Chapter Two
1418 Words
Samantha:
I straightened my skirt and tried to remove the invisible dust on it as I walked into the gigantic building, which looked busy with people dressed in expensive business suits walking around, but everyone and everything seemed to come to a halt as I entered the large hall entrance.
I tried walking confidently with the file in my hands, but I knew my legs were failing me as people began to give me weird looks.
Can't they just continue whatever they were doing and mind their business, or better yet, act like they didn't see me there? I thought to myself.
If Angela was here, she would have had a good laugh at me and probably said to me, "Sam, why are you walking like you just lost your virginity?"
I laughed out loud at the thought of that, but then I received weird stares and glares from people, especially women, while some men stared at me with eyes evidently full of lust.
I was almost wishing Angie was here right now. "Oh, Sam, just keep calm and pretend like you didn't see them," I said to myself.
I recomposed myself as I walked to the receptionist's desk, where a brown-haired woman, who I was guessing should be the receptionist, was standing.
She stood with a bored look on her face, like she had nothing to do and was busy checking out her nails. She was surprisingly dressed appropriately.
Thank God she wasn't blunt and rude; otherwise, that would be so cliche.
"Excuse me, miss, I have an appointment by 10:00 a.m. with Mr. DiCaprio as a personal assistant." I said this while smiling and flashing my teeth at her.
She looked at me like I had just disturbed her from doing something important.
Her eyes trailed up and down my body in disgust and jealousy. She looked at me in disdain.
I guess I spoke too soon. "I thought out loud," I said to myself.
"Well, how can I help you?" She sneered, folding her hands together, waiting for me to repeat myself.
"I said I have an interview by 10 a.m. with Mr. DiCaprio, and I would kindly appreciate it if you told me where to meet him, or better yet, where his office is located."
"Second to the last floor, and if you don't mind, take the stairs; the elevator is for people who work here, not for beggars and low-lifes." I gave her a glare at her statement.
Surely she has seen how high this building is. If I'm not wrong, this should be more than fifty floors, and she expects me to walk all the way up, but I said nothing in return as usual and let people walk over me like I always do.
She gave me a triumphant look, and a big smirk was plastered on her face, seeing that I obeyed her without starting an argument. I decided to act mature and didn't see any reason to engage her.
I checked my watch, and it was already 9:55 a.m. How does she expect me to get there on time? It's obvious she wants me to get there late and not get the job. Then shame on her; she's done nothing compared to what my evil step-sister has done to me, and I'm sure going to put her to shame.
With that little motivation in me, I began running very fast in the direction of the staircase.
Here goes nothing; this should be a piece of cake, or so I thought.
______________________
Running up more than 200 stairs in a pair of heels about 4 inches high wasn't a piece of cake, but I did it and finally got to the last floor.
Now, how do I find Mr. DiCaprio's office?
"Please excuse me," I said to a fairly handsome man, while at the same time trying to catch my breath.
He held a cup of coffee in his hands. He was wearing a nice suit and expensive shoes to complement his attire.
"Don't worry, I have that effect on ladies; I tend to take their breath away." He said it cockily.
I blushed at his words and rolled my eyes at him, thinking, "If only he knew that I just ran through dozens of stairs."
I cleared my throat before speaking. "Please, can you show me Mr. DiCaprio's office? I have an appointment with him by ten."
He looked at his watch, then back at me, and gave me a pitiful look. "Miss, this is already past ten, and Mr. DiCaprio hates tardiness; it will be a miracle for him to still accept you, but anyway, it's none of my business." He paused, then continued.
Thank God, he knows.
"And Mr. DiCaprio's office is not on this floor; it's on the twentieth floor."
My eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at his words.
Maybe I didn't hear him well.
"Did you just say twentieth floor?" "Please tell me you are joking."
He gave me an apologetic look, but I turned my face away from him, not even thanking him or asking for his name.
I don't need anyone's pity.
My fist clenched, but I took a deep breath and calmed myself down before going back to the annoying stairs I just climbed. I heard the man's voice calling me, but I just ignored him and ran back down, not looking back.
It's not his fault anyway.
It was easier getting to the twentieth floor since I was coming down and not going up this time around.
I got there just in time to see a middle-aged woman glued to her computer and completely stressed, obviously from the heavy workload she had been doing since God knows when.
"Sorry, please excuse me, Ma." "I'm here for an interview with Mr. DiCaprio, and I would like it if you showed me the direction of his office."
The stress on her face seemed to disappear immediately as a bright smile appeared on her face.
"You are right on time, but just a little bit late." Mr. DiCaprio has been waiting for you.
She immediately pushed me into a room without warning and shut the door, scaring the snot out of me.
The room was beautiful and sophisticated; nothing was out of place. From the chair to the desk to the books, everything looked out of place. The only thing out of place was me. Everything screams two words: luxurious and expensive.
It looked like no one was inside the room; my back began to ache, and I slowly moved to the chair to sit, but a voice stopped me from doing that.
"Did I ask you to sit, Miss Samantha?" A husky voice spoke, sending shivers down my spine.
I looked up, shaking, to see the most beautiful man in the world, not knowing how I hadn't realized he had been inside the office all this time.
His face seems so familiar. I swear, I've met him before.
His face was chiseled and sculpted by God himself; his nose was straight with high cheekbones, and his eyes were like nothing I had ever seen before, only in my dreams. His eyes were so green that he put the green grass to shame.
Now let me tell you the most important thing: his muscles, which look like they are about to tear from his clothes. Don't get me started on his pants, which were tightly held to his thighs.
The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped me out of my daydreaming.
This man looks like a working sinner.
"Like what you see." He asked, smirking at me, but I could also see him checking me out, especially my sweaty chest. His eyes lingered there for some time before looking back at my face.
How cliché is that statement?
"Of course I do; I mean, how many days did God use to create you? Because it's not fair." You are the true definition of "perfection."
"Excuse me?." He was surprised by my boldness. He looked flustered.
"Did I say that out loud?" I gave him a sheepish smile.
How do I look right now, sweating like a pig? I never knew Mr. DiCaprio would be this handsome and this young. I was already having dirty thoughts in my head.
God help me!
"Yes, you did!" and you are late.
Instead of answering his question, I summoned the courage to ask the question I had been dying to say.
"Haven't we met before?"
- Writer
