I sighed in contentment as I smelled the familiar scent of home. A smile bloomed into my face as I inhaled the lovely smell of polluted air, power hungry men and dormant feminists. After being so long in the middle of the jungle with those forsaken mosquitoes, I kind of missed the pests back at my home country.

Nothing like medieval beliefs and female oppression to feel back at home. But I couldn't really whine, I liked it. I loved it actually, being back at the land that gave birth to me- metaphorically of course- and the land I intended to change someday.

It was such a promising sight.

'Mr. Linton, haven't I taught you anything?'

I didn't even bother to turn around and look at the cold eyes of my employer. I could already feel the cold gusts of the glare he was throwing my way. 'Of course you have Sir. Glare, manipulate and conquer.'

'Mr. Linton-'

'Oh yes, pardon me Sir, I forgot the intense brooding silence'

"Mr, Linton.'

'Yes, Sir?'

'Silence.'

'Of course Sir, immediately Sir.'

His steps were slick and calculated against the wooden floor as he made his way toward me. I focused on the pink envelopes lying across the floor before me and willed myself not to turn around. Mr. Ambrose's presence soon came into my sight in the form of his old but mint conditioned black shoes.

'Where's my letter Mr. Linton?'

His voice had his usual smooth and premeditated undertone, however I could sense the tension behind it. Considering the man was limited in the expression department, this was quite an achievement for him.

'I'm looking for it Sir.' I glance at his form for a second, managing to catch his little finger twitch in the process. I diverted my eyes from the stone walled man before me and directed my glare toward the useless pink envelopes.

'Knowledge is power-'

'-is time is money, I know Mr. Ambrose.'

'Then why don't I have the letter in my possession.'

I intensified my glare, exactly like he had taught me. For a second there I saw a spark ignite in one of the corners. Mmm, maybe I was doing it incorrectly. Shouldn't it freeze?

On the other hand I couldn't object if they blew up in flames. Some place within me screamed at me -commanded me- to grab all the letters and throw them on his desk.

I, Lillian Linton, was a respected- unknown and undiscovered- secretary helping the wealthiest man in the entire British Empire and Ireland. I was proud of everything I've done...but this.

I wasn't a family therapist, as much as I excelled in the advising department. I wasn't willingly going to become one of those foolish females skimming through past lovers' letters, smelling their perfumes...

I shudder ran down my spine. I couldn't comprehend how such a strong, wonderful, female extraordinaire like myself, ended sitting on her office's floor skimming throw pink envelops.

I wasn't paid for this!

'You are paid to do as I say.'

I lifted my gaze and glared at him. He didn't pay for my thoughts though. Those were mine. I stood up from the floor, my generous derrière making the movement less smooth than what I wanted to be.

I should really eat less solid chocolate.

'With all due respect Mr. Ambrose, Sir, if I may-'

'You may not.'

'-I don't understand why I am going through your mother's letters. I understood you wanted them all gone. If I weren't smarter than you-'

'You are not smarter than-'

'-then they wouldn't even be here.'

I smiled victoriously as his finger twitched twice. I knew I was getting on his nerves but it wasn't my fault our little trip to the south american jungle made him a little...sensitive. Well as sensitive as a block of ice and stone could be.

'Mr. Linton.' Mr. Ambrose walked over to my desk and picked one of the letters in a swift, dangerous manner. I shuddered at the look he was giving those scented pieces of paper. And let me tell this wasn't the kind of shiver I wanted Mr. Ambrose to cause.

'My m-'

'Mother. Moh-ther. You can say it.' I encouraged him with a smile on my face as I watch him struggle with the word. How would've though all-mighty Mr. Ambrose could quiver at a little glimpse of matriarchalism.

Maybe next time he threatens me to deduce something from my wages I could yell mother.

Mr. Ambrose's cold gaze snap toward me and not even the cold gusts from the north could compare to the freezing power of his eyes. Good thing I had a fire of my own ready to melt anything around me. Including Mr. Ambrose's composure.

'My family requires for me to bring a certain article in our upcoming visit Mr. Linton. The last letter sent contains their request.' Mr. Ambrose looked at me intently and stood straight like a steel ramrod was introduced into his beautiful behind.

After our adventure in the steamy, tropical nature of a foreign continent, I knew exactly how beautiful his derrière was. And true to his astonishingly consistent belief in the art of misery, Mr. Rikkard Ambrose seemed to love to carry that steel ramrod exactly where it was wherever he went.

I smiled amused at him, not being able to contain my lips from uncovering my teeth. He could be the stiffest most miserly man in the entire British Empire but he couldn't hide it. Mr. Rikkard Ambrose was going to willingly buy something someone requested from him.

Not even the church could argue this wasn't a miracle.

'Don't worry Sir, I'm sure Mummy Ambrose wouldn't mind if you buy her some pretty pearls, or gloves. Fine ladies of society seem to love-'

'Not that you would know.'

I narrow my eyes, letting him know I heard his not so subtle mumble. 'You could buy her something expensive you know? Let her know you have not become a block of ice instead of her son.'

I beamed at the suggestion. Maybe I would be the first person in this world to witness the phenomena of Rikkard Ambrose buying something expensive. Oh, what magnificent opportunity would all these clueless men and women living in this world miss.

My hope of seeing a real life miracle was short lived as my eyes caught the incessant twitching of Mr. Ambrose's pinky. I cocked my head to the side and looked into his antarctic eyes.

Did I say something wrong?

'My family is requesting something in a letter you still haven't found. Each minute that passes by would be reduced from your wages.' My eyes widen and then narrowed. He couldn't do that!

I was doing what he was telling me in the time he told me to. However, Mr. Ambrose's thin lined lips and tension was enough to tell me to keep my generous lips closed and my mind focused on the task at hand.

Walking away from me and locking himself in his office, he left no room for discussion.

I continue rustling the envelopes here and there in the hope of finding that accursed letter. I didn't do his correspondence for a little while and as soon as I come back from our trip, they were all a mess.

I was growing increasingly frustrated in the search. There was a certain amount of perfume a woman could handle before going mad. Not even guiding ourselves through the jungle with murderous armies at our behind proved to be as challenging as this.

Finally exasperated at the search, I grabbed a generous amount of the letters and made them accompany the other ones on the floor. So much pink... My eyes could barely handle so much...femininity.

I glanced down at the mess and then at the adjoining door between Mr. Ambrose's office and mine. What would he say if he saw this mess? Ignoring the question and willingly to watch it happened, I layed down on top of the letters.

I could do a Mummy Ambrose letter angel.

I looked at my side, measuring if I had enough room to do it when suddenly one particular letter caught my eyes. In haste, I seized the letter and read the date. Flying to my feet like someone had offered an endless supply of solid chocolate, I ran toward the door.

Knocking incessantly, I rasped my knuckles against the wooden door. Open up, open up, open-

'Mr. Lint-'

'I got it!'

Mr. Ambrose stared at my outburst unamused and was about to shut the door when I placed the letter on his face.

'I. Got. It.'

Mr. Ambrose snatched the pink letter from my hand and ripped it open. I looked eagerly at his face hoping that the man would at least give me a twitch of what he was reading. Attentively and putting everything I learned about him in the last year I watched him.

His cerulean eyes frosted into dangerous temperatures as he skimmed the contents. His head snapped into my direction and his eyes zeroed on my face. My overly eager expression soon morphed into an ecstatic one.

I would see the miracle happen!

'So?' I practically was bouncing in my toes. 'Did she asked for a incredibly expensive gown? Or royal jewelry? Or-or a new coach?'

'Mr. Linton.'

'Yes Sir?'

'Would you marry me?'