"Excuse me! Would you please slow down?" I plead, catching up to the speeding, rude man. He may be short but his strides were insanely long.
"Yes?" He inquired. "I'll be taking those, thank you very much," I snag my moving boxes away from his grasp and head for the elevator as fast I could.
"W-what are you doing?"
"What I was doing all along. Leaving."
"But Mr. Marquis is waiting for you upstairs—he's expecting you."
"Tell him I'll meet him in heaven because there's no way in hell I'll be doing that. Ah! That is if he makes it," I smirked evilly, waiting for the elevator to shut in an insanely dramatic fashion.
"Ma'am, could you please just listen to him?"
"Ma'am!?" I gasp at the thought. "I apologize, miss, but he has a deal to strike with you and I'm sure you'd be interested in it."
"Good sir, I'm not a fan of repeating myself. If my mind serves me well, I recall saying, 'Tell him to take it to hell with him!'"
"B-but he—" he tried to make out, but he got what was a lax wave, goodbye, and the elevator doors, finally, slammed shut in his face.
Heh.
God, I feel so powerful right now.
Leaning back into the cold walls, I slowly bring myself back to my reality. Just how was I going to tell Louis about all this? And mom and dad— they were so happy when I landed this job. I'll have to update my resume when I get home and start applying for smaller companies if not cooperations. I could ask manager Vladimir to be my reference; he's pretty high up so that'll be a guaranteed trump card for me—good news for a change. Speaking of, how do they plan on covering my reason for ejection? No way, "throwing up on her boss" could be written on my records, acknowledged as a perfectly viable cause. They'll probably make up an excuse to cover for that clown of a boss! That domineering, tasteless, pure evil of a boss... who could possibly choose to ruin me ruthlessly for no other reason than spite. But even if it were there - in all its glory - that couldn't possibly stop employers from contacting me. Could it?
Ding!
The elevator drew open.
"Miss Rose, please, spare me a moment."
"GAAAHH!!" I screeched at the sight of Chase who, might I add, magically got to the ground floor from the 5th, faster than the elevator itself!
"GOD, YOU SCARED ME!" I could still feel my frail heart trying to escape my chest. "How did you get here so fast? Your strides are beginning to scare me, man— why are you so fast for such a stout person— have you considered trying out for the Olympics for a change?" Useless twattle aside, he sums up the nerve to shove me back into the elevator, then casually began pushing buttons like what he did wasn't at odds with some human rights violations written somewhere in the constitution.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" He stayed silent; hands cradling one another like a poised butler. "Seriously?" I scoff, crossing mine just the same. "I can sue you, you know," to which he doesn't move, but after a long, tedious minute passes in curiosity, he finally inquires:
"What for?" turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of my scrunched-up visage, he asked it tryingly.
Oh, I see you too.
"For detainment against my will."
"With what proof?"
And he was right. Where was my proof? Elevators usually come equipped with cameras for the public's general safety, not to defend the rights of an ex-employee who doesn't want to bend to the wishes of the head boss in charge. But then again, I don't have to take him - or this situation - seriously. I said all that garbage on a whim earlier, since life persisted on pushing me into these absurd situations, I don't think I have a choice anymore. "The damage to my mental and psychological health," I went along.
He chuckled, straightening up and adjusting his cuffs, fixing his mangled professional appearance. "That's proof enough."
He said it almost as if he was going along with my pretense too.
"We're here," he announced, moving to clear a path for me as the door moved open—the confidence he showed earlier seemed to evaporate as he started to sweat bullets, ruining his previously preened demeanor. About exiting the enclosure, he blocks my path with his hand, stares me dead in the eye, and said, no, begged, "Please, don't try to swivel out of this again."
Bingo!
"I need this job."
"I won't." I shrugged loftily, leaving ahead of him, but eventually, he passes me—I swear, this man's legs are next-level—leading me into the gregarious office of Mr. Marquis himself. He flings its grand ligneous doors ajar, to which I thought would reveal an out-of-this-world palace of some sort. But oh. my. gosh.
What the fuck?
I'm at a loss for words right now. This wasn't anything like I'd imagined at all. I mean, why does such a high-ranking man lack what every other genre of himself has?
Taste.
Every inch of his office was covered in black and dull colours: from its tall, grand silk curtains to the tiniest miscellaneous objects, circling back to, everything in the damned room! Who is the designer who went along with such a request?! I'll have you know that you're a disappointment to your kind; this is an architectural disaster! Even Hot topic's interior design beats this black hole any day!
"Come in," Chase prompted, to which I complied. " Mr. Marquis will be with you shortly," he announced before attempting to close the doors.
"WAIT!"
"Yes?" he paused, then gave me an ugly, undeserved dubious look.
I double down on lividity, which efficiently wiped off the sass he dared to even give me. "What did you just say?"
"That Mr. Marquis will be with you shortly?"
"He'll be with me?" I scoffed hard, arms tied to my hips and feet hammering into the ground. "He's got some nerve! I didn't even want to come down here on my own accord, but since the clown wanted so desperately to meet me, here I am I guess! Now I have to wait for him? There should be a limit to how entitled a person can get, don't you think? What now? Should time start waiting for him too?!"
I was expecting if anything for him to back up his ass of a boss, but instead, he put on an ominous face, as if warning me not to say such blasphemous nonsense about king Henry the eight, or Maximilien Robespierre. But personally, I think he was leaning more along the lines of the king Henry analogy. I mean, His eyes were real-life, round saucers, screaming, "YOU WON'T EVEN GET A FREAKING FUNERAL! THEY'LL BUTCHER YOU INTO ATOMS!"
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a tad too much, but this supposed loyalty he showed felt more like he was being held at gunpoint to me.
"Come sit with me."
"What?! I couldn't possibly—"
"Why? Are you really going to leave me here all alone?" He's been sentenced to a life of silence; never to make his opinions known about his superiors or anything. "For all you know, I could steal something. Anything! I'm sure even his pens are designer of some sort so they'll make me a good fortune, don't you think?"
What a sad way of living. I'd decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to live like that, and that I should take my shots at real living. He should take his shot too.
"And besides, what makes you think I'll actually wait for him, Chase?"
He stared at me blankly, daring me to break the promise I made earlier.
"Christ-bloody-almighty," he sighed, giving in and walking over. "I seriously don't get paid enough for this!"
"Me neither," I follow him with my eyes.
"By the way, I'd prefer if we kept things professional, and you addressed me by Mr. Jacques."
"Okay, Chase!" I smile at his shocking display of disdain. I hadn't realized it earlier, but Chase - as he is called by everyone at the company - is the only person who is often seen with Mr. Marquis in and out of the public eye. There were even funny, uncanny legends going around about him, like, "the only way to the Father is through me". An odd reference to a bible verse that supposedly sums up their relationship. I guess it really was true then.
"I don't get it. What exactly does David like about you anyway?" I heard him mutter.
"He what?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, that wasn't nothing!"
"No, no! It was really nothing!"
"He likes me, does he nooooow," I teased. And by god, he was tomato red.
"Nooooo, Miss Rose, I said it was, er, spite! Yeah, spite!" He took a seat miles away from mine. "He's spiteful towards you," He concluded confidently.
Does he take me for a fool? But most importantly, is he scared of me? "Hey, it's whatever. You go ahead and tell him the feeling is mutual."
"You'll be meeting him very soon, so I don't think they'll be any need for that."
"I suppose," I agreed, allowing silence to dawn yet again. How I hate quietness. "So Chase—"
"Mr. Jacques."
"So Chase, how exactly did you land your job as a driver for Mr. Marquis? Did he strike a deal with you too?"
"There was nothing of that sort. I simply earned my spot."
"Then... do you think I earned mine today?" I inquired slyly. He had to give me more to work with about this common enemy.
"... I don't know. That's a conversation you can pick up with Mr. Marquis."
"You are way too uptight for your own good. He's not here so you can tell me." I smiled coyly, making another attempt at getting anything out of the walking safe, but he stayed put.
"C'mon! What's your relationship with David? There's got to be more than just your, 'loyal driver' antiquity or 'the way to the father is through me' stuff that follows you."
"What is following me—and Mr. Marquis is a friend from jr high! My father is an honest, virtuous countryside farmer!"
"Woah! You've been friends with the asshole for that long?!" I misjudged him earlier then. He wasn't staying quiet because he was forced to. He was staying quiet because he didn't want to bad-mouth his BFFIIDWDT.
Best Freind Forever; If I Die, We Die Together.
Don't judge me, it's something I've got going with the girls.
But then, why was he threatened with getting fired so suddenly? Something's not adding up. "Chase, why is David threatening to fire you, then?"
He started to perspire again. His hands got fidgety, and his eyes darted around from one spot to another in incoherent patterns.
"I can't say."
"Chase, honey," I take his hands daringly then move in on him.
"H-honey!?" He stuttered, shocked, before rambling on about how I was making him uncomfortable. "Miss Rose, I'm gonna put it out there! Since our encounter this morning, your erratic behavior has been very unsettling and I'd appreciate it if you just—"
"Miles!"
"Y-yes?"
"That goddamn bastard is no friend."
BANG!
The door swings open to reveal the asshole in all his repugnant glory.
"D-D-David! I mean, Mr. Marquis!" Chase panicked, frantically trying to get me off him. He's not so strong for a man, no offense.
"Mr. Jacques," he greeted; his voice bouncing off the walls, bathing us in deep, virile, masculinity.
"It's not what you think." Chase pleaded.
"Oh, I'm sure it's not." He cleared his throat huskily, moving into his desk to take out gadgets, gizmos, and pieces of paper from amongst his files. And while that was happening, Chase got me off him, only because I had let him, and frantically exited the room.
"Mr. Marquis," I smile out of courtesy, barely hiding the disgust riddled in my voice all over my face.
His eyes immediately dart up from his papers and unto me. "Ah," he paused. "Ms. Rose," he said, merely acknowledging my existence.
Dear Jesus, I know killing is bad and all, but forgive me in advance and instead, sparingly grant me entry into the bosoms of your heavenly resting place because today, I'm about to end this bitch!