Chapter two.

"Uh, hi. I'm Isabelle. Isabelle Greene. I'm here for an interview?"

She reached out to the paper cup on her desk and brought it to her lips, sipping what I guessed as coffee or tea. Her eyes examined me over the rim of the cup and I swear I saw her smirk. She brought the cup down and pursed her lips, turning to the computer beside her. "Oh," she drawled out, her pretty eyes, illuminated by the light that emanated from the computer screen, sliding to me, and her over-straight button nose jiggling unnaturally. "I thought you were the janitor's daughter or you just lost your way or some shit like that," she said almost lazily, infinitesimally arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

I smiled sardonically. "Well, you thought wrong, then."

Tomato Lady raised wrist to her face and let out a frustrated sigh. She rolled her eyes wearily and muttered something under her breath, that I couldn't catch seeing as we were a few feet apart, and outstretched her fingers, palm facing downward, inspecting her acrylic nails with tired eyes. "The interview said eight AM and it's clearly still seven."

"I know that, thank you very much," I started and she mumbled something undoubtedly demeaning under her breath. My fists clenched and unclenched, and my jaw flexed. I swallowed and closed my eyes momentarily.

Control, Isabelle, control. Be nice.

I opened my eyes and found the tomato woman staring at me, amusement twinkling in her hazel eyes. At that point, I knew we both were never going to get along. Silence lingered in the air as we stared each other down. All of a sudden, she blinked and her eyes bulged out wide, as she tore her eyes off me and transfixed it somewhere over my shoulder, behind me.

"Holy shit!" she shrieked in a very, very high-pitched voice. I jumped at the suddenness, and threw a death glare at her. I was just about to pry my lips open to ask what that was all about when she yelled again, her voice about three octaves higher than before, "Oh, my God, He's here! Holy headbanging Jesus Christ, he's here!" Then, she turned to me. "Look here, blondie, go over to the couch over there-" she pointed to the couch that sat somewhere across the lobby "-and sit. Do not make a sound, please. He despises noise-"

Just as I was about to object and ask who this 'he' was, the opaque glass door opened with a low whirr, and I felt cold air swoosh in and seep into the lobby. Without even turning my head there, I could feel the power radiating from there. The hairs on my neck stood on end and I felt my skin prick with goose pimples. Beautiful smelling cologne wafted around my nostrils and my heart danced a few rounds of tango smack dab against my ribs. I was suddenly aware of every single pulse in my body, throbbing a staccato, as I heard them loudly in my ears. What the hell? I looked over to the tomato lady. I saw her stand rigid, still, and as frozen as a frosty block of ice in a 25/8 working freezer settled right in the middle of Antarctica in early December. Her eyes were fixated over my shoulder and I swear I heard the sound of a clump of bundled saliva descending her throat. Hard.

She could feel it too.

As slowly as a normal, curious human being could muster, I turned a complete one-eighty degree for what seemed like decades but, in reality, was just seconds. When I turned fully, my eyes met grey ones, and my knees buckled. I immediately went diving straight to the ground with a strangled yelp, successfully managing to sound like a screaming camel with a couple dozen of sinus infections.

Yay for Isabelle.

My only thought at that moment was, Jesus Christ, is that you?

Then, I slowly looked up and thought, Holy moley.

I immediately doubted that it was Jesus.

Jesus wouldn't have a hybrid of a scowl and frown etched on his face, will he?

I ducked my head to the ground, pinned my eyes to the shiny, marble floor beneath me, and shook my head, my hair bobbing along dutifully, attempting to clear my vision. Stop hallucinating, Isabelle.

I began to hear sounds, and they managed to interrupt my train of thought.

No, I'm not crazy.

Sounds of brisk, calculated footsteps. Sounds of rustling clothes. Sounds of a stupefied woman choking on her own drool from behind me.

Like I said before: No, I'm not crazy.

The gorgeous smell of mouth-watering cologne bonked my nostrils, thickening and intensifying, and I, still on the ground, caught the glimpse of the pointy ends of undoubtedly expensive, leather-cobbled shoes. I licked my lips and slowly looked up.

Cue the perfect wind hair and dramatic music.

My eyes ascended unhurriedly; going past the shiny shoes, up to black, (beautifully) ironed pants, lingering (sinfully) a moment longer on a certain area below the belt, my head tipped back as my eyes went higher, locking on an Armani-suit-clad (doubtlessly) muscular upper body, and finally meeting a rock-hard and sharp facial musculature.

Ho-ly cow.

Well, there went the rest of my saliva.

That morning, I had no idea that I had come face-to-face with the legs of one of the very delicious members of the asshole species. A mesmerising shade of iron-grey eyes, rimmed with thick, dark lashes, stared straight ahead, behind me; eyes that looked like they've seen more than they're supposed to, hardened eyes that caused a white-hot shiver to climb up and down my spine. Damn. I had always been a sucker for angelic and pretty eyes, and I was not ashamed to say the eyes I was staring up at were... beautiful.

There wasn't much to see, considering the fact that I was still laying on the ground with my knees almost identical to Jello, and I had no doubt that if I tried to stand up, I'd end up back on the ground, probably cracking my tailbone or rupturing an important muscle.

But, fortunately for my eyes, there was enough to see.

Golden brown stubble scattered lightly around the jaw and chin of the Greek god that towered high above me. Forget the stubble, the man's sharp angular jaw and his chin was sufficient to steal your breath and run away with it. And his lips, oh, his lips. I wasn't a lip-fanatic, I was more of a smell and eye fanatic, but I was perfectly able to recognize beautiful lips when I saw them.  His dark, golden brown hair was pushed back, with the strands untangled and somewhat curly.

It was eye-candy at its best.

And I was not sorry that I was gawking and drooling like a deranged idiot.

Then the (un)imaginable happened.

The sexpot walked past me.

Without acknowledging my presence.

I nodded slowly to myself, the unspoken message registering in my brain. That probably happened on a daily basis for him.

I shifted on the floor, knees still weak, and turned my head to follow in his direction. My eyes caught sight of his posterior and my mouth went inexplicably dry.

Sweet baby Jesus.

An explicit image flashed in my head, and my eyes popped open slightly. Oh God, I'm gonna go to hell.

"You're fired."

It took me a few seconds to realize that it was the Adonis with the taut gluteus maximus that spoke. For a moment, I thought he had been referring to me, but then, I remembered that I wasn't an employee of whom he could dismiss. I heard a high-pitched whimper come from behind the counter, where Tomato Lady stood. Turning my attention to her, I saw that the whites of her eyes were tinged light-pink and brimmed with unshed tears.

My stomach dropped to somewhere between my kneecaps. He's the boss?

"One."

My gaze flickered back to the sexpot who just stood there with his right arm leaning on the dark marble-stoned counter. Judging by the way he slouched stiffly against the counter and from his facial expression on the side of his face that was visible to me, I could tell that he was okay with firing an employee who did absolutely nothing to deserve being dismissed.

My eyes narrowed.

Tomato lady let out a sob, her hazel eyes flickering to me briefly. And somehow, by some female intuition or something of such, I was able to read her eyes. Help me, they said.

"Two," the Adonis continued, ignoring the woman.

Anguish flashed on tomato lady's face as her face twisted into an ugly frown. She quickly grabbed her stuff–purse and all–from the somewhere behind the marble-top counter. I watched, unable to do anything from where I lay on the cold marble floor, as she bent low and did something behind the counter. It took me no less than ten miliseconds to comprehend that she had crouched low to remove her shoes. Shakily fisting the straps of her red stilettos in the same hand with which she held her purse and her small phone, she sniffled into the heel of her free hand and grabbed her paper cup of beverage. I saw a little of the brown liquid spill out of its container, but tomato lady didn't bother herself with that. Instead, she let out another sob and took off, running towards to glass doors just as the Adonis sexpot was about to finish counting.

And all that happened within a time span of ten seconds.

"Three," the Adonis said with a hint of satisfaction in his thick, masculine voice.

But the tomato lady was long gone.

I gulped. Jesus.

He spun on his heel fluidly, still not acknowledging the fact that an outsider was literally laying sprawled on the floors of his building, and headed towards to elevator that stood well about thirty feet away from where I lay shell-shocked on the ground.

In no time, the elevator doors slid open.

And he was gone.

I stared at the closed elevator doors.

Then, I chuckled nervously.

"Excuse me?"

I whirled my head around, somehow managing not to give myself whiplash. Another man, who I hadn't noticed before, stood a few feet away from me. He stared at me with a quizzical look on his face, and his cerulean blue eyes almost close to glowing, under the overhead lighting of the reception lobby. He covered the distance between us in three strides and outstretched his large palm which I took almost immediately.

"Thanks," I said, my voice hoarse as he helped me up with ease. I stumbled on my feet but he caught me before I smooched the floor.

"Hey, hey," he whispered. "Are you okay?"

I peered up to look at him. No, I'm fine. I was just canoodling with the marble floor.

He nodded slowly, like he read my thoughts or something. "Riiiiiiight."

I found myself staring over my shoulders at the glass doors with a mental video of the tomato woman running out of the lobby replaying in my mind's eye.

I picked at my nails nervously. Maybe I just don't have to put up with the tomato bitch after all.

*

I take pride in the fact that I stayed in the lobby for another thirty minutes, pondering if I had imagined the scene that took place right in front of me.

After entering the elevator, though I really had no idea where I was going, I walked down the hall of buzzing employees. They didn't seem to notice a stranger wandering practically among them. I myself began to feel invisible. Most of them had stern expressions on their faces and I did want another Tomato Lady scene, so I didn't approach them. The least I wanted was scornful remarks and unnecessary glares.

I noticed a brunette that didn't have a stern expression by her desk and walked to her.

"Hi, do you err know where the interviews are being held," I asked her.

"Oh hello, you're here for an interview right?" She looked up from her computer and smiled at me. Her smile wasn't like the receptionist's- that was taunting and forced- this one was warm and friendly.

"Uh, yeah." I cleared my throat delicately. "I mean, yes. Yes, I am."

She chuckled, "It's all right. We all get nervous for interviews. They're being held on the twenty-first floor." She gestured her hand towards the two elevators by the side of the hall.

I mumbled a quick thanks and walked towards the elevators.

I wonder why there are two elevators.

Doing a quick eenie-minnie-mannie-moe, I chose the right-hand side elevator. Pressing the open button, I stepped inside. Inside the elevator, there was only one button and it had letters IT on it, so I guessed that the letters were short for INTERVIEW so, I pressed the button and the elevator ascended.

The doors opened to an empty hallway with opaque glass doors across me. I made my way towards it, chanting a mantra in my head to calm my nerves. When I finally got to the door, my hand settled on the doorknob, and I took a deep breath before twisting it.

A rush of cold air blasted onto my skin the moment the door popped open and I felt my skin prick. A familiar smell hit my nose and my heart picked pace.

Wait a damn minute...

My eyebrows pinched together, and my neck arched ever so slightly without asking for permission from my brain. My eyes met the grey eyes of the sexpot I saw earlier and I felt oxygen catch in my throat.

He sat behind an expensive looking, lustrous desk. A hard book-like cover with loose sheets of paper sprawled out on the desk from which he had been reading before he looked up. A shelf made of tempered glass was behind him, perched on the white wall, and I saw numerous, shiny awards and plaques in the shelf. The office was just as large as the lobby, possibly larger–white couches at a secluded corner with a glass table in the middle settled on a grey carpet. On the other side, was a large bookshelf filled with hard-spined books here and there, and a few feet away, a metal cabinet with buttons, that looked suspiciously like a safe, was situated.

I held my breath as his eyes bored into mine. His grey eyes studied me with intense scrutiny as I let go off the door with shaky hands.

Oh shit. He's supposed to take the interview?

My knees almost buckled underneath me as I took a step forward. I clutched on my small bag, holding it like my life depended on it.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" he questioned with so much power, in a thick and deep voice. He made me want to cower and bury myself under a rock like the pushover that I was. I fought back another shudder.

"I- I'm Isabelle Greene. I'm here for an interview."

If anything, his eyes hardened and I felt my stomach clench. "How did you get here?" he asked, the aura of power oozing off him.

"I flew with my non-existent wings, of course, how about you?" I blurted out and almost immediately, my hand slapped over my mouth, but it was already too late.

Another yay for Isabelle.

He raised his brows, clearly surprised at my response. He picked the telephone beside him and dialed a number. "Who is on duty?" I saw his jaw muscles flex, his long fingers drumming lazily on his desk, while I just stood there, awkwardly shuffling from one feet to the other. "Why don't you ask yourself that? I don't care who he is. Tell him he's fired, and prepare to recruit more employees from my Vegas branch." He yanked the phone out of his ear and slammed it back onto his desk.

I flinched.

Tentatively, I took another step forward. His gaze flickered to me in a swift glance and his finger stopped drumming on the desk. His eyes narrowed in on me.

"I, uh, I'm just going to, you know, go for the interview," I said and slowly backed away towards the glass door.

"Hold on," he said almost calmly. My feet halted in their steps on his command on their own accord. I heaved out an inaudible breath, and my chest moved up and down dutifully. "You have more than five minutes. Pass me your résumé."

I slowly sighed and walked back towards him. I took a seat in one of the chairs that was right in front of him and searched my bag. 

After a few moments, I found the folder and handed it to him. He flipped through it as if it were nothing. "Why do you need this job, Miss..." he trailed off, his grey eyes meeting mine for no more than a second, waiting for me to fill the blank.

I swallowed dryly again. "Greene. It's Miss. Greene."

He eyed me warily before dragging his gaze back to the papers in his hands. "Now, Miss. Yellow, why do you want this job? Why are you here?"

I sucked in a deep breath. Be nice, Isabelle.

"First of all, Sir, it's Miss. Greene. With an 'e' at the end. And second of all, I came here for a job interview, which by the way, you, if you haven't noticed yet, are doing, Sir." I don't know how but I managed to say that calmly.

He hummed to himself, his gaze skimming one of the papers in his hands. "Reasonable, even though you were not asked to narrate the story of your life. But the real question is why are you here?"

Be nice...

My lips broke into a wide sardonic smile that felt really familiar. "Because I was pulled out of the body cavity of a pregnant woman."

I watched him cock his head to the side. "Miss. Yellow, are you toying with me?"

No, I'm playing with you.

"No, definitely not," I decided to say.

"Why are you here?"

Isabelle, be nice...

My molars slammed into each other, a gnashing sound resounding in my ears. Handsome or not, I was not liking this man. "Excuse me but-"

"You are excused."

I ignored him and continued, "-why is the earth brown? Why is the sky blue? Why is planet Earth round?"

He raised his head ever so slowly. "Last time I checked, Miss. Yellow, I was and still am the interviewer not the interviewee. The earth is not entirely brown. The sky isn't blue when it rains and planet Earth is spherical not round. Now, why do you want this job, Miss. Yellow?"

My toes curled in sheer frustration and my right eyelid twitched. This man. "Why do people work, Sir? It's because they need the money."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Why do you need the money?"

My nostrils flared. "Anything about my personal life that's not in those sheets of paper in your hands has nothing to do with this interview... Sir."

"Why?"

The heels of my flats dug into the marble floor and my jaw clenched taut. "This isn't how an interview is supposed to go."

The top of his eyebrows twitched infinitesimally and he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Then, enlighten me, Miss. Yellow, how is an interview supposed to go?"

My sardonic smile stretched wider. "But I thought you were the interviewer?"

His expression didn't waver, instead he stared me harder in his face. "Indeed, but you, as an interviewee, haven't answered my question. How is an interview supposed to go?"

I pushed a heavy breath out of my mouth and stared at the man dead in the eye. "I'm sorry-" I stood up from where I sat "-but I don't think I can continue this interview." I rocked on my heel and whirled around, storming out of his office. I was just about to reach for the door handle when-

"You forgot your résumé."

My hand froze mid-air for a moment before I retracted it to my side. I swiveled my head to the side. "No, I didn't. I have other copies-" I turned my head back to the door knob, lips thinning "-Good day, Sir."

Knowing fully well that I'd regret what just happened, I placed my hand on the cold doorknob and turned it with intense yet tamed rage. The door knob shuddered under my fingers in protest and I yanked on it to open the door. The knob came off the sutures almost instantly in my hand with a loud metal rattle. I breathed out loud as I stared at the broken silver door knob in my hands. I turned my head discreetly and glanced behind my shoulder; the man still had his eyes on me and had undoubtedly seen the knob of his door break in my hand. After readjusting -with exaggeration- my bag strap on my other shoulder, I tried to shove the doorknob back into place but the stupid knob didn't budge.

"That," the man said from where he sat, his voice resounding in m ears as he pulled my attention away from the broken doorknob. "That doorknob, Miss. Yellow," he began again while I continued thrusting the knob into the hole. "The cost repair of the door knob will be deducted from your month's pay."

I stopped short, my eyebrows knitting into a tight knot. "What?" I whispered. I whirled around, the broken door accessory still in my hand. "I'm hired?" I said out loud.

His grey eyes flickered to the item in my hand before sliding back to my face. "That was a new doorknob."

I blinked. "I'm hired?" I said again.

"If you put it in lame man's English, yes, Miss. Yellow, you're hired."

"But... but I discontinued the interview. I broke your door knob, unintentionally might I add-"

"And you got hired, didn't you? Your work as my secretary starts tomorrow. Make sure to-"

"What?" I interrupted, my eyebrows creasing into a tighter knot. "But, uh, Sir, the post applied for was-" 

"Secretary or not-" he cut me off. "Take it or get out of my office," he said to me again, after a moment of silence passed.

I opened my mouth and closed it again, having completely no idea on what to say. I swallowed and then parted my lips. "Yes," I said and saw the top of his eyebrow twitch upwards. "I mean, yes, Sir." I made sure to lay enough emphasis on 'Sir' "I will be your secretary-"

"It wasn't a request, Miss. Greene," he said, breaking me off again.

My fingers twitched. Of course, he'd say my name correctly. "Yes, of course. You're right, Sir."

"You may leave."

I was just about to.

"Yes, Sir," I muttered, and walked to his table to drop the dismantled doorknob on his desk. The doorknob clattered on his desk with a low rattle as I placed it on his table. I swerved on my heel and headed to the door.

"I have no use for a detached doorknob, Miss. Greene, take the evidence of your handiwork with you."

I shut my eyes for a second before whirling around and snatching the knob from his desk. "Thank you so much for the doorknob, Sir," I muttered and stormed out of his office, suddenly regretting my decision.