers clicking against the marble floor. "Anabel? What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice low but acidic. A few of the other moguls glanced over curiously at the commotion.
Anabel turned to face him and gave a small, secretive smile. She looked radiant in a fitted, expensive-looking red dress that hugged her curves. When had she acquired all that? Certainly not during their marriage. "Hello, Desmond," she purred. "I see you're surprised to see me."
"Surprised? I'll say. The last time I knew you, you were a janitor, scrubbing toilets in Orton's group. And now you are here, fake smiling with the big shots. Who invited you, Anabel? How did you find yourself here?
"I don't think it's necessary to tell you how I managed to be here. You have no business knowing how I was invited." Anabel replied.
"I know why I'm asking you. This meeting is not for people like you. You are just a janitor. For you to be here, there must be a special assignment."
"A special assignment like what?" Anabel asked.
"What are you good at if not cleaning and scrubbing the toilet? I wonder what you are doing in here; you should be somewhere inside, doing what you do best. You want to use the opportunity and mingle with rich men, forcing yourself where you don't belong." Desmond said.
"And how is that your business? You don't tell me how to live my life. I'm free to do whatever I want and take responsibility for it. The last time I checked, we were divorced. Though I can see that you like pestering around me." Anabel said.
"I baffled me on how you take risks, trying to fit in where you don't belong. You can be fired if they find out. I know you always wish to mingle with important people like me, but this is not the right way." Desmond said, and Anabel shook her head and smiled, then took a sip of her drink.
"So what is the right way? By licking your feet in your house? By working as a slave in your house? I will advise you to stop forcing yourself on me before you put yourself in trouble."
"You are putting yourself in trouble already by being where you are not supposed to be. I remember seeing you yesterday, entering a private jet. I thought you had made a comeback, not knowing that you are the luckiest janitor, chosen by Orton's group to work here. They must have chosen you because of how royal you are. Now you want to leave the purpose you are here and mingle with rich men."