Chapter Two: The man behind the desk
1246 Words
Darian coming into my life was a breath of fresh air. It was far-fetched from the greasy smell of old engines that my father worked on tirelessly at the little garage behind our three-bedroom bungalow. It wasn't the nauseating smell of almost-spoilt food we had to scavenge for when our refrigerator went bad about two to three weeks intermittently, and yet we could not get a new one because we didn't have the money.
Darian brought a fresh air that filled me up with possibilities, made me feel that I could reach for the stars by just tipping my toes and raising up my hands. It swirled me off my feet to la-la land, and I felt like I would never come back. I felt I would never have to face reality. It would be my new reality and remain such. How silly of me to hope so.
Sometimes I wondered how life or should I say, chances, gave us the opportunity to get entangled in romance when we were worlds apart.
My first meeting with Darian was when I had walked into his office the morning after I received a call to come for my interview. I had braced myself up to answer questions from the human resource manager, but things had been different. We were informed that the CEO of Mirabelle, one of the youngest, divinely handsome billionaires and, to the delight of most single ladies, a bachelor, was going to be doing the interview. I had been nervous about it. It felt like I had been thrown off balance even before the interview.
"Your shoes are fake," came the haughty voice that tried to make me feel smaller than I already felt. His gaze was cold as it rested on me. He watched me from behind his table as a lab scientist would watch a rat that had been thrown into a desiccator to see if it had taken enough chloroform to become unconscious.
The interview had not gone as expected. I had walked into his office trying really hard to put up a bold front so that he didn't see the timid young lady who was desperately begging for an opportunity. I wanted to salvage myself some pride.
Resentment quickly washed away the admiration I had felt a few minutes after I had walked into his office. Why did he have to point out the quality of my shoe to me? Was it part of the interview? I knew he did not do that to the other applicants. I had seen them before it was my turn to go in. They had worn designer clothes and accessories. It was intimidating, and I had felt uncomfortable when I heard them whisper because I felt at some point they talked about me, about my shirt that looked too plain, my navy blue skirt which I had picked from a thrift store, and, of course, my fake designer shoes. I had told myself that it did not matter; when I started working, I would earn enough to get better clothes. It had motivated me, but when Darian had blurted the statement, it killed my spirit.
"I know they are. Do you have a problem with that?" I blurted out with a tone that screamed how mean of you. I did not know where the audacity to reply to him came from, but I was not apologetic about it.
"Trying to apply for Mirabelle was a wrong mistake," I thought to myself. Since I entered his office, he had been cold towards me, asking all manner of questions ranging from politics, trends, fashion, and economy. I had tried my best to answer to the best of my ability and just when I thought it was over...
"I don't," came an abrupt response. "We will get back to you, Miss Bernneth," he said as he turned to face his laptop dismissively. At that moment, I had cursed my short temper. This was what he wanted. To find a loophole. He wanted me to fumble, I thought to myself. I hesitantly stood up from my chair and walked towards the door, hoping that he would call me back and give me another interview where he would ask about my experience in tailoring and fashion, where he would not point out that my shoes were fake, and where he would not stare at me with that cold gaze but he didn't. So I walked out of his office feeling awful.
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"How mean of him to say that to you," came Jane from the other end of the line.
I could not wait to get home to tell her about my experience. Jane was my run-to person. She could be a handful sometimes, but on days like this one, she was someone I could call to get rejuvenated.
"I should have expected it. They say he is cold, mean, and every bad character you can think of all in one," I replied, finding a seat in the bus I had boarded to take me back home.
"Well, they talk more of him being a billionaire, being handsome, influential, and all," Jane said.
"Whichever way, I got to have a feel of his attitude firsthand today, and it was not a good experience. He was very intimidating," I said to her.
"He is a CEO."
"Are you on my side or his?" I said, feeling a bit agitated.
"You know I am always on Team Aria," Jane said, letting out a chuckle.
"Better," I said, feeling a bit relieved. "Thank you, Jane. You always know what to say."
"That is what friends are for. Make sure you eat something nice and have a good rest when you get home. You deserve it," she said.
We talked about other things. bout her new puppy and how excited she was about it. She would call it Lila. I found the name funny but, well, it was her dog. We talked about her handsome new neighbor. It was girls' talk with a lot of giggles and excitement.
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"How did it go?" my father said when I walked up to him to hug him and plant a kiss on his right cheek.
"It went... well, it was nice," I said, forcing a smile.
"What happened, dear? You know you can talk to me," he said, turning to face me.
My father knew me too well. He was my father, after all; we had been together all these years without my mom, and he had learnt to know me better than I even knew myself. There was no point hiding anything from him.
"Well, the CEO was quite intimidating, but I think I did well," I said, lurching beside him on the sofa and trying to avoid eye contact.
If my father wanted to, he would have pressed till he got every detail down to the part about my shoes, but he could also tell that I did not want to talk about the interview, so he muttered an "okay" and continued watching his television show.
With the way things had gone in Mirabelle, I had told myself that there was no point hoping that I would get called back to work. I had picked up my dusting rag, forced a smile, and set out to work on my antiques. But in one of those evenings when I hummed to the jingle from the radio, my phone beeped. It was an email from Mirabelle.
- Writer
