"Oh, that won't be necessary," Jessica said, barely holding back her glee. She didn't tell the hapless assistant that the unnecessary part stemmed from the fact that the shoes Sydney wore would be on Jessica's feet by days end. Jessica rarely afforded herself any type of luxury -- it simply wasn't her style. She knew quality and coveted the trappings of success as much as the next woman, though her rigid self-discipline demanded a measure of self-denial with the hopes of a more robust return on her frugal mindset. Those dreams were up in smoke -- for the near future -- thanks to this annoying, rancid tart. Knock-offs, indeed; Jessica suppressed an evil chuckle at the prospect of politely alerting the woman that she was wearing her boss's shoes.<i>But</i>, Jessica thought,<i>all good things in time. </i><br/><br/>Another fake smile flashed as her gaze went to the single door that connected her office with the receptionist foyer -- the only escape route from Jessica's clutches. Jessica would see Sydney realize -- moment by moment -- the sheer futility of her plight, and she wished to edify her without any interruption. "Would you be a dear and lock that door?" Jessica asked, that saccharine smile still burning bright.<br/><br/>Jessica turned her attention to her desk and took out a notepad. The red pen she grasped could have been a stiletto, so deft and deadly was Jessica's sharp pen-strokes. She wrote a financial figure on the 4" x 4" white piece of paper: $325,417.00. Jessica handed the paper to Sydney when she returned, her smile gone and her eye narrowing in a way that the dirty blonde would soon come to fear. "I wonder if you can tell me what that number represents?"