Twenty-two minutes. If Iona had known where her next meal was coming from, she would have left a long time ago.
But she needed the job badly. At this point she had called his phone, called his office who had said they were under strict instructions not to contact him, banged on the glass and rang the door bell a dozen times.
It seemed like Mr Bentley wasn't home and neither was any of his help. She wondered if it was a test of some kind, a trick or prank. Crazy rich people were...well crazy.
Regardless Iona wasn't leaving until she saw Mr Bentley even if this was some sick joke or test.
She set a timer on her phone to ring the bell every three minutes. Luckily the bell only rang in the house and didn't disturb the neighborhood. She knew because if she pressed her ear to the glass door while ringing it she could hear some faint distant sound of it.
Maybe Mr Bentley was home alone and deaf. But she had heard that deaf people rigged their door bells to their light so that it flickered to notify them of guests.
She wasn't leaving anyway, Mr Bentley could be home alone and crippled and it was taking him a long time to crawl through this big house to open the door. She would wait, she would see Mr Bentley.
Her phone beebed notifying her that another three minutes had passed since she last rang the bell. She stood up from the stairs leading towards the main entrance where she had sat to preserve energy and began ringing the bell again with renewed vigor.
Mr Bently, she screamed in a creepy sing song tone in her head. Open up the door Mr Bentley, I don't bite.
And just like that as if Mr Bentley had been waiting for that assurance all along, the large glass door opened inwards and a tall black man filled the space.
Iona looked up and noticed that there was an apology in his eyes but that was the least of what caught her intrests.
Mr Bentley was black like her.
A tall, darkskin, lean muscled, handsome man clothed in nearly nothing.
Her eyes did the irresistible size up from head to toe in a millisecond before she wrestled herself into professional composure and settled her gaze on his face.
Even his face was beautiful, his skin was smooth and his beard hair though a bit scruffy had the appearance of good management.
His lips were just the right kind of full, pink on the bottom lip and perfectly curved in that bow like shape. There was a slight bridge to his nose which sat very proportionate on his face.
His eyes, she tried not to look into for long, but she couldn't miss the almond shaped, honey brown beauty framed in lashes she knew she could never have naturally.
This man was obviously carved and sculpted rather than born.
Their professional gazes lasted a little longer than usual and just as it was bordering on awkward Iona spoke up.
'Mr Bentley?', she asked.
The beautiful man nodded pulling the door further inwards to make space for her to enter.
'Ms Quinn?', he said.
The bass in his voice caused something in Ionas lower belly to shatter so much she resisted the urge to place a hand below her belly button to cradle or catch her stomach she didn't know.
That's a black king right there, the voice in the back of her head whispered.
Regardless of what was going on in her head and her body, Iona offered a professional smile and stepped into the house far enough for Mr Bentley to push his large door close.
She occupied her eyes with stydying the features of his large entrance hall. There was only a large cream couch sitting opposite a full length mirror but Ionas gaze went back and forth between the couch and mirror to keep from looking at Mr Bentley who she could hear fiddling with some buttons on the door.
The fiddling stopped and Iona took a breath before looking back at her interviewer.
He was looking straight in her eyes with an intensity she knew she wouldn't be able to handle for long.
'So Miss Quinn', Mr Bentley said still holding her gaze 'you're black'.
There was a shocked pause where neither of them could believe he had just blurted that out.
Then they both laughed. A good care free laugh that washed away the nervous, awkward and tensioned air.
As she laughed, Iona felt her stomach crawl right back into its place, her heart slowed and the sweat in her palms dried off, her mind relaxed from worrying about her hair.
'Well you're black too Mr Bentley'.
Mr Bentley's laugh slowed as he caressed the muscles in his gut.
'Were you shocked?', he asked.
'Very', something in the atmosphere had caused Iona to relax so much that she felt free to talk.
It was something beyond finding out that Mr Bentley was black and she wouldn't have to scavenge some money together to purchase a wig.
'Well why were you shocked?', he asked.
But Iona shook her head, 'I should be asking you that. You were the one shocked enough to mention it'.
Mr Bentley grinned a grin that made Ionas stomach drop again.
'It's just that Mrs Stevenson recommended you. She seemed like a nice enough lady but she used several slurs per sentence I'm just surprised she had so much compliments about a black person. I guess she's not quite as racist as i thought'.
Iona nodded in agreement, 'I get what you mean. I was largely uncomfortable when i started working with her but later I soon found that she's just a woman comfortable in the guidance of stereotypes. You know men should provide and women are better off as house wives...'
'...and if a black person is financially affluent he is probably a musicain, drug dealer or basketballer', Mr Bentley interjected.
'Yes exactly. Wait...don't tell me she asked if you were a drug dealer?'.
'At our very first encounter. I was beyond surprised Miss Quinn. Well let's not just stand here. Come in'.
Iona laughed at the audacity of Mrs Stevenson even while marveling at the fact that she had forgotten she was here for an interview.
Mr Bentley led her down the entrance hall even as they both expressed their bewilderment about Mrs Stevensons many stereotypical statements.
When the hall way opened into a large sitting area, Ionas laugh was cut off by a bewilderment of first the size of the living room and second
the amount of unpacked boxes that littered it.
'Why were you surprised I was black?', Mr Bentley asked breaking into her thoughts.
'Eh well nothing much just my university is a PWI and when I do see black people it's just regular black people. Middle class black people. It just never occurred to me'.
Mr Bentley raised his eyes playfully at her scattered explanation. 'It really be your own people. Anyways I'll freshen up and be with you in a minute. Please si-'. He paused midway realising that the only couch in the living room had boxes on it. There were boxes everywhere.
Quickly Mr Bentley lifted a heavy looking box off the couch and found a space for it on top of another box. Iona couldn't deny how much she enjoyed the tug of his muscles when he lifted the box.
He turned to her with a sigh of apology
'Man am I glad you are black. You're not judging me right? even though I'm thiry minutes late to an interview I set and I can't even give you a good enough place to wait'.
Iona was in gigles but she managed to shake her head no.
'Thanks Miss Quin please just sit in this little space. I won't be long'.
With that Mr Bentley disappeared up the staircase.