Unlike the past number of days I had missed out on going out on a fancy lunch with Miranda and it got me excited just thinking about it and this whole girlfriend thing wasn't so easy, my past experiences had given my ego quite the bruise, and Miranda was so much easier to get along with–she was even contagious, to say the least.
Her laughter was openly outrageous and it burst out of her freely, you didn't expect it from her, and you were never waiting for it when it hit, and then she would ball over and suffer from more hysteria over something I said. The surprising thing was that she found me humorous to some degree and she felt comfortable about detailing one of her sexual ventures from college or dissing one of her past boyfriends, which was the best part and her stories were funny, and half of the tome shady, and we sometimes swapped some stories-there was great fun in laughing at your misfortunes I was learning. It was just that I had been blessed with a stiff Thursday and had to go through physical copies and ones on the database to help put the perfectionist side of him to rest.
My feet were bare as I had taken my shoes off and chosen to take the floor and go through those boxes filled with paperwork that went back about eight-year and it was no child's play, my eyes were sore from staring at papers for so many hours. We had been here since five in the morning and the only thing he had 'consumed' was, probably, four cups of coffee. There was a stack on the nice imported coffee table before me and it was all the reports we had copies of, that had been documented Ind handed in, ones we also had in our database.
It was barely much as compared to the rest of the papers, I wasn't complaining, and he wasn't even supposed to be helping me here. I was in August 2015. I sighed, rubbing my neck as I craned it to the side and stretched my leg forward to get rid of the cramp.
My curls weren't in my face and were not particularly disturbing me therefore, though there had been worry that my bobby pins were, perhaps, a tad bit childish and unprofessional, despite having chosen ones less bright or less loud, they looked fitting with my toasted brown turtleneck and loose beige empire-waisted pants, it made me feel as if I could measure up to his suits and how great his shoulders looked in them, I had not thought that much about their style being, maybe, influenced by genetics because his brother wasn't any better–I had caught a glimpse of him earlier.
I took the seconds of adjusting to not having his attention, or specifically his eyes paying attention to every move, they had a certain sharpness to them that was quite daunting–it made you feel as if you were doing something wrong half of the time.
I was trying my best to adjust to it myself and not to come across as panicky or unsure of myself, I always made sure I was well aware of what I was saying when it came to him, and often even what I was thinking, everything had to be in order and clear, perhaps even open. I didn't know why but I didn't feel being dishonest or seeming so was something they particularly appreciated and so I chose to get straight to the point, being thorough and as open as possible, as much as I could. Hence why I wasn't going to beat about the bush any further, I was just concerned about him not waiting for anything almost half of the day, which was in my right to worry over as his assistant, and my lunch had been easy and fulfilling. My patheticness when it comes to carbs and sugar, so I had much on double-chocolate muffins–I was happy. To my tummy everything was great.
"Mr. Kang," I spoke up, knowing very how the tone was important in these types of things.
He looked up quickly as if he was surprised I had called him and I met a set of really nice eyebrows creased together and a pout, I wasn't sure just how a man of his age could whip out adorableness and bend it to his will like this. Those eyes and the glint that coated them, even though they often were quite intimidating, and the pout that his lips often curled into before they slightly parted.
He lifted his left eyebrow at me as he leaned forward. "Mr?"
"It makes you. . .uncomfortable?" I asked, knowing very well I wasn't particularly confident nor necessarily hesitant in my question because I didn't want him to be offended. Though I wasn't going to say it out loud, it didn't necessarily mean my alarms weren't ready to go off in my head and I had every right to. My encounter in that pantry had said enough and I wasn't going to stand for a particular behavior, though I didn't deem this to be that. I wasn't going to dismiss it, just currently, and I wasn't going to particularly act it out as if he was saying anything
"Hope you don't find this offensive," he said and lightly knitted his eyebrows jointly.
I found my nose crinkling as he looked up at me with his head cocked to one side. "I....guess I won't be."
"It sounds. . .formal," he said, wearing what I could only perceive to be a grimace. There brown in his eyes looked particularly black from where I stood and so difficult to not feel trapped by as if already he was calculating my every move. It didn't feel alarming more than it made me feel sort of obligated to meet up to some standard, maybe my issues were beginning to kick in there. My dad had died, and years after mostly playing the part-time parent with way too many holidays in between, and I may have been an adult now, it just didn't mean I was free of my share of issues.
"Formal? You hate. . .formal?" I found my nose was still quite wrinkled as I copied him and slightly angled my head to the side, maybe frowning. "You want me to use something. . .more easy going as your name?"
"I doubt my name's. . .easy going." He flashed off those two dimples.
"I didn't mean it like that, I'm just. . .I'm trying to. . .get it." I didn't want to offend him or say something stupid about his age, not that I was aware of anything regarding his age or his personal life for all that matter, and maybe, I didn't want to start searching for another job.
He pouted his lips again before he parted them. "I just meant that I felt you weren't comfortable with it. . .nor am I jealous of you referring to my brother by his first name."
"Aren't I supposed to be referring to you formally?" I found my eyebrows knitting.
There were those dimples again and they deeply bore into his cheeks, deep as they softened his features slightly and brought out his high cheekbones. "Is that why you're forcing it on yourself then?"
"It's just that everyone calls you that, but. . .I don't feel–"
"You don't feel you've earned it?" He furrowed his neat eyebrows, which held a slight arch just close to the edge and brought out the shape of his eyes, sharpening them, and looked at me as if he was trying to peel off all the layers of my, often guarded, facade.
"I. . .maybe." I decided to just out myself, there was no use anyway. "I don't you very well."
"Well, most people just call me Nicholas, I don't mind," he explained, shrugging as if this was just about the easiest thing to do.
Of course, he looked comfortable behind that probably expensive piece of furniture and the lighting from the tall floor-to-ceiling window sure did reward him with graciously, despite how slightly dim the office was because of the darker pieces of furniture that were chosen, and then there was, of course, the walls which painted a black almost silvery, bringing out the deep green tones of the plants that decorated, almost, every corner of the office–the office was just as elegant, and deeply mysterious, and beautiful as its owner. The man who sat there looked quite comfortable in his space and it was obvious why.
"You can choose not to use it if you're not comfortable," he said, his eyes holding that glance heavy of disinterest and perhaps, even slight boredom, which he wore ever so often, "but being referred to so formally sounds so. . .pretentious sometimes, but. . .I'll try."
"If it makes you uncomfortable then what's the point?" I found myself being comfortable enough to let out.
"There's non, but there's less of a point in you forcing yourself to adjust to calling me by my last name," he stated, pulling the elegant, and almost dainty, and midnight black colored tie from around his neck and distracted me as he played with it, the other end of the tie being on his left hand and the other end is wrapped quite slowly, and uncomfortably tight, around his wrist as he flickered his very wrist almost absentmindedly, right before he stopped and nudged it with just one more movement of his wrist–then it loosened. "I'm not particular on certain formalities, perhaps."
"Some people prefer the formality though," I said, staring at the tie that was so insignificant currently as it was nowhere near his hands nor around his neck, it looked so small it was sort of pitiful to see.
There was a soft smile that formed as he looked at me. "You?"
"I just think it creates a comfortable space for everyone to do their jobs and makes–"
"You don't believe either of those things," he interjected, comfortably.
I cocked my head to the side. "You've figured me out."
He let out a deep yet slightly boyish laugh that was I found I couldn't help but smile too, the way it brought out such an easy light to him despite everything else, and despite how upset I was over his comment and observation I found my lips succumbing as I smiled willingly. "You look like you're having a great time."
"I'm not laughing at you, I just find it funny that you'd assume anyone could do that by just. . .looking at you, " he said, settling from his effortless, and seemingly gleeful, fit of laughter.
"Why's that funny?" I was still pretty much unable to keep my lips from smiling.
"Is there a man who can ever learn a woman by just looking at her?" He arched his left eyebrow, slightly. "Is there one foolish enough to try that with you? I'm not him."
"Why not?" I folded my arms.
"I'd only get to know you if you wanted me to," he said, his eyes slightly softening and obliviously gnawing at the nerves that often deepened inside me at the prospect of ever letting anyone ever learn the pathetic face that hid behind the hardcore one I presented so boldly.
"If you say so," I said, unsure just what to say that wasn't going to make me replay this conversation over and over again in that head of mine.
"What did you want to tell me before we got here and. . .made you uncomfortable?" He leaned forward looking up at me.
"I wanted to know if you were, perhaps, hungry?" I kept my hand away from my pinned-away curls because I had the impulse to just push them off my face despite how they were nearly pinned further from my face. "You haven't eaten anything."
"We still have–"
"We'll get this done, right after you eat," I said, quickly.
"Okay," he said, offering me a slight nod, "if you insist."