The Society of the Ethereal Medallion

Proceed with Caution

"A load of tosh this is. Outstanding," I muttered, seeing the stack of papers that I was required to edit and assist with. I rifled through the pile, organizing them by sections and then alphabetizing them. 

Knock-knock. 

"Come in."

Jane entered, "Good morning, Ms. Greene."

"Good morning." I avoided eye contact and continued with the paperwork. "What can I help you with?"

"I have some messages for you, Miss."

"Ace, you can set them down in the bin to your left. Thank you."

She bowed her head and left my office. 

My window was open just as Mr. Jackson's, which gave me a view of those who worked outside and allowed me to keep an eye on the lot. I caught a glimpse of Jane and William discussing paperwork. His hand shot up to brush a piece of hair away from her face making her simper sweetly. 

Of, bloody, course. Tosser. Thank God I didn't fall for that one. Not that I would have anyway, I'm not small-minded...or desperate. 

I envied her greatly; she was so perfect and flawless that all men flocked to her. The only time a man came up to talk with me was to discuss their articles for the newspaper. That was it. After work, I go straight home, nothing more.

I wouldn't say I liked to view myself as the most beautiful creature on Earth, but I felt I wasn't too bad a gal to gander at. I had all of the good-looking face characteristics (at least that's what my parents told me): a narrow face shape, sun-kissed skin, full lips, dark and narrow eyebrows, long, dark lashes, high cheekbones, a thin nose.

"You're a bloody Greene," my mother would say. "The Greene women have dined with royalty, and in ancient times, peasants beheld us for our grace and beauty." 

I do think she exaggerated the tirade. It's worked; gotten to my head, it has. I've also learned not to care what other people think. I knew I had my flaws. I admit I have always felt that my hips were more prominent than the average, and I think my legs were a bit on the athletic side. Maybe it was my hips because I worked out at the reducing salon across the street from my apartment, so it couldn't possibly be my legs. 

Knock-knock.

"Ms. Greene?"

"Come in." 

It was Mr. Datura. He was just around my age, perhaps a bit older. We've been working very closely together recently. He was a sports journalist for our newspaper. Every woman had her sights set on him (and if I'm frank, I have a big crush on him as well). He is an attractive-looking fellow with a tall, lean figure, well-groomed hair, clean-shaven, a perfectly respectable gentleman. Far better than that, William Johnson.

Don't let work get in the way of living. 

"Hello, Mr. Datura."

"Hello, Ms. Greene." His smile sent a wave of butterflies fluttering inside my stomach. His dark suit made him look dashing, mysterious. I loved it when a good-looking man wore dark colors, please, don't ask why. He was roguish. Devilish. Handsome. The way he groomed his hair and the way his teeth would show when he would smile.

I attempted to keep my composure, "To what do I owe the pleasure? Please have a seat."

He nodded, "I...well-I know it's a bit sudden." 

I straightened in my seat. I tried to calm myself; I was shaking with excitement. I gripped my hands together underneath the table to stop it. He could tell me the world was about to end, and I would burst from sheer happiness.