chapter 3

Pressing the door open, I was welcomed by a dark office with tall windows behind Mr. Beaumont's broad chest. The view was breath-taking, just like him. New York opened behind him, almost the whole town visible to him.

"Sit down", he commanded, not looking up from the paper he was writing. My feet moved on their own to the leader chair in front of him.

Mr. Beaumont was in no hurry to talk to me, continuing to write the paper without any haste. He read over it, signed it and then sealed it, put it away into an envelope; finally he met my eyes.

I held my breath and pressed my legs together to stop them from shaking so much.

"Mrs Atkins."

"Mr. Beaumont", I nodded at him.

"There's a few things we have to talk about", he lifted a paper. "Let's start with the shortest one. 'Violation of Dress Code.'"

I sighed loudly, slapping my face. Mr. Beaumont raised a brow, and as he lowered the paper, a soft smile laid on his lips.

My breath hitched. The furrowed eyebrows were now resting above his blue eyes, his face softer and more relaxed. Small laughter lines formed around his impressive eyes.

"I know Mrs White can be ... a headache, but she only wants the best for this company. We represent an important image, and my employees have to mirror that."

His eyes scanned my face. "Even though I do not agree with her statement about your makeup. You can wear lipstick too, for all I care, as long as I don't see you walking around with colourful eyelids and lips."

"Eyeshadow", I corrected, clasping my hand over my mouth.

For god's sake Sara!

"Eyeshadow then", he corrected himself amused. "She pointed out your skirts are too short. Stand up."

I blinked. Did I hear right? He tapped the table with his right index finger. I spotted the brown Rolex on his wrist. "Excuse me?"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

I jolted up, my cheeks burning as his eyes slowly scanned my attire.

"Tear in stocking", he finally said, lowering his eyes onto the paper again. Janet scrawling handwriting made the corner of my lips tug downwards. "Skirt length is alright, it's just riding up from you sitting down. Blouse is a bit tricky. Consider wearing something that doesn't have buttons."

Huh? I looked down to my chest and saw the buttons were a bit stretched out. I pulled the white shirt forward and the material didn't stretch over my breasts anymore. He caught that silently.

"Heels are alright. And no, you can't wear flats. You can take them off while sitting down, but only in your cube."

"Understood, Sir."

"Good", he crumbled the paper and threw it towards the bin. It landed inside of it. I tried to hide my amazement. "When you get hundreds of these papers a day you can train that quite nicely", he dryly commented, then tapped his desk to get my attention.

I sat upright. He smiled honestly at me, revealing his teeth and laughter lines around his mouth. "Quick to correct herself and an ability to keep a cool head. Very impressive indeed, Mrs Atkins."

"Excuse me, but, cool head?"

"Not many can speak with me when they first meet me", he told me, leaning back. "And people who can't face me certainly can't face the work of my company. We need people to show backbone."

"Thank you, I guess?"

He lifted a brow. "Cut out the 'I guess'. Don't show your unsureness."

"Yes, Sir!", I tried to say with a firm voice.

"Good", he took another paper. "Now, to yourself. I like to know the people I hire. Especially when they work as my accounting assistants. You four are kind of my personal assistants in a way, so I like to know you the best I can." Blue eyes met my brown ones. They glistened. "Is that alright with you, Mrs Atkins?"

The way he said my name ...

I could only nod, feeling hot in my skin.

My finger fell to the wedding ring. Why was I still wearing it?

His eyes caught that, but he left it uncommented. I almost breathed out in relief.

"You are from Austria?", his voice was matter-of-fact. He didn't even look at my resume. Clarissa was right - he had a good memory.

"My parents are Bosnians, moved to Austria due to the war that broke out in their country. I was born and raised there."

"Any siblings?"

"A younger sister. Her name is Emma." I shifted in my seat. "My parents chose semi Austrian names which worked in my mother tongue too. It made living in Austria easier, if you ignore my Bosnian surname that is."

He nodded. "You went to grammar school, secondary college then to University. You completed your last year in America; why did you choose this country?"

"Because an aunt of my mother fled here after the war and she lives in Iowa. She offered me her flat for free while I completed my studies here."

"Very generous of her."

"Family is important in Bosnia", I told him, relaxing a bit.

"Should we address your marriage situation?"

"There's not much to say", I had to look away. "I'm getting divorced."

"I see", he leaned forward. "My condolences."

"Thank you, Sir."

"You have a lot of work experience", he continued with a tone that made me awe at how easily he controlled this situation.

"School required it, and I didn't want to be jobless during summer and University. I saved my money as best as I could." I had to laugh. "I didn't think I would move to America back in University."

"The most important change always happens unexpectedly", he agreed with a wise tone, nodding deeply.

"May I be blunt, Mrs Atkins?" I barely managed to nod when he continued talking. "Considering your religion, I hadn't thought you would choose this country."

Ah, there it was. "My parents were worried at first, rightfully so." I carefully continued talking. "Considering the current president."

"And considering the hatred against the Muslims", Mr. Beaumont bluntly said for me.

"I don't dress like one, so I guess that saves me kind of. Uh, I mean, I don't dress like one, so it hides my true identity."

Mr. Beaumont nodded approvingly. "Just so you know, we have nothing against your religion. If you want to wear a headscarf, you are free to do so."

"Thank you." I was surprised by his just nature.

It all left me wondering who he was.

"I'm asking about your religion because we have a deal in this company. Muslims work on catholic holidays, while Christians work on Muslim holidays."

"Don't you catholic people have more holidays than us?"

"We do - that's why you additionally get more vacation days."

My boss scanned me. "What do you think of your co-workers?"

"I love them all. They've grown on me."

"They are kind", Mr. Beaumont agreed with an unhidden smile. "Just you wait how they can be when the situation gets stressful. It's never a boring day with those three."

He spoke with admiration that made my curiosity about him only grow. 'He takes care of his employees', Jessica had reassured me.

"I look forward to working with you", Mr. Beaumont suddenly said, bringing this conversation to an end.

"Likewise, Sir."

"Do you have any questions, Mrs Atkins?"

I thought about it.

"Not really, Sir." It would feel wrong to ask him about his personal life.

"Very well then, you may go home. Naturally you'll be paid the extra hour you stayed."

Extra hour?!? It had felt only like a few minutes, that's how fast this question and answer round had felt to me.

"You are done for today."

"Thank you Sir. Have a nice day."

"You too, Mrs Atkins."

While I strode to the door, his strong voice boomed: "Mrs Atkins."

"Yes?", I stopped at the door and turned around to him, the handle meeting my palm. Mr. Beaumont rested his hands on his table, crossing them in front of him. His blue eyes peered over his hands, glistening as he met mine.

"Your skirt might be too short."

It had gone up my knee good three inches. His eyes were scanning my legs as I looked up again. I reddened.

"I'll keep it in mind, Sir."