False Pretenses

Chapter 2

(I will soon start suggesting songs at the start of the chapters. Happy reading!)

________________________

In all honesty I did not know what to expect of either Elijah or his office.

Probably a boring office, files cluttered everywhere? Maybe a gruff looking desk manned by a guy wearing boring neutrals.

But it was good that I was out of expectations because god damn it, the room I had entered was a plethora of carefully placed colors. Beautiful, creative, classy and stylish.

Very Vogue.

Now we were talking, aye! Style practically hummed in the air.

As I stood there, in awe of everything, I had a serious debate with myself over whether or not to find the person who was the designated interior designer of this place and complement him or her for creating a vibrant masterpiece.

The man who stood behind the mahogany desk which was definitely not cluttered with files seemed to be busy looking out the window with his back facing me. He was on the phone and somehow he contrasted as well as complemented the interior.

Elijah Hamilton stood there looking like a runway model, which he probably was. Even his back looked gorgeous. I mean, what? He donned grey chinos with a baby blue shirt. Wait wait wait. Hold up.

Chinos?! For heavens sake, could anything surprise me even more?

"No. That's inconvenient. I already have a meeting. Try to rearrange." He said, sounding frustrated.

I stood silently and observed him with all my might. He had beautiful brown hair that looked perfect in a a quiff but his back was getting less and less intresting to look at, by the second.

"Yes. Perfect. Thank you. I'll see you then. Goodbye." He ended the conversation on phone and turned around.

Oh. Boy.

This man was artwork. I mean who the fuçk manages to look effortlessly sophisticated and easygoing, all in one moment?

Damn son.

"Please sit." He smiled. His British accent was unmistakable.

I stared.

I mean, what was this man doing? Ditching the runway for a stupid desk job? Hello?

He motioned towards the chair with an amused grin.

"You must be," he looked at the computer screen, "Violet Morgan."

I sat down still drawing blanks about what was happening.

"I don't mean to be rude but you're Elijah Hamilton? Truly?" I blurted out.

"In the flesh."

Damn. Those rumours were true.

"Now, lets get down to business Ms Morgan." His features became serious. All that happy, friendly aura vanished.

"Here. Tell me. What do you see?" He pulled out a sharpened pencil and a piece of paper and put them on his desk.

Uh, pencil and paper? Duh?

"Is this a test?" I asked. Couldn't hurt to be sure.

"Of sorts. Yes. You see, I've been disappointed by people who I fervently believed were quite good for the job. But they've proven to be remarkably...dull. And seeing the circumstances, I don't have much of a choice. So, a simple question. What to do you see?" Damn all those vowels and British men.