With Myra still doing Roland’s bidding elsewhere, I set my shoulders and plunged forward. Pulling the door to his office open, wrinkling the paper a little in the process, I abruptly stopped.
The light inside the office was so dim that it was hard to see, and I didn’t want to run into anything. I had to stand still as the door closed behind me and wait for my eyes to adjust.
One dim lamp illuminated a desk, in the far corner, and the outside light was trying to creep in through the same large windows the rest of the office had, but these were obscured with heavy curtains.
“Well?”
I jumped at the voice, which came from the direction of the light on the desk, and peered over there. I should’ve been able to see him by now, my eyes having gotten used to the dimness, but I didn’t see anyone.
“I have…your, um…”
“Speak up!”
That sharp command made me want to do the opposite of speaking; it made me want to disappear forever. And then something else rose inside of me, an indignation about how I was being treated. It overwhelmed everything. Why was this man being so foul to me? Did he think he could treat everyone like this just because he had so much more money than the rest of us? It wasn’t fair that I’d been running around like a chicken with its head cut off just because he’d been so mean to me over the phone. It was my first day, after all. I was bound to make some mistakes simply because I didn’t understand how this place worked yet.
“I have your coffee and your paper,” I said, proud that my voice only quavered a little.
“Well, bring it here.”
Here? Where was that? I tiptoed carefully toward the light, in the direction of a voice whose owner I still couldn’t see, until I could gradually make out that the chair at the desk had been spun around, the man sitting in it hidden from my view.
What was wrong with him? Did he think me so beneath him that he wouldn’t even deign to gaze upon me? I let the paper fall to the desk with a loud slap in indignation, but as I was moving to slam the coffee mug down beside it with equal rancor, my elbow caught the edge of the lampshade, sending a large wave of the liquid to splash over the front page of the Times. The lampshade crashed to the floor, and I could see now, better than ever, just how nice the office was.
There was a large leather couch and two low-slung chairs to match at the far side. The office floor space alone was probably at least a quarter of the size of the rest of the floor. Beyond that, a spiral staircase spun to a door set near the top of the high ceiling. Where could that possibly go? Everything in this already nice space would be so much better, of course, if someone would just throw those heavy curtains back and illuminate the room with the morning light from outside.
The chair spun around, and I wasn’t quick enough to stifle a gasp. The naked light bulb on the lamp, which had revealed the contents of this office to me, revealed equally the occupant of the room.
His face cast in sharp relief, equally in shadow and light, was hideously disfigured by a twisting scar that traveled from his temple, past his cheek, across his mouth—splitting the bottom lip—and on down his chin and neck, vanishing beneath the collar of his shirt.
He stared at me, eyes dark in spite of the light, for a few brief moments before redirecting his gaze to the coffee mug and his sopping paper.
“And just what the fuck is this?” he asked, sweeping his hand over the front page. “How am I supposed to read this now?”
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “You could turn a few more lights on.”
He made a sound of disbelief in his throat, as he examined the coffee mug, going so far as to stick a finger into the liquid.
“And this,” he said, showing me the inside of the mug. “A cold, half-empty cup of coffee? Did you think this was what I wanted?”
“Some people would say it was half full,” I countered then jumped again as he slammed his fist down against his desk.
“Do you think this is funny?” he demanded, pushing himself up from the chair, towering over me even in my heels. “Do you think working here is a joke?”
I had to fight the urge to turn and run away. Standing my ground, even as my knees shook, I stared at that furious scar marring his face, distracting myself from my urge to flee.
“I don’t think that,” I said. “I’m new here, though, so if that actually is the office culture, you’ll have to tell me.”
I was saved from the next verbal assault by the soft beep of the phone on the desk. How was his ringer so soft but the ringer on the phone on my desk so loud, jangling my nerves with its pompous tone?
He held up a finger—he was apparently saving more rage for me after he dealt with this pressing business matter—and answered the phone.
“Roland Shepard.” He looked at me as he listened into the receiver, and I finally had to glance away, studying my feet. That scar was just too difficult to ogle. I took the opportunity to retrieve the lampshade I’d knocked over, replacing it back over the bare light bulb and feeling instantly uneasy at the darkness. The darkness seemed to be where Roland Shepard thrived. I was out of my element.
After what felt like five minutes of just standing there, listening to him listen to whoever was on the other end of that line, Roland cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Myra.” Myra? What the hell? When did she get back and why was she only just now launching a campaign to save me from the president of this company? I strained my eyes to see in the darkness as Roland replaced the receiver to the phone.
“So,” he began, picking up the wet paper and dumping it in the garbage. “Not only do the simplest of requests challenge you, but you also steal newspapers in my name and my company’s name?”
Well, when he said it like that, it looked really bad.
“The vendor from across the street called from the lobby of this very building, trying to reach me,” Roland continued, his voice gradually getting louder. “Luckily, Myra was there to take the call and talked him down from going to the police. If you must steal, Beauty Hart, do it on your own time and don’t invoke my fucking company to do so!”
His tirade had risen to a roar, and I withered in the face of that level of wrath. Yes, it had been stupid, but…
“I was just trying to do what you asked!” I sassed angrily, defensive as all get out, unwilling to bow completely to his irrational anger. “You were rude to me and this is my first day and all I’ve wanted to do so far was just go back home to my car and go to sleep and forget all of this. I just wanted to please you!”
“Do you think any of this hot fucking mess pleases me?” he shouted, right in my face, that ugly scar virtually throbbing at me.
There was nothing I could do to keep myself in that office, taking that abuse. I turned tail and ran, shoving my way out the door, grabbing my purse at the desk, ignoring traitorous Myra and the stares of all my new coworkers, as I sprinted to the elevator and practically dove to save the doors from closing on me.
Fuck this. Fuck this place. Hot tears sprung to my eyes and a sob leeched out of me as I rode the elevator back down to the lobby. I didn’t need to do this. I could stand up to a lot of things, but blatant disregard wasn’t one of them. I’d been happier stripping to feed my belly, and my professional clothes felt like a clown’s costume. I was going to throw the pantyhose into the first dumpster I came across.