The restaurant wasn't packed. The co-workers entered the dining area, turning around to see rows of empty tables. Three tables were taken, and one of them was where the CEO of the Compskill company sat. He waved at Nicolas, who grinned and walked towards him. Seven followed behind, looking around the place. He's never been to a seafood restaurant after moving to Batesburg. So the smell hit him like a truck. It had a hint of coffee and fish, making Seven's stomach want to tear itself out.
"Morning, Mr. Hampton," Nicolas greeted as he sat on the brown, cushioned seat. "Hope we didn't keep you waiting."
"Oh, not at all, Anderson." His smile wrinkled his skin as he turned his attention to Seven.
"Who's this?"
Seven smiled at him as he sat next to Nicolas and across from the CEO of Compskill. His brown hair and white strands made him look slightly older than Nick.
"This is my assistant. He'll be joining us today as it is his second day, and I trust you wouldn't mind if he learned some stuff about the process of my meetings." Nicolas grinned as Mr. Hampton moved his eyes to the waiter, calling for their attention.
Seven attempted to position himself on the seats but felt Nicolas shift closer, whispering, "If he says something that makes you uncomfortable, tap on my leg."
What? Seven thought, tensing up at the sudden whisper to his ear. Nicolas moved back, clearing his throat. Seven slumped on the chair, wondering why Nick would warn him about what could happen. Seven's eyes moved to Mr. Hampton, who kept looking at the waiter from across the dining area. He couldn't figure out who Mr. Hampton was, but the company's name sounded familiar. What could Mr. Hampton say that could make Seven uncomfortable?
"They'll be here shortly." He glanced at the assistant as his smile radiated a sort of creepy aura. "So, what's your name?"
"Uh... Serene Ochoa, Mr. Hampton," Seven answered without thinking.
He narrowed his eyes as they examined him as if he were at an auction. "Why the female name?"
Oh. Seven frowned. A weight dropped on his shoulders at the question. He didn't want to be rude to someone he had just met but didn't want to answer a personal question. He swallowed as his thin eyebrows wrinkled. "I'm sorry, but I don't think responding to a personal question is professional."
Mr. Hampton laughed. "Of course, of course. My apologies, but" —he leaned back on the chair, the sly grin spreading on his face— "for as long as I've known your superior, he's only ever brought pretty girls to the table. His former assistants were nice to look at, and I" —he laughed again— "I just can't wrap my head around how a guy can take on a job where he takes orders from another man."
Without thinking, Seven's hand slowly moved to Nicolas's knees, tapping on the fabric as he kept his eyes on the man before him. The assistant could've handled it himself, but he feared he'd say something out of line to someone he'd never met. For all he knows, the man commenting on his choices could be Nick's superior. Seven pouted, bothered by the comment. The gender remarks started weighing on his shoulders. He wanted to give the man an honest response, but he didn't know what to say. When Seven tapped on Nick's knee, he waited for him to jump in, but his CEO didn't do anything. Instead, the silence built up, and Mr. Hampton's patience was reaching its limit. Seven didn't want to say anything but needed to say something.
He was under pressure.
Oh, God, Seven thought, Mr. Anderson, if you don't say something...
The assistant moved his hands together and brushed his fingers in between each other. He gulped and licked his lips. "I find your sexist comments to be senseless, Mr. Hampton. There's no gender in a career, and if you think so, maybe a woman would've handled the news of a male assistant better."
Mr. Hampton's eyes widened, copying Seven's reaction. The table went silent, but the chatter from the other guests continued. Seven swallowed, not taking his eyes off the CEO sitting before him.
Apologize, Seven. Apologize, apologize, apologize.
"Mr. Hampton, I—"
"I think we should get back to business, Mr. Hampton, don't you think?" Nick interrupted, leaning into the table as the corner of his lips curved into a smile.
Seven looked at his hands, hugging each other. His heart was beating out of his chest, begging to run out of the restaurant that stunk of fish and coffee. Why did he wait for me to say something?
Mr. Hampton cleared his throat, turning to Mr. Anderson. "Are you not going to comment on your assistant's behavior?"
Nicolas laughed. "No, but we can talk about business."
Why is he laughing?
Mr. Hampton sighed, eyeing the assistant again, but the stare held a deep annoyance, almost like he was losing an auction because of Seven.
"Well," Mr. Hampton said, "what was the reason for inviting me out then?"
Nicolas held a cheeky grin. He eyed the shorter male next to him, seeing the aftermath of the confrontation. He loved putting his assistants on the spot, testing their knowledge, and messing with their egos. Most of his assistants held themselves high even though they made errors in their work and disrupted the company's policies, so, in return, Nick would mess with their confidence and humiliate them when deserved. As time passed and assistants quit, seeing different reactions became an enjoyable habit. However, Seven managed what others couldn't: keeping confidence when put on the spot.
It caught Nick off guard, but it was new. He didn't destroy Seven's ego and held himself high with his response even though he cowered at the end. Nick noticed it, too. He caught Seven about to apologize, but Nicolas didn't want that. Own up to your ego.
Again, Nicolas thought, I want to see it again.
"Go ahead and ask my assistant. I'm sure he knows why I invited you."
How unprofessional can you be? Seven frowned, turning his head to Mr. Anderson. Not only did Nick disappoint with his late commentary, but he also decided to put Seven on the spot again. Seven knew zero about Mr. Hampton, but the name Compskill was familiar. Nothing came to mind except he remembered the title appearing during the opening credits of a video game he played when he was younger.
Oh.
Seven looked to the CEO before him as his glaring, brown eyes pierced him in the chest. Then, he recalled the papers of information Mr. Anderson had offered him yesterday. It was information about the company's relationships and competition. He remembered reading 'Compskill' within the crowd of companies. "As a game company, GamerCave wants to receive seventy percent of the profit of your gaming computer."
The CEO's bushy eyebrows creased. "Seventy percent?" he scoffed. "That's an insane percentage. Are you sure your assistant knows what he's talking about?"
Mr. Anderson didn't reply. Instead, he sat there with his arms crossed as if his lips were sealed. Mr. Hampton shook his head, turning his attention to the assistant. "Did you read that somewhere? I'd like to see some sort of support for your reasoning, Serene."
"Mr. Hampton, I don't appreciate you referring to me as my first name—"
"Oh, please," he chuckled, "it's your second day working under GamerCave. Do you really think I'll respect you? Explain why you think I would ever accept a percentage that high. My company manufactures computers, boy. I will decline to give the corporation seventy percent of MY profit that MY technology receives."
Seven's shoulders dropped. He couldn't believe the behavior of the CEO. If anything, the assistant expected a more professional response. Sure, it was Seven's second day, but the disrespect stunk with the seafood.
Mr. Anderson bit the fish line. "You're right. Seventy percent is much too low."
"Too low?" he shouted. "Is your company in a financial crisis? I refuse to hand you money for something you have zero contribution to!"
Mr. Anderson went quiet again. Both CEOs turned their attention to the assistant, who sat silently, and, at this point, Seven took it as a sign to continue the conversation.
"Uhm... if I can get a clarification for something—"
"What?" Mr. Hampton growled.
Seven cleared his throat as his brain went blank, and his winging-it habit kicked in. "This is your first time making a gaming computer, right?"
Mr. Hampton nodded.
"Well, I suspect, as Mr. Anderson's company is the only gaming company in the whole state, you will need him to design video games for your computer." Seven's throat went dry, regretting not mentioning the lack of attention from the servers at the restaurant. "The gaming company will participate more in your computer after its manufacture. GamerCave will release indie games to input into your first gaming computer and help boost sales for the games that come with it. Therefore, this meeting is a prediction of the future for your device. You will need his company to sell your first gaming monitor. The percentage is, in my opinion, more realistic if it's at seventy."
Nicolas nodded as he held his grin inside. He avoided eye contact with Mr. Hampton and kept his eyes on the fish designs on the wall. Mr. Hampton, however, glared at Seven.
The assistant exhaled at the realization of what he had just said. He eased his look as if to apologize to Mr. Hampton, but there was no sign of forgiveness. His chest tightened at the silence and with no reassurance from Nick, the overthinking hit.
Did I say something wrong? Did I cross the line? Am I about to get fired?
His heart beat rapidly. That was two spotlights in one situation. How can he be put on the spot two times?
Seven's body quivered as he felt the glares from the ghosts that he imagined. He closed his eyes, standing up from his seat. He kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with the two men on the table. "Excuse me. I have to go wash my hands."
Nicolas stared at the assistant, who rushed toward the bathroom. His smile grew, turning his attention to Mr. Hampton. "He's good, huh?"
Mr. Hampton sighed, shaking his head. "I assume the meeting is over?"
Nicolas nodded, standing from the chair. "Can I rest well knowing my assistant's convinced you?"
Mr. Hampton nodded.
Nicolas tilted his head as a goodbye before turning to the bathroom door down the path, and then, his smile faded. His heart pounded softly against his chest as he strolled past the servers who failed to ask for their drinks. Reading Seven's resume, Nick noticed that Seven had joined multiple lawyers as an assistant for internships. Nicolas wanted to test the waters to see just how much Seven could memorize and how much he could use it to his advantage. It's no wonder why he convinced WebBaze so quickly.
He passed empty tables, and his eyes targeted the bathroom door. Nick's heart continued to pound faster, recalling Seven's quick and intelligent commentary. Not once has he seen anyone handle an out-of-the-blue situation as Seven did, and it definitely got the CEO's heart running. He heard the water rushing from the other side of the door, and it suddenly became hard to breathe as he imagined what he could tell Seven to express his gratitude; his excitement was like a little kid had just figured out how to insert cheat codes in a video game.
He was proud.
Surprised.
Not once has anyone proved him wrong, and there was something about it that made Nick just—
The CEO roughly opened the door, watching Seven splash water to his face. Nick's eyes widened as if he hadn't seen the assistant in days, now noticing the slim figure standing across from him.
Seven looked up at the mirror, water dripping from his face and the clear water bringing out his dark freckles. He looked at Nick's reflection, fearing the words, 'You're fired.' He turned off the faucet and turned to face the CEO. "Mr. Anderson—"
Before he could get a word out, Nicolas walked to the three stalls, letting the entrance door close behind him.
Congratulate him. Praise him. Say something. Nicolas told himself.
He did so well in the meeting, holding himself high and proving his worth in the position.
Say something. He pushed the doors to the three stalls, checking if anyone else was in the bathroom with them.
"Sir, can I apologize to Mr. Hampton? I crossed the line with my words, and I lost track of who I was talking to and—"
Again, the CEO didn't let him finish his sentence. He stopped at the last stall, glaring softly at Seven, and began walking toward him. Seven stepped back to the counter as Nick stopped a few inches away. The two co-workers stared into each other's eyes, not saying a word. Seven's heart raced, his palms holding onto the edge of the marble counter as Nick's breath hit his skin.
Nicolas pressed his lips together, watching the assistant flinch at the superior that towered over him. Congratulate him. Praise him. He grabbed Seven's wrist and pulled him from the counter, turning his back to the bricked wall. He cuffed Seven's wrist on top of the assistant's head. Nicolas's eyes looked hungry and almost had the same look as Mr. Hampton's, but it was as if he had already won the auction, waiting to take his prize home.
Nicolas swallowed. His heart raced, examining the freckles and details on the assistant's pale face. What is this? Nicolas asked himself. Why is he so... pretty?
Seven turned his face away from the CEO, but that didn't stop him. Nick leaned closer as if a gate opened right in front of him, staring at the thin neck with tiny moles that traced down to his collarbone. Leaning in, Nicolas caught the sound of Seven's harsh gulp, snapping him back to reality as if getting taken out of hypnosis.
Congratulate him.
Nicolas stepped back, letting go of Seven's wrist. His eyes grew wide at the realization of what he had done. Seven's body shook by the wall, frozen in place, looking away from the CEO with a flushed face. Nicolas has never wanted to make his assistants uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine doing what he did with his former assistants, but why Seven? Why was he so pretty?
"I... I wanted to say you're not in trouble," Nicolas reassured, turning his back to Seven. "What you did was... what I expected," he lied. Nicolas began walking to the door, holding the handle. Though, that wasn't what he wanted to say. He was proud and grateful to see someone defend themselves with high confidence, but he just couldn't make the words out. "We're leaving. I'll be in the car." Nicolas opened the door, letting the seafood and coffee smell enter the cold bathroom.
The assistant gulped as he heard the door close near him. He eyed the mirror, noticing his shaky stance as if the floor was about to collapse. His face still dripped with water, which didn't help hide the light blush covering his freckles. His chest started hurting as he let out a soft exhale. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath that entire time. Was that a punishment or congratulations? His legs finally gave up, and he slid against the wall, falling to the cold floor.