I slowly opened the door. Olga Bernard was quietly writing on a pad of paper. She then tore off the front page and handed it to her assistant that was standing by her desk. She whispered something to her and shooed her off.
“You wanted to see me?” I said softly.
“Ah Mikayla, have a seat.”
I took a seat and waited for her to speak again.
“You’re very talented. I read your article and wondered how you came up with the idea of writing about high fashion and how it has changed through the course of the decade. In fact I love it so much it will be in next month’s issue.”
What was she talking about? I did my article on recyclable clothing.
“No disrespect, but I think you have the wrong girl.”
“You didn’t write this article?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She smiled. “Well I’m glad. You’d be surprised how many people would take credit for work they know wasn’t theirs.”
“Oh. So this was a test?”
“Yes, and you passed. I’m glad that we still have honest people in this world. Now will you go fetch me some coffee?”
“Of course. Be back in ten minutes.”
She smiled at me and I left her office.
I ran down the stairs and walked to the closest coffee shop. I ordered Olga’s favorite and while waiting in line I felt a tap on my shoulder.
