~Sing the Anthem of the Angels, and sing the last Goodbye ~As the sky returns to gray ~ You're dead alive.
It’s becoming harder and harder not to stare.
“Faith?” he questioned, snapping his fingers in front of him. I moved the mint I took of his desk in my mouth, still looking at him. I eat candy when I’m nervous.
I shook my head, and stopped staring at his tattoo. “Sorry.”
He hasn’t even introduced himself, how rude. Luckily I've read a million magazines in my lifetime and know his name, personality, and his favorite color.
David Star has a baby face, and lightly slanted brown eyes. They remind me of Cat eyes, or Egyptian eyes. But I do feel like they should be a different color; more exotic. Shaggy Brown hair covers his forehead, and curled around his ears. His nose is slightly crooked, as if it has been broken a few times. Also there is a scar on his lip. He’s wearing a white button down shirt with a tie, matching with black slacks and a black over coat. What I really don’t understand is the curved, midnight black tattoo along his left jaw, and curving up to his left eyebrow. It has jagged edges like a blade, and branches that twirl and shoot out to his face. The pattern is interesting, but it’s hard not to look at it when he talks.
He frowned and twirled around in his chair, then put his long legs back up on the desk. “I’ll stay turned around if it’s bothering you so much,” he said.
“N-no it’s not that I don’t like it. I just didn’t…” I rubbed my sweaty hands on my skirt, “I’m just really nervous, I could care less about that tattoo. It’s kind of pretty the more I look at it.”
Now I feel bad. I don’t really think it’s pretty; it’s kind of out there.
“It’s best not to lie in an interview with me. Or in general,” he stated, playing with his tie.
“I’m not lying, I really like it!” Oh geez I just can’t stop.
“Liar,” he sang, and swirled around in his chair. “I’ll have to write that down somewhere. Don’t want a liar as my secretary.”
My eyes widened, as he pulled out a large leather notebook, and scribbled in it. “Lies to impress,” he mumbled to himself, and smiled up at me. The brightness of his teeth practically blinded me, “bad habits. I like it.”
What is going on?
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing,” he replied, and started to scribble something else. I pulled my neck up to try and look at the paper, and he put his hand in front of it like a wall. After a while of writing he held up the paper. At the top of the paper it says ‘Interview. The paper is split in two and one side says Plus the other side says negative. “As you can see, there are already three comments under negative, and two in positive.”
“What’s in the positive one?”I asked quickly, trying once again to see the paper.
He put a hand up for me to calm down, “I’ll tell you when I’m done interviewing you.”
I sat back in my chair with my arms over my chest, “Ok.”
This time he put his legs up on the right side of his desk, and put the notebook on his lap. “Tell me what jobs you’ve already had.”
I crossed my legs, “Um, I worked at an Ice-cream Parlor, a Toy Store, a Daycare…”I answered, putting my fingers up. “That’s really it.”
He covered his face with his hands and started laughing hysterically. The sound sent chills down my back, because it sounds so cynical. He stopped laughing after a few moments, and wiped tears from his eyes."Oh that's a good one. I do like humor."
"I'm not joking..."
His face went blank, "Well you should have done what you did before, and lied then. Since clearly you don't have a resume with you," he said matter a factly.
"Why would I lie? Those are really the jobs I've worked at!" I defended. He bagan writing more in the notebook, and I huffed out a loud breath. "I don't see why you're writing something down."
He glanced up, and frowned.“I'm writing down has no experience because making ice-cream, playing with toys, and taking care of children isn't exactly what I need here. Are you at least good with paper work?”
“Paper work? Yeah I guess, I’ve never really done paper work,” I said honestly, with a shaky smile. He wrote something down in the negative slot, and then his brown gaze lifted back to mine. Scratching his head, he wrote something in the positive slot.
Wait a minute…I stood up slightly, to see what he’s writing. He smacked the desk with the notebook, scaring the crap out of me. “Sit back down.”
I quickly sat back on the chair, “Sorry.”
"Are you good at anything?" he mumbled under his breath.
My eyes widened at that comment, "Yes I am actuall--"
“--how old are you exactly? Seven? Twelve?” David interrupted, with a raise of an eyebrow.
“Eighteen, but I’ll be nineteen in December. But I'm legally an adult .”
"Mhmm," David replied, as if he doesn't believe me. His hand moved around the paper again, and he frowned. “Skirt or slacks?” he asked, with a serious face.
“W-what?”
“Skirt…or slacks,” he repeated slowly, as if talking to an idiot.
“I don’t think that—“
“Oh it matters,” he interrupted, his eyes flashing to my legs, “you seem like the single, jean and t-shirt kind of girl.”
I narrowed my eyes, “Well you seem like the single, arrogant, jer—“
He started to write in the notebook making me stop talking, and bite my lip angrily. “At-ittude!” he said, pronouncing it annoyingly. “You have some sass in you, not sure if that’s a negative or a positive…” he trailed, his pen going in between both sides of the paper.
This is not happening! “This is sexual harassment,” I blurted.
He put his legs off the woode surface, and scooted his legs under the desk. Then he leaned forward with amusement dancing in his eyes. “You aren’t even working for me; it’s too early to say that, baby,” he commented, his gaze landing on my chest.
I groaned, and covered my cleavage. I can't help it that Marcy has a flat chest and my boobs don't enjoy wearing her small shirts!
His brown gaze locked onto my blue one, I stayed unmoving trying to figure him out. He’s being cocky for a reason, maybe this is a test? I searched his eyes, and he tilted his head a little. I can see now that he’s getting a kick out of this interview.
I huffed out a breath, “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Oh, and why would I do that?” he asked innocently.
“You don’t want anyone in the position, because I think you can’t handle someone being so close to you, and helping you out."
He sat up, a frown between his eyebrows, “ What’s that suppose to mean, Miss Williams?” he retorted, his jaw clenching.
“It means that I’m out of here. I think what you’re looking for is a prostitute, not myself,” I snapped, and his jaw dropped. I stood up from the chair, and he stood up from his. He’s about six two in height.
“No, no. Nobody talks to me that way and gets away with it, Honey.”
“I just did!” I spat, taking my purse.
I turned to walk away, and got two steps when he said, “You turn down one hundred dollars an hour that quickly? I would think you would stick with this interview for the next—“ he checked his watch, “ten minutes.”
I put my hands on my hips, and turned to him with a scowl on my face. “Fine, what else do you have to say?”
“Have a seat and I’ll tell you,” he said bluntly, with a wide grin on his face.
I walked over to the desk and sat down in the leather chair again. “What?”
“Are you willing to do errands for me? I’m very lazy sometimes and I do need someone to help me out once in a while. But you also have to be able to handle my comments, and my moods because I have those also,” he stated honestly.
I took a deep breath, “Yes, I’m willing to handle all that.” Ugh what am I doing!
David tore the paper out of the notebook and stood up. He walked around his desk crossed his large arms, and leaned against the front of the desk, his feet almost touching mine. “Well, Miss Williams. You’re in luck. I don’t like you. When you waltzed in here I found your skirt the best thing about you, and I still do. I suggest finding a job at Wal-mart or the Grocery Store, because frankly you have absolutely no experience in my kind of work. I’m positive your IQ isn’t that high either, since you just let me play twenty questions with you; and then let me win,” he said, motioning to the paper.
I nodded my head, “I just don’t think you know me enou—“
He put a hand up, “Please, I know you perfectly well. Save yourself the further embarrassment and leave my office.”
I blinked back tears, feeling utterly crushed. Don’t cry in front of him. I stood up, and brushed a stray hair out of my eyes. He looked down at me with curious eyes, and I avoided his gaze. Without saying anything I made my way out of the office with him close behind. When I reached the door I wiped a tear from my eye, and stopped. I whirled around to see him right behind me with his eyes narrowed at me dangerously; as if I am his prey. His mouth lifted into a grin as I continued staring at his tattoo. “I hope you rot in hell. But I also hope you remove that ugly tattoo,” I spat, making that damn smirk wipe off his face.
I walked out of the office, gaining confidence the farther I walked away from his office. I passed the receptionist red-head, and hid my face. “Told you,” she sneered, with an obnoxious laugh. “Nobody can handle him and his masculinity.”
“Oh please, he has a baby face, and personality,” I snapped, hurrying past her. I quickened my pace once I entered the hallway. My heels echoed behind me, nearing the elevator. I waited in the small hell hole the long journey to the first floor, left the building, and flagged down a taxi. Right when I was about to step into the car, I felt a gaze on my neck and I spun around looking for the source.
The taxi driver rolled down the window and screamed “Please hurry up!”
Taxi drivers are so rude sometimes.
I reluctantly got into the car and sat in my seat, with my purse in my lap. I told the driver my new address gave him the money, and the car skidded away. The car ride seems longer than on the way here, and sadly I have nothing to occupy myself but my cell phone.
On cue it buzzed.
Maybe I underestimated you. Be in my office tomorrow at 9:00 sharp. Don’t make me regret my decision, and don’t let this offer pass by. It might just save your life.
-David S.
I rolled my eyes, and tucked the phone back into my purse. Now he wants me to work for him? After what he just said to me? And wow, and he even thought to add the last part. This job may bathe me in money, but I’m not going to die if I don’t take it!
“We’re here, can ya’ stop talking to yourself and get out of the car?” the taxi driver asked sourly, impatiently tapping the steering wheel.
Hurrying out of the car, I jogged into my new apartment building.