Awakening Ambition
AMARI
I wake up reluctantly to the shrill, persistent shrieks of my alarm.
I don’t even try to find the snooze button. Instead, I swipe my arm across the nightstand and knock the alarm onto the carpet to shut it up. I’ll deal with it later.
I slip into my silk robe, the cool fabric gliding effortlessly across bare skin, sending a pleasant shiver up my spine. Even with my hair in wild disarray, there’s something deliciously private about this moment—the hush before the day begins, the soft press of silk against my curves.
I always sleep naked; there’s nothing quite like the way fresh sheets whisper along my body at night, an indulgence I savor.
I walk sluggishly to the bathroom, every step feeling like a monumental effort, my eyes barely staying open. It’s a daily battle with my own exhaustion, but I need to start the day.
When I finally reach the bathroom, I brush my teeth at the sink, staring intently at my weary reflection. Please understand that my teeth are clean. I didn’t get into those questionable Instagram hygiene trends for nothing—charcoal whitening, coconut pulling, and the whole ridiculous, time-consuming regimen.
Once I step into the shower, I twist the valve to maximum heat, ignoring the warnings of my own common sense. It feels like it’s scalding my skin, but for me, that’s comforting. It numbs the mind.
Until I see the utility bills, anyway.
The water flows over my body as I bask in its warmth for a good thirty seconds, letting it wash away the stress of the previous day before I actually start scrubbing my grimy skin. When I step out, I feel, for the first time that morning, truly alive.
I put on a sharp black blazer with matching tailored trousers. Honestly, the only things I have in my closet are blazers and trousers. And shirts to go under the blazers, obviously. Other normal stuff too... Yeah. I’m a bit of a workaholic, but a stylish one.
Today, I’m feeling sexy, a rare mood that I decide to indulge. I don’t put a shirt under my blazer. It doesn’t make that much of a difference, but it gives me a slight confidence boost for the day ahead—a secret, rebellious touch.
I have a typical office job that lets me be an actually useful part of society. But does that make it enjoyable? Not really. I work for one of those large corporations that everyone in the city can identify with a single word: brutal.
I remember my first, maybe second day on the job. The first thing I noticed was the constant gossip, and I realized I needed to get used to it. I overheard someone say, “I heard Jim hijacked Amelia’s work assignment... finally putting that computer science degree to work, I see.” It was the kind of comment that sounded about fifty percent true and fifty percent malicious.
The girl’s nametag said Brooklyn. So when Brooklyn was around, I would make Jim the common denominator for all our random computer issues and subtly make him the butt of the joke. But around Jim, I knew not to mess around. I didn’t want him giving my monitor a random virus or something.
Later, once I got to know people better, I learned to keep my mouth shut instead of trying to be the center of attention. It’s quite useful, a lot of the time, if you ask me.
I’ve just finished checking my dozens of emails and am about to start a report that needs to be completed when another email pops up. I have to restrain myself from audibly groaning as I click on it.
Soon, everyone else is checking their emails too. Do they know something I don’t? ...That’s a silly question; of course they do. Faces light up as people read the email. It’s lengthy and clearly important. When I finish reading it, I can’t even begin to describe how happy I feel.
There’s an opening for the CEO.
The job that doesn’t pay $20 an hour. (It may seem like a lot, but half the people here have to maintain a family.) Being CEO is somebody’s dream level of authority in this place.
The board has sent out an announcement: anyone from the company can throw their hat in the ring if they think they have what it takes. We’ll have to submit a detailed application first, and then there’ll be a round of interviews and presentations in front of the board. Rumor has it they’re treating this like an all-out internal competition, and only the strongest pitch will win.
Who knows what people will do with that kind of authority?
For me, it’s more than just a pay raise or a shiny title.
I remember my papa working extra shifts just to keep the lights on, telling me, “Work hard, but make it matter.” Ever since he passed away, I’ve felt this ache to prove that our struggles meant something. Being CEO feels like finally owning a seat at the table where decisions actually get made—where I can make it better for people like us.
Maybe I want to prove I’m not just another prong in the ol’ machine, or maybe I want to show that someone with my background can shatter the glass ceiling. My mind doesn’t even hesitate.
I can’t wait to be CEO. I can finally change the culture, stop the gossip, and run this company the way it should’ve been all along.
I hastily apply for the role, filling out every question, adding every little detail I can.
I finally have a goal worth fighting for.I wake up reluctantly to the shrill, persistent shrieks of my alarm.
I don’t even try to find the snooze button. Instead, I swipe my arm across the nightstand and knock the alarm onto the carpet to shut it up. I’ll deal with it later.
I slip into my silk robe, the cool fabric gliding effortlessly across bare skin, sending a pleasant shiver up my spine. Even with my hair in wild disarray, there’s something deliciously private about this moment—the hush before the day begins, the soft press of silk against my curves.
I always sleep naked; there’s nothing quite like the way fresh sheets whisper along my body at night, an indulgence I savor.
I walk sluggishly to the bathroom, every step feeling like a monumental effort, my eyes barely staying open. It’s a daily battle with my own exhaustion, but I need to start the day.
When I finally reach the bathroom, I brush my teeth at the sink, staring intently at my weary reflection. Please understand that my teeth are clean. I didn’t get into those questionable Instagram hygiene trends for nothing—charcoal whitening, coconut pulling, and the whole ridiculous, time-consuming regimen.
Once I step into the shower, I twist the valve to maximum heat, ignoring the warnings of my own common sense. It feels like it’s scalding my skin, but for me, that’s comforting. It numbs the mind.
Until I see the utility bills, anyway.
The water flows over my body as I bask in its warmth for a good thirty seconds, letting it wash away the stress of the previous day before I actually start scrubbing my grimy skin. When I step out, I feel, for the first time that morning, truly alive.
I put on a sharp black blazer with matching tailored trousers. Honestly, the only things I have in my closet are blazers and trousers. And shirts to go under the blazers, obviously. Other normal stuff too... Yeah. I’m a bit of a workaholic, but a stylish one.
Today, I’m feeling sexy, a rare mood that I decide to indulge. I don’t put a shirt under my blazer. It doesn’t make that much of a difference, but it gives me a slight confidence boost for the day ahead—a secret, rebellious touch.
I have a typical office job that lets me be an actually useful part of society. But does that make it enjoyable? Not really. I work for one of those large corporations that everyone in the city can identify with a single word: brutal.
I remember my first, maybe second day on the job. The first thing I noticed was the constant gossip, and I realized I needed to get used to it. I overheard someone say, “I heard Jim hijacked Amelia’s work assignment... finally putting that computer science degree to work, I see.” It was the kind of comment that sounded about fifty percent true and fifty percent malicious.
The girl’s nametag said Brooklyn. So when Brooklyn was around, I would make Jim the common denominator for all our random computer issues and subtly make him the butt of the joke. But around Jim, I knew not to mess around. I didn’t want him giving my monitor a random virus or something.
Later, once I got to know people better, I learned to keep my mouth shut instead of trying to be the center of attention. It’s quite useful, a lot of the time, if you ask me.
I’ve just finished checking my dozens of emails and am about to start a report that needs to be completed when another email pops up. I have to restrain myself from audibly groaning as I click on it.
Soon, everyone else is checking their emails too. Do they know something I don’t? ...That’s a silly question; of course they do. Faces light up as people read the email. It’s lengthy and clearly important. When I finish reading it, I can’t even begin to describe how happy I feel.
There’s an opening for the CEO.
The job that doesn’t pay $20 an hour. (It may seem like a lot, but half the people here have to maintain a family.) Being CEO is somebody’s dream level of authority in this place.
The board has sent out an announcement: anyone from the company can throw their hat in the ring if they think they have what it takes. We’ll have to submit a detailed application first, and then there’ll be a round of interviews and presentations in front of the board. Rumor has it they’re treating this like an all-out internal competition, and only the strongest pitch will win.
Who knows what people will do with that kind of authority?
For me, it’s more than just a pay raise or a shiny title.
I remember my papa working extra shifts just to keep the lights on, telling me, “Work hard, but make it matter.” Ever since he passed away, I’ve felt this ache to prove that our struggles meant something. Being CEO feels like finally owning a seat at the table where decisions actually get made—where I can make it better for people like us.
Maybe I want to prove I’m not just another prong in the ol’ machine, or maybe I want to show that someone with my background can shatter the glass ceiling. My mind doesn’t even hesitate.
I can’t wait to be CEO. I can finally change the culture, stop the gossip, and run this company the way it should’ve been all along.
I hastily apply for the role, filling out every question, adding every little detail I can.
I finally have a goal worth fighting for.
