Hate at First Sight

"I would rather prefer to be sick than lovesick."

***

It is unwonted— the two piece suit in a hue of dark mocha colours, a conservative tie, with coordinating socks and shoes. Ryan Miller, 19, never had worn any apparel that could be deemed 'formal', because he is allegedly reputed a 'good for nothing' for his incompetence, and therefore was never needed to wear one.

That was until today.

Yes! Ryan Miller is me.

"May I come in, sir?" I stand before the ingress, carrying the copies of my resumè and some other necessary documents.

"Come in," he says without lifting his head. From his appearance, one can undeniably say that my new boss, the owner of the chart-topping dating app of Allentown- LOVESICK, is a workaholic.

I bow before proceeding to set my foot in that gelid, aloof room. From my boss's countenance, I can take it as read that he is not very delighted to recruit me as his Personal Assistant. I have heard that during the preliminary interview, there had been some disputation between my boss and his appointed recruiter, regarding hiring me. His recruiter ceaselessly kept on asking him to hire me, whereas my boss did not see any good reason as to why he should.

"Take your seat," Mr. Haughty directs at the swivel chair put across his table, "Put those documents down. I won't be needing them!"

His look of haughty disdain begins gradually but surely to get on my nerves. "Breath, Ryan, breath!! He is your boss," I keep reminding myself, since I am determined to shut the mouths of my critics, who believe Ryan Miller can never achieve anything in life, whether big or small. Now is the time to prove them wrong, and I believe LOVESICK could be my only refuge. I thus stand, wearing a fake, rather compelling smile.

"What are you looking at? Please be seated, Mr. Miller!"

"Goo- Good morning, sir!" My hands begin to teeter when I close in on the table to put all those documents down on it— which made my arms almost numb from having to carry them too long. But, certainly I am Ryan Miller, popularly known as 'The Clumsy Miller' instead. If I am to handle anything, I am guaranteed to fumble, causing more troubles than resolving.

On this day however, I am not nervous about the odds of me getting accepted at the company. Instead, the perturbation is all about if I can master the artistry of faking veneration. And whenever I am perturbed, a mishap becomes inevitable.

Likewise, my wobbly hands knocked the coffee mug carrying some good hot coffee in it— spilling it all over my boss's parchment coloured tuxedo, what a cliché epigraph to my life.

"Oh my-!" I flinch at the abruptness of such commencement of a risible occurrence, "I didn't mean to, sir! That was an accident, I'm so sorry. I'm really very sorry. Oh my God! What have I done?" I pull out my green embroidered handkerchief, "Let me clean it for you, please!" My legs begin to shudder, as my hands reach for sir's parchment tuxedo now befouled with coffee stains— only to give rise to another blooper.

I trip over the side stretcher, landing on Mr. Haughty's chest, some of my brown fringes disorderly fall over my boss's perfect pair of ruddy lips, as his austere arms hold my waist to resist its fall any further.

"I am so-"

Terminating the conclusion of my phrase, Mr. Haughty shoves me away, quite brutally. To regain my composure and to calm my insane heartbeats, I had to strive a little, but thankfully I could pull off the success brilliantly.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Mr- what was your name again??" He slams his arms on the table, teeth gritted together.

I bow my head, my fingers fidgeting to retain a sanity, "R- Ryan. Ryan Miller."

"Yes, so Ryan Miller!" He begins to advance nearer me, taking his coat off, before plunging that filthy piece of fabric right on my face, "Do you really think you're even a bit compatible for the role of my PA? For the role of Evan Smith's PA?? Huh??" His shrill hollers cut through my heart as I keep listening without voicing anything— I know that I am incompetent, a 'good for nothing', but this was in the least not what I was expecting.

"Can't you hear me??" His palm is balled into a fist, maybe he wants to hit on my shoulder for being a mess on our very first meeting, or maybe I am wrong— his fist swung in the air two times before landing on the plastered wall behind me, it hurt his knuckles.

"Sir…"

"Shut up!!" He folds his lips, squeezing his eyes. He then opens the same pair of dark brown eyes again and looks dead into mine, sighing "One month!"

I am a little baffled, "Huh?" With a diffident deportment writ large on my face, I stare at him blankly, "What do you mean by one month?"

"Only because, John, my appointed recruiter and my confidante is the only person I trust my life with, I couldn't refuse his request," he raises an eyebrow, "You should consider yourself lucky that of all those compatible candidates, John recommended you!"

I feel the ferocity accumulating inside me, if I don't manipulate my indignant thoughts right now, I know they might explode, making me lose my only chance to prove myself. I, therefore, start taking some deep breaths which Mr. Haughty receives in a morose manner,

"Sir," I eject a long sigh, "I don't think I forced anyone to recommend me. If John sir recommended me, he must have found something in me that the other candidates lacked," I say, trying to be as deferential to him as my personality permitted.

My boss sneers, as if wickedly, "Do you remember who you are talking to??" He bares his teeth like an angry growling hellhound. "You are going to be the PA of Ethan Smith. Haven't you heard of Ethan Smith before, you fool?"

"Of course I have. The CEO of the dating app, LOVESICK."

"Right!" Retaining his wicked, ill-mannered smile, he resumes, "And Ethan Smith is-"

"You! I know that Ethan Smith is none other than you. I utilise that part of my brain," I squeeze shut my eyes, turning my face away in embarrassment, nervousness and some feelings I never knew the name of— but such feelings are new and unnamed, maybe 'thrill', maybe 'intuition', I don't know, nor do I have any intention of knowing.

"Impressive!" Ethan's face takes the shape of a sardonic look, "Then, just one month. Alright?" His face is nearing my nape, so close that I can feel his hot fanning over me.

"I don't get this one month thing, sir!"

"You have only a month to prove your worth to me. Considering John's recommendation, I am willingly recruiting you as my PA for only a month! If you can not prove yourself within this time, then…" he smirks at me, "Prepare a good speech for your goodbyes, since I am already planning a grand celebration for that fateful day."

I want to hiss. I want to leave this place as soon as possible. I want to retrieve my files and reject the proposal on his face— but I can not bring myself to do so.

"That is fine with me. I promise I will prove my worth to you, Sir! Whatever it may take, that does not matter," I sigh.

"Also…"

"Hm?" With faltering steps, I receive my documents back from the table, awaiting Ethan's next ambush.

He picks up his parchment coat from the travertine floor, and extends his hand to me.

"What is this…sir?"

"My coat?" He shrugs, indifferent.

"No, I mean," I dampen my parched lips before speaking ahead, "Why are you giving me this? What will I do?"

"Wash this for me, and return it to me tomorrow. If you can't return this to me by tomorrow, I will make you pay for it," he chucks the coat at me, and I get an immediate hold of it.

His face again comes closer to mine, leaving room for barely any space between his jawline and my earlobe— "3000 dollars" he whispers, making a shiver run through my spine.

"I will," I turn away almost post-haste, taking the coat away from Ethan, my cheeks flushing and adapting to a crimson hue.

I am still facing the wall, but the weight of Ethan's footsteps are not one of such which could be turned a deaf ear to. I stay frozen at my spot when I hear my boss, Ethan Smith dialling someone over his phone.

"Yes John, he is here. Bring the schedule with you. Yes, yes. Okay. Yes, alright!" He hangs up after those office-related words. From his words, I can comprehend he talked about my schedule to his appointed recruiter, Johnson Williams.

"Now please do me a favour and please take a seat," Ethan says to me and seemingly having nowhere to escape, I follow his instructions.

"I am sorry for what happened earlier sir," my gaze adhering to the travertine, I pull out the black swivel chair, and silently sink into its softness against my torrid skin.

Ethan Smith's face is perfect— perfect to get on my nerves.

He owns a sharp jawline that seems to fit into anyone who holds it. He is handsome, he is rich, he is proficient and he is hardworking. What else a man needs to be perfect, right? Well there we have an answer— manners. Ethan Smith and manners are the the kind which if put side by side, is identified as the figure of speech oxymoron, these two words cannot and should not be put side by side anywhere.

"You should know the regulations of this company before starting to work in here, Mr. Miller," he leans back against the backrest, his breasts bursting forth from his white satin shirt, whose buttons are struggling, as I can see, to sustain my boss's propriety, "John will take some time to arrive, let us utilise the minutes," as if whatever ensued matters nothing to the rich kid.

"I'm all ears," admittedly I am growing worn out from pretending to be obedient— in my 19 years of life, I have never shown a tad bit of obedience to anyone, not even my parents, who customarily are epitomised as virtuous, right? Well, not for me.

"Ethan Smith hates unpropitious and unpunctual persons," he interlocks his palms and put it on the table between us, the only initiator of distance that is keeping me well balanced and right in my own mind for now, "In simpler words, Ethan Smith hates persons like Mr. Miller, Mr. Ryan Miller."

Unable to extract any response from me, Ethan keeps continuing,

"You must have heard that time is money and money is time?"

"I have, Sir."

"And LOVESICK is all about money. So your primary value should concern time," he says with a disgusting deadpan expression.

Not to deceive myself, but his last words disappointed me a great deal, "LOVESICK is all about money?" I knit my eyebrows together in disbelief, "You did not mean it to sound as perfunctory as it did, right?"

He sniggers a little before dismissing my well grounded confusions with insouciance, "Perfunctory?"

"I mean…lacking in emotions."

"And why exactly should emotions be a part of my job? To hinder progress?" He picks up a folder from the drawer and flings it towards me, "All your assignments are compiled in these papers. I couldn't assemble all of them, however. So, I'll be emailing you the rest tonight."

With some meek fingers I pick the folder up, "You did not answer my question, sir! Is LOVESICK meant to be filtered off of genuine emotions?"

"Such things don't exist," he says, rather assertively. "Don't be fooled by such things."

I indeed begin to feel bewildered. Why would the owner of a literal dating company not understand the practicality of emotions, "Why would you think like that?"

"In case you are talking about impractical sentiments like love, I should warn you that is only a disillusion, Mr. Miller."

"No it's not. That is not true, Sir!" I try my best to not let the bitterness get the best of me, but I fail like always, "Love does exist. In whatever form or shape it might, at the end of the day it exists!!" Without my conscious notice, I begin to act unruly, only wanting to object against Ethan's gibberish ideology.

"It doesn't Mr. Miller, and I don't think we should discuss things like these right before you start your," he quotes with his fingers, "'temporary' career. I can promise you, it will not end well."

"That does not justify why would you debase something as pure as love?"

"Well then," he taps his fingers on the table, "Let me tell you Mr. Miller. All employees working under LOVESICK are forbidden from falling in love or developing any kind of romantic reality with anyone. As long as it is confined within platonic gestures, Ethan Smith will not interfere. But the moment it takes the shape of something hideous like love, you will see that there could be no one worse than myself, Ethan Smith, the CEO of LOVESICK."

I scoff at his nonsense again, "Sir," it is now my time to drop the octave of my voice when talking, deviating from the orthodox belief that only bosses are permitted to do so, "That is not how love works, Mr. Ethan Smith," I raise my eyebrows to deride him, to ridicule, yes my superior, "Love does not listen to any rules, any regulations, any restrictions, doesn't matter who creates them. Love can never be imprisoned, no matter how much you endeavour to fetter them with your trumped-up shackles. Love is going to find its way to escape, and seize victory over everything."

He slams his hands over the table fiercely, his lips trembling, "What do you mean, Mr. Miller?" At the end, his voice dwindles to escape into incomprehension.

"Who can tell, sir, if it would be you who becomes the very first man to fall in love in your own company, before any other employee can? Who can tell if you will be the perpetrator who goes against the rules created by himself?"

"Hah! That is never going to happen," he flashes a disdainful chuckle.

"You never know, sir. Someday, somewhere, you are going to meet someone…who is going to change your world."

"Mr. Mi-"

At that instant, the door to Ethan's office room opens, "May I come in, Ethan?"

Ethan clocks me from head to toe, before facing away, gesturing with his fingers to assent Johnson Williams, Ethan's appointed recruiter, to come in, his eyes seemingly too distraught— it nearly seems like the words I spoke without sparing much thought to them left a profound impact on my boss.

"Here, Mr. Miller! I have prepared the schedule, as per Ethan's requirements," Johnson gives me a piece of paper, and as soon as it is in my hand, I begin to scan it,

"Sunday 9.00a.m to 12.00a.m, Mond-" after a brief pause, I look at Johnson, "What do you mean?"

The black haired, tall, handsome man, who is predictably in his mid 40s, shrugs, "I have done nothing of my choice. Anything that you see in this paper is all suggested by Ethan himself."

I turn to my boss Ethan, almost striving to operate my affronted thoughts, "Who the hell works on Sundays? That too from 9 a.m to 12 a.m? what- what the fu...?"

"LANGUAGE!!" Ethan shoots a dagger at me, "Mr. Miller, since you are not experienced in this field, I will excuse you this time. But, such unprofessionalism would not be entertained in future! Is that clear??" His face is contorted with rage, as his hostile glare stuck on me is unwavering.

"I am sorry Sir but…" I let out a deep exhale of weariness, "I am not professional. Not at all! I rather believe that any work becomes professional when it is done with enormous love and passion."

"There we go again!!" Ethan rolls his eyes and turns to Johnson, "Show my mansion around to this idiot. Every nook and cranny. Guide him through my mansion tour so well that he memorises all the corners of the mansion by tomorrow, before coming to work."

"Okay, Ethan," Johnson turns to me, "Come. I will show you around."

I ignore the latter completely, and turn to my boss instead, firm "You claim that you are a professional," I snicker, "And then do not satisfy the curiosity of your employees. Is professionalism meant to seem like receiving employees, clients or anyone inferior in position with indifference?" I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes— I have tried long enough to not let my protests get in the way of my work, but owing to my boss, also known as Ethan Smith's insolence, I don't think I can do that anymore.

Ethan curls his lips, and with a clenched jaw he creeps in on me, "Mr. Miller!!?"

"You have not yet answered me, who the hell works on Sundays? And what do you mean by 'from 9 a.m to 12 a.m'? Am I not to leave for my home at the end of the day?"

Ethan only shoots another glare at me before turning his back to me, "Johnson, take him away!!"

"I am not going anywhere," I am stern and dour in my conduct, "Until I get a justification for such a ridiculous schedule."

"Mr. Miller, I don't get it!! Why are you making such an impertinent thing into a great deal, into a bigger issue than what it is??" My boss shrieks through a subtle ludicrous laughter.

"It is not an impertinent issue for me. I don't know about you, but I do have a family, and yes I love them. I love to spend time with them, I love to spare some moments from my days to be with them. I lov-"

"ENOUGH!!!" He scurries closer to me, seizing my throat with a relentless clutch.

"Ethan- Ethan, Mr. Miller doesn't know about your past. Ethan please," Johnson steps forward, pulling me back from Ethan's brusque pounce.

My heart begins to beat as if in my mouth, racing swiffer than a consistent Olympic champion rank holder. I put a hand over my chest, as I witness Johnson calming Ethan down. "Is he mad?? Absolutely mad??" I keep speaking in my mind, "Why would anyone do such a thing for apparently no reason, and that also, so hastily?"

"Wh- what was that?" I think to myself. But at that moment if I did not at least put in an effort to soothe my boss, I might as well be condemned as a hypocrite— since it has been me from the beginning who kept ranting about 'emotions'.

"Sir?" I take apprehensive, rather shy steps towards my elder, "Ar- are you okay? Did I somehow offend you?"

"Shhh!" Johnson put a finger on his lips, turning his physique towards me, when I noticed Ethan delving into his own chair, his hands covering his eyes.

"Please follow me outside this room," Johnson suggests and I concur, walking behind my elder, removing ourselves from Ethan's office room.

"I'm sorry Mr. Miller, for how Ethan behaved earlier," Johnson puts a chummy arm around my shoulder in an effort to assuage, "He does not like to talk about family."

"It's okay, Johnson," I address him by his name since that is what he asked me to do on the day of my preliminary interview. I still can't tell, why out of all other candidates, he had chosen me, but it seems like we have developed a friendship within the span of very few days,

"But that does not give him the right to pound over an employee, does it? He should be responsible for his actions. Maybe he has some terrible past with his family, but don't you think he should work on those subdued grudges instead of using them as a weapon to attack his workers?"

Johnson nods in correspondence with my words, "Maybe someone is there who can heal his emotional scars presented by his past?"

I shake my head in disagreement, "No, Johnson. None can afford to be the ointment for his emotional scars as long as he does not want to heal the scars himself. If he chooses not to put any effort, it is going to be draining for the other person. I am not a huge fan of it," I rigidly state my opinion, indifferent to how Johnson or Ethan would receive it, "I am not a big fan of romanticising the old belief of 'I can change you' honestly. If anyone can change us, that should be us, don't you think so?"

Johnson nods— a smile of gratification etching out of his lips.

We have now trundled beyond the corridors.

"Since Ethan's office is located in the very mansion he stays in, you need to be well acquainted with this mansion. But don't worry, I will be of your help if you face any problem," he says and pats on my back as we walk into the hallway, "You have my number, right? You can call me anytime."

"Yes, I will. Thank you!" I am impressed with the grandeur with which this mansion is built, although I am not greatly happy about working here, for I am sure I am going to feel like an outcast. As we keep on walking, my eyes fall on a human sized framed picture hanging from the wall.

"Oh! And he says he doesn't believe in love?" I exclaim, as I take notice of the portrait of Ethan Smith, carrying a gorgeous red-head woman, beautifully dressed in a red gown, by her waist, both smiling at each other. "Who is that, Johnson?"

Johnson fixes his glasses, takes a closer, sharper look, and then turns to me,

"She is Penelope Russell. Ethan Smith's second and his recent girlfriend."