BOSS #Wattys2015

Chapter 2.

"Mr. Montoya awaits you, good luck," she tells me, just as she opens the door. I take a cautious step inside the huge bright room, my brain working on overdrive.

"We really need this,"

"Mr. Montoya awaits you,"

"You will do great, I believe in you!"

The many sentences for earlier today swims in my head as I hear the doors close gently. I stand by the door, taking in the view in front of me, watching as a head by the enormous desk in the center of the room raise. I'm paralyzed to the ground as I'm staring into a pair of very familiar chocolate brown eyes.

"Take a seat, Miss..." his deep voice laced with raw authority fills the room, and he pauses for a second, looking down af the papers in front of him, "Abrahams."

My trembling body guides itself towards the black, leather couches in front of his desk, my brain trying to catch up with my body. The man looks through some papers neatly placed on his desk, and my stomach flips as I sit down on the couch, my eyes never leaving his face.

How is this possible? Mr. Montoya... It's him. That Mr. Montoya. 

Doesn't he remember me?

Maybe he didn't get a good look at me. Maybe he'll recognize me when he looks up again. What if he laughs at my face. What if he orders me out? Oh God, should I leave?

I feel his masculine perfume tingle my nose, making my heart skip a beat. His eyes are fixated on the papers, his mouth tight in concentration. His thick brown hair is shining as every strand reflect the sunlight streaming in through the window. His face is newly shaved, his suit looking completely wrinkle-free. He looks so put together, so sophisticated, so powerful as he sits in the center of the room, behind him a clear glass wall showing off the tall skyscrapers and busy traffic of Seattle. He's the center of it all.

"Do you plan on introducing yourself?"

Suddenly, I find myself staring into his eyes, his brows raised and lips tight, his expression indicating nothing but annoyance. 

How can't he remember me?

"Well, I..."

"We really need this!"

"Get back with that shit!"

Aunt Donnas voice echoes in my mind, and I can't seem to form my mouth to words. What in God's name am I going to do?

"Miss Abrahams? Is everything alright?"

"Y-Yes!" I say quickly, clearing my throat. I'll do this. He can't remember me. Everything is just fine.

"Okay..." he sighs, stretching his arm out, making me stare at his long, masculine fingers in confusion.

"Your resume?" he mutters questioningly, his voice laced with impatience.

I'm so not doing this right. I hand him the folder in my hand with trembling fingers. 

"Alright. What made you choose this specific position?"

"Well... To be quite honest..."

A friend of yours recommended me coming here, because you bought his shop, resulting in me becoming unemployed and soon homeless. If I don't get this job, that is.

"I've never felt attracted to a specific carrier direction. I've always had felt out of place, trying different things, taking different courses from English literature to business and administration."