Chapter Three

A Chapter by Joan*Eckhart

The nightmare begins...

He was a tall man, and clearly well kept. I guessed he was entering his mid-thirties, but there was something very aged about him, as if he had seen too much to be carefree in his manner. His face was very handsome in the way it was put together, though not perfect. With it's bright and equally dark green eyes, slightly misshapen nose, and full pink lips, it's appeal extended to those foolish amongst us, as there was an air of coldness surrounding him that instantly alerted me to danger. There was no warmth in his gaze, nothing to suggest friendliness.

The files fell from my hands when his eyes found mine. A cruel glint flashed through them. “Who the hell are you?” he barked. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Words evaded me. I was utterly terrified of the specimen who glared hatefully at me.

“Well?” he snapped impatiently.

“She's my new assistant,” Stacy told him. I had forgotten she was there.

“Why was I not made aware of this?” he said harshly, turning to glare at her.

“I'm sorry, sir. I should have. I apologize.” The words tripped over each over in their haste to get out.

He said nothing, simply choosing to stand before us, gripping his briefcase like a sword. I noticed the colour flush in his cheeks, his jaw clenched tightly. He was furious.

He was not a sight I would want to behold even on my darkest day.

I shook almost violently. My legs had turned to nothing. I was glad I was seated as I did not believe I could currently support my own body. I felt overwhelmed completely. Part of me hoped he would fire me on the spot, just so I could escape what I knew now would become a hellish situation for me. I knew I did not possess the strength to put up with the mountain of anger which burdened him.

Stacy and I waited for him to speak, but he remained still, uttering not one word.

I could feel him watching me, assessing me, determining if I was worthy to be in his presence.

“Get Robert on the phone,” he said finally, after an excruciating length of time. “Now!” He marched into his office and slammed the door.

“Oh, thank God.” Stacy sagged with relief. “I thought he'd never leave.”

“He didn't say anything,” I pointed out, unsure what to make of it.

“It's a good thing. Trust me,” she told me, wiping her brow.

I saw she was sweating. It was good to know she could be just as afraid as I was. It proved I was normal, and not the yellow-bellied non-entity I had convinced myself I was.

Don't think like that.

I sighed. I would never join civilized humanity if I berated myself so severely all the time.

Stacy got to work on the phone and I watched her, twiddling my thumbs. “Right, I sorted that out,” she muttered. “Now we wait for master to command us further.”

“Why is he always so angry?”

“Who knows?” She pulled a face. “But I think it might have something to do with his parents divorce, but, hey, lots of kids go through that. It's no excuse to be such a jerk all the time.”

“Divorce?” This was news to me, but everything about him was news to me. The strength of my desire to know more about him was surprising. I had never been a curious person.

Stacy shuffled closer to me. “Yeah,” she whispered. “His parents went through some bitter divorce when he was a little boy. Apparently she had a long affair with his friend. It was all quite messy. His dad really loved her, but she screwed him over big time. Broke his heart. He died a few years ago. That messed him up further.”

“That's awful.” A wave of sympathy coursed through me. “What a terrible thing to have to witness as a child.

“Mm-hmm.” Stacy nodded. “If you think he's hard to deal with, you should meet his mom. That woman is something-something awful. He hates her for obvious reasons. They have never gotten along, and never will. I don't blame him for that.”

I leaned back in my seat as I processed this new information. So James Hunter was a child of divorce? An extremely bitter one by the sound of it. His relationship with his mother sounded even worse. It shone a torch on his black moods.

“And then there's his reputation with women,” continued Stacy, clearly enjoying our little gossiping session.

“Oh?” My ears pricked up.

“He's dated most of the women in Chicago-and then some,” she divulged, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “He only dates hotties, you know, models and socialites. If they're attractive, he's interested. He gets through them, believe me. Dumps them pretty soon afterward.”

“Sounds very shallow.” This saddened me for some reason.

“Nope,” Stacy corrected me. “He's just your typical rich playboy. You'll see it's the norm around here with the guys. Why do you think I go for the ladies?”

“Has he ever had a serious girlfriend?” I couldn't help it. I had to know.

“Yes,” she replied. “And what a Grade A b***h she was, too. I'm glad he dumped her, and boy, did he dump her. He dropped her on her birthday.”

“What?” I gasped, horrified. “That's horrible!”

Stacy held a hand up to shush me. “It gets better. Not only did he chuck her on her birthday, but it was at her parents house. While they were sitting together having dinner. In front of everyone.”

I was speechless. This was unconscionable. I felt outraged on her behalf. I couldn't even imagine doing something so heartless to someone.

Stacy smiled grimly at my expression. “I know it was cold, but she was an ice queen herself.”

“But, still,” I spluttered. “How cruel!”

Stacy opened a drawer and placed the file I had been holding inside. “They're all pretty much alike, these rich folks.”

The phone buzzed and she sprang to her feet. “It's the boss,”she said.

I could not believe he was so cold-hearted. Was his behavior the outcome of his upbringing? Maybe, but I sensed a deep-seated loathing for my gender. His mothers fault, clearly. More importantly, why on earth did I care? What concern was it of mine? He was just my employer. Why should I think about him? Plainly he was a brutish man.

“Juliet,” hissed Stacy, invading my thoughts.

“What?”

“He wants to see you. Now.”

***

My hands trembled as I clutched the handle to his office door. Stacy stood next to me whispering soothing words of encouragement. I had almost bolted when she delivered the bad news only minutes earlier, but I had transformed into a lifeless statue, unable to move an inch.

“It'll be okay,” promised Stacy. Neither of us believed her.

“I don't think I can do this,” I said weakly.

“You don't have much of a choice.”

“I think I'm going to faint.” I willed myself to. It would be easier to deal with.

“Just take a deep breath and go in,” she urged. “You can do this.”

“I really can't.” I insisted, on the verge of hysterics.

“He's waiting. He hates to be kept waiting!” Stacy was getting desperate.

I gulped down the attack of nausea that was threatening me, and inhaled.

Just fake confidence.

I had to take Rachael's advice otherwise I would not make it. This was a test. I could not afford to fail.

He's just a man. He cannot hurt you.

A scary man with a formidable temperament.

Just picture a dragon in his place. A dragon wearing a tutu.

Despite the chest constricting fear, I giggled.

“Juliet?” Stacy sounded concerned, as if she were afraid I had gone mad.

He is a tutu wearing dragon.

I fixed that image in my head. “I'm going in.”

Holding my head up high, and with my shoulders squared, I marched determinedly towards his desk. A smile as real as the confidence I had impressively generated was plastered to my face. With every step I took my heart beat faster, but I refused to let it show.

His chair was facing away from me, towards the window. I could not tell if he even sat in it. Clearing my throat discreetly so he'd know I was there, I stood, waiting, secretly pleased I had reached his desk in one piece.

Moments ticked by and nothing happened. I fretted over what to do. Did I have to declare my presence verbally?

I cleared my throat again.”Um, Mr. Hunter?” I began timidly.

“Yes?” said a gentle voice behind me.

I jumped a mile in the air and uttered a small squeak. Embarrassed and alarmed, I whirled around to find myself face to face with the man himself.

He was even taller then I'd believed him to be. He dwarfed me completely. “Miss. Beaumont?” He sounded different, kinder. A smile played upon his lips, but it was no more real than mine had been only seconds earlier. I backed away instinctively, cowering beneath his hard gaze, where his smile could not reach.

“I hope I didn't frighten you?” he said, with a quick raise of an eyebrow.

An incoherent sound left my mouth, and he frowned. “I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that.”

I shook my head, which was spinning, leaving my thoughts a mess. “No.”

“Good.” He stepped around me and perched casually on the edge of his desk. “I thought it would be prudent to meet you considering you will now be working for me.” I couldn't help but notice how pleased he sounded by that fact. “Sit,” he ordered softly.

I obeyed, almost falling into the chair. I pulled my skirt down self-consciously, then crossed my legs to be safe. Was this the same person who had shown so much rage towards everyone around him? It didn't seem likely.

He stood up and moved around the desk, easing himself his leather chair.

He began to stare at me so intently, I felt as if I were naked before him. He stared as if I were his lover who he was admiring. My face flamed, and I fiddled with a thread that had come loose on my skirt, not daring to look up.

“Tell me, Miss. Is it Miss?” he inquired with mild interest. I nodded, embarrassed for some inexplicable reason. “Miss. Beaumont. Tell me more about yourself.”

I started to shake. Since when did the CEO of such a large company take an interest in a little person? Or was he trying to be polite? That did not appear to fit his nature.

“Well?” he pressed, attempting, I think, to keep irritation out of his voice.

I shook my head, and tried desperately to think up an answer. My mind, it seemed, had gone on vacation and abandoned me, taking the tutu-wearing dragon image with it. “Well...” I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very hot. “I....”

He cupped his chin and watched me steadily. I wished he wouldn't stare at me so hard, as if I were an alien specimen in a jar.

“I.....um.....” I knew my face was the colour of a blooming rose, which was incidentally my least favorite flower.

Focus, Beaumont! And for the love of God, SAY SOMETHING INTELLIGENT!

He waited. Every second that ticked by was excruciating. My nails dug painfully into my hands which had balled into small fists, but I could not speak. I had lost the power of speech. I had never felt so humiliated in my life.

In the end I just gave up and stared at a slim, silver pen lying on his table, begging myself not to cry like I wanted to. If he hadn't fired me before, he would now, I knew it.

“Miss. Beaumont?”

I forced my head up unwillingly. The expression he wore was one of disgust. “Do you not posses the ability to speak? Are you a mute? Because if so, then I'm afraid you are going to have a very difficult time here.”

I called on every ounce of self-control I contained to stop myself from bursting into tears in front of him. I must have looked a fool as I sat rigid in my seat, blinking rapidly, wide-eyed and with my heart thumping erratically in my chest.

“No, sir.”

“Aah, the lady has found her voice,” he said, not bothering to disguise his amusement.

“I'm sorry,” I muttered, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Don't apologize.” He waved a hand lazily in the air. “I have become accustomed to it. It is quite entertaining to watch, in fact.”

His arrogance was breathtaking. So he enjoyed it when he induced semi-meltdowns in others?

“Tell me more about yourself, Miss. Beaumont,” he instructed.

“There's nothing much to tell, really,” I replied quietly, folding my hands in my lap.

He frowned. “I am sure that is not true.” One of three telephones, which sat on his desk, rang, but was ignored. I stared at it pointedly.

“They'll call back,” he shrugged carelessly. “I am still waiting, Miss. Beaumont.”

I could not recall Stacy disclosing my name when we met, yet he knew it. “Well, I was born in California,” I started tentatively. “My sister and I were raised there by our grandmother. Then, Rachael-my sister-moved out here, and I came with her.” I didn't tell him that Rachael had gone through an alarming phase where she determined to follow some insignificant band around the country, with the intention on snaring the lead singer, which she did. When we landed in Chicago the tumultuous relationship was fizzling out, but we stayed put.

“What are your goals in life?” he asked, with surprisingly genuine interest.

“I'm-I'm not sure yet.” I lied, blushing.

I wanted nothing more then to teach. It was not the most exciting or glamorous of jobs out there, but it was something I had always wanted to do since I was a child myself. The truth was I adored children: they were so honest, with not a care in the world. I couldn't imagine anything better then to be around an innocence that was fast fading in this world.

“How old are you?” His eyes feasted on me, unwavering and intense. I replied shyly, feeling every day of my tender age. “You look younger,” he commented.

I wondered where this conversation would take us, and how long it would last. I was not enjoying it. “Thank you.”

“It was not a compliment: merely fact,” he said sharply.

I flinched. “Oh.”

“From where did you gain your education?”

I told him shakily, hoping it was sufficient. “What do you know of this place?” he said, now staring at his nails. I was boring him.

I relayed everything I had garnered from my research. His expression barely changed during this time. I could not make out if I was doing well.

“Miss. Beaumont.” He stopped me mid-flow while I was making a flowery speech about how inspirational PhysTech was-a wild concoction, as I was running out of things to say. “I will not lie. You do not appear the type of...person, I would ever approve of employing in my company.” The sudden turn in conversation startled me. I sat up straighter in my seat, flustered “You do not have any confidence in yourself whatsoever, cannot answer a question coherently. And.” He leaned forward, baring his teeth. “You have the unfortunate appearance of those lacking a home.”

My mouth dropped open, and I gaped at him.

No-one had ever spoken to me that way. Even though I knew inside he only spoke the horrible truth, it was still a awful shock to my system. I felt wounded, as I had been stabbed. I clutched my stomach, my eyes closing in pain.

“Do you still have nothing to say?” he inquired mildly.

I forced myself to look at him. A cruel little smirk played at the corners of his mouth. My stomach turned.

The room suddenly became very tiny, with just the two of us in the middle of it. Nothing else existed in that moment, no other beings, no life outside those walls. There was just him, with his disgust and his arrogance, and me, with my inadequacy, and my temperance from retaliation.

But, no. A match hissed, lighting up inside me, igniting me. For the first time in my life, I was angry, no. It was fury I felt.

I was on fire. My flesh tingled underneath my clothes-it was quite pleasurable. An idle, scarcely deployed feeling had awakened within me, filling me, consuming me.

“Since I do not deserve to be in your company, sir, then maybe I should just leave?” My voice was unnaturally high, too sharp, irate. It was not one that I recognized.

I did not speak to anyone in this manner, not even when they deserved it.

He, on his part, did the briefest of double-takes, but recovered swiftly. “Excuse me?” The incredulity in his tone implied no-one had ever spoken to him this way, ever.

“I said.” I spoke calmly, amazed at this influx of courage. “Why don't I just leave?”

For the first time in my life I gave myself a mental pat on the back. If I lost my job today I could walk out with my head held high. I could be proud. I had stood up for myself, and that was a first for me.

I raised my chin and our eyes locked. I could just see Rachael's face when I told her what I'd achieved today. She would be amazed. I was.

He sat still. I believe he was the one who was now in shock, as he should be. “Well, well,” he said finally. “Not such a mouse, after all.”

His voice was eerily quiet. His hands rested on the table, his knuckles clenched tight. Had I made him angry?

“To answer your question, Miss. Beaumont, no, I do not wish for you to leave my company.” He spoke without any discernible emotion making it impossible to tell what he was feeling. “But.” He rose from his chair and walked towards me.

Remain calm. Do not show your fear.

He paused when he reached me, and once again perched himself casually on the edge of his desk. I had to turn my head awkwardly to look at him.

He gazed down at me as if I were the most fascinating thing to behold. I found I could not turn away. His closeness did something to me, something I could not quite understand at that moment.

My breathing became uneven. I hoped I would not have to speak now, it would be a little difficult-and unimpressive-if I began to wheeze.

“Miss. Beaumont.” He flashed me a wicked smile. “You are more than welcome to remain here, but.” He drew himself closer. I could smell cologne on his body. It was overwhelming and strong, making me light-headed. “You will have to prove yourself worthy of being in my company. Show me why I should keep you.”

He was challenging me, but did I want to accept? To think I would ever be pitted against one of the most powerful men in the world was implausible, to say the least. Did I wish to go up against this man? Of course not, but I could not afford to walk away either, despite my earlier bravado. There were bills to pay. And rent. My sister and I could not feast on pride.

Yet, there was also a spark that had been lit inside me which was not to be diminished so soon. There was a part of me, a surprisingly strong part, that wanted to accept his challenge. If I could prove myself to him, then I would grow in my own eyes. This was, after all, an accomplished man, who feared no-one. He was the type of person I had always admired from afar, but had not the courage to emulate. If I could make him respect me, and it was clear he currently did not, then could I not respect myself?

“Well?” He tore in to my thoughts. “What do you say? Do you still want to go, or do you want to stay?”

“I'll stay,” I replied.

He smiled, and this time it was real. It lit up his face, his eyes, his entire being, illuminating him. In that split second, I was not frightened of him.

“Excellent.” He stood up, walked back around his desk and took a seat with not a further glance my way. I was dismissed.

***

Stacy was stunned. “You said what?” she squealed incredulously, after I had re-told the entire surreal episode for the third time. I did not believe it had taken place myself.

“And he didn't have you tossed out?” She shook her head wildly.

“That's not him. No-one talks to him like that. No-one. Not if they value their life.”

“I wasn't as rude to him as he was to me,” I countered.

“I know.” She patted my leg. “That was pretty low of him to put-down your clothes. Not all of us are multi-billionaires who can afford expensive threads.”

That brand new, delicious feeling flexed itself in my stomach as his words resounded in my head. I relished it. It would help me in the days to come. I was determined to show him.

“It's not about the clothes,” I sighed, though it was. “It's the fact he thinks he can talk to people like that.”

“He can and he does,” said Stacy. “And no-one has the guts to say different.”

“Does he look down on everyone?”

“Pretty much, yes,” she replied gloomily. “Trust me, I know. I've seen first-hand how sharp his tongue is.” I looked at her inquisitively. It was her turn to sigh. “When I first started working here as his PA, his old one, Victoria, had just left.”

“What happened to her anyway?” I remembered she had said Victoria had left out of the blue.

Stacy grimaced. “Do you really want to know?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Stacy grabbed my hand.”Okay, then, but not here. It's not safe to talk.”

I smiled, bemused, as she practically dragged me to the private ladies washroom that was located discreetly at the end of a tiny corridor I had not noticed before. A men's room sat adjacent to it.

“We have a private ladies room so we don't have to keep running downstairs if nature calls,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “It's a waste of company time, apparently.”

She shut the door behind us with a soft click. We were in a very contemporary, very stylish bathroom. It was done up in black and white tiles, with black marble sinks, huge vanity mirrors and soft lighting to flatter any face. A large Ming vase brimming with red and white roses stood in the middle on an antique table with golden legs that had claws for feet.

“Wow.” I whistled, impressed. “This is nice.”

“I know,” agreed Stacy. “Victoria was responsible for designing it. She had very high tastes.”

“His PA?” I raised an eyebrow. “Since when did that become the norm?”

“You're a smart girl, Juliet. Put two and two together,” she said mildly.

“I don't understand.”

“I'll make it easier for you.” Stacy plucked a rose from the vase. “It's a fake Ming,” she informed me. “But a very good fake.” She turned back to me.

“I'm told Victoria was a very attractive woman, very attractive,” she said. “And we know how Mr. Hunter feels about pretty ladies.”

“Oh.” Now I understood. I stared down at myself unhappily. Of course, Victoria and Mr. Hunter. Now the luxuriousness of the bathroom was not so startling.

“They became, ahem, an item, of sorts, pretty much as soon as she stepped through the doors.” Stacy brushed imaginary dust of the glossy tabletop. “It went on for a long time,” she continued. I did not know why I suddenly felt so depressed, but I did. “Victoria was quite the temptress, but she had a temper to match. Once, Mr. Hunter nearly had her thrown out after she stormed into his meeting. She made it up to him later though.”

My stomach twisted into knots. “How did she get fired?”

“The rumours are that she became pregnant,” revealed Stacy, glancing uneasily at the doors as if they about to burst open at any moment. 　

I blanched. “What?”

“I'm not sure, but that's the word on the street.”

“So what then?”

“He flipped out. I mean, he went loco. He accused her of doing it on purpose,” said Stacy. “Men can be so stupid sometimes.”

“Did she?” I whispered.

“Who knows? Stacy shrugged. “Maybe she did. Lord knows she enjoyed the lifestyle he afforded her, but she certainly didn't make that kid by herself.”

“What happened then?” I pressed, eager to know more.

“She had an abortion,” said Stacy flatly. “It was not voluntary.”

I gasped, suppressing the urge to throw up. “My God.”

“After that, he fired her, cut her out of his life, and had her shipped someplace else,” said Stacy matter-of-factly. “She hasn't been seen since.”

I approached the nearest sink on shaky legs. Suddenly I needed to wash my hands. The jet of cold water cascaded over my palms. I looked up at my reflection. A pale, ashen faced creature stared back at me, haunted.

James Hunter was not a man. He was a monster.

“Are you sure about this?” I said, so softly, it was a wonder she heard me.

She stood beside me. “It happened, Juliet,” she replied sadly.

His cruelty bewildered me. The injustice of forcing a woman to abort her child-his child- revolted me to my very core. Victoria may not have been flawless, but no-one deserved to be treated so callously.

Was it because of his impossible wealth that he got away with such deplorable behavior? Or were others around him just like this, cruel and without morals? I was fast learning this was a world, and these were people, I had never encountered before. People who I would not touch with a barge pole, but yet I now worked for him.

A confusing array of emotions stormed my heart. Anger triumphed over them all, coming out on top.

He thought I was not worthy. I would show him.

***

“That guy is cold, Julie,” whistled Rachael, as we grazed a row of clothes.

I'd found Rachael sprawled out on the couch with a bag of potato chips resting on her stomach when I'd made it home. It hadn't taken much effort to convince her to accompany me on my intended shopping spree. I was in dire need of new outfits, and she knew it.

We settled on Gracie's, a trendy yet affordable little clothes store located in the heart of the city that catered for women like me, who were a little on the tall side. As I examined a row of skirts, I consoled myself I was not doing this because of what he had said to me earlier today. Well, maybe a little bit.

“I cannot believe what he said about your clothes,” growled Rachael.”If I'd been there that guy would have been rolling around on the floor in serious pain.”

“I don't doubt it.” I smiled at the colourful choice of language Rachael had used when I first told her what he had said to me.

“I'll make sure he eats his words,” vowed Rachael, holding up a white shirt and black mini skirt combo. I nodded, impressed.“After I'm done with you, he's going to wish he'd never put his big fat foot in his big fat rich mouth.”

“I just want to look presentable,” I said lightly. “I am definitely not trying to impress him.”

“Oh, please!” scoffed Rachael. “We're going to knock his socks off, lady! He'll be dribbling like a baby when he claps eyes on you tomorrow!”

I blushed at the thought. “I don't think he ever gets that excited over a woman. He's a playboy, remember?”

“He's still a man, and men are pathetic when it comes to the fairer sex-no matter how much of a hardcase they are supposed to be,” she declared.

“I doubt he'd be interested in me,” I said quietly, turning my back on her. I was suddenly fascinated with a navy cardigan I'd spotted, which I tossed onto our pile.

“Juliet.” Rachael glared at me harshly. “Don't even go there. I'm not going to waste another second telling you how damned attractive you are.”

I held up my hands placatingly. “Okay, okay,” I said, not wanting to go into discussion about that topic. “I think we have enough clothes to outfit an entire army. Let's call it a day?”

“Fine.” Rachael agreed, her eyes still narrowed. “But, Juliet.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear affectionately. “Don't let anyone ever tell you you're not beautiful.”

“Okay, Oprah,” I joked.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to start making lame jokes now while we have our Kodak moment?”

I couldn't help but giggle. “I'm sorry, Oprah. Do you want me to shed a few tears?” I pulled a baby face and could tell she was trying hard not to join in, and sure enough, after she could take it no longer she burst out laughing and did.

“How on earth are we going to pay for all this anyway?” I asked, still giggling, while we made our way to the till.

“It's called credit, darling,” she replied, linking arms with me.

“We have a credit card?” In reply she pulled a little gold card from her purse. “I don't even want to know how you got that,” I said, shaking my head.

“Relax, Juliet!” She hugged me sideways. “It's only for emergencies, and we both know this was an emergency. We have to show your boss he's an a*s.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “But only for emergencies. We can't afford to get into debt, okay?”

“I know,” she said, annoyed. “Trust me.”

“I do,” I told her. “Now let's get home and make some dinner.”

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Miranda

“something-something” What do you mean by this?

“If I'd been there that guy would have” A comma should be placed between there and that.

Colourful- should be spelled colorful.

“hardcase” I think that this should be two words.

“placatingly” What word is this? I think it’s spelled wrong.

It seems that the more I read, the less ‘ly’s that I see. I didn’t notice hardly any of them. Couple of grammer and spelling mistake were all that I saw wrong with this chapter. Great job. I think her boss likes her too. ;)