Muse [18+] • REVISING

02 | Acquainted

V E R A

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The abruptness of the situation caused me to step back into the stiff figure and drop my wine glass, shattering all over the granite floor below me. As I tried to regain my composure, a pair of soft hands landed on either side of my body, steadying me. Attempting to hide my embarrassment, I exhaled and turned around.

"You must be Miss Adams. Damien Dupont." He extended his hand out, waiting for me to shake it.

Making eye contact, the first thing that came to mind—he wasn't what I expected a museum director to look like. I had expected a man well into his years, someone with wrinkles and gray hair, and possibly a receding hairline. To be blunt, I expected someone old.

I mean, being the head director of a renowned museum that held thousands of expensive works wasn't an easy job and it wasn't like there were a lot of people below the age of sixty that appreciated learning about art history.

But then again, the content in this museum wasn't exactly PG, so the possibility that it was run by someone younger wasn't completely out of the ordinary.

Shaking his hand, I tried to give him a small smile.

"Miss Adams—are you okay?" He asked, his eyes averting to the broken glass on the ground and back to mine.

"I'm so sorry, I realize this isn't the ideal first meeting. Do you have any brooms here? I can clean it up—" I said, in an attempt to clean up my mess, both physically and professionally.

"It's fine, I'll have Cordelia take care of it. I'm asking if you're okay because you're bleeding." He added, bending down. Pulling a handkerchief out from his breast pocket, he placed it on my left knee, right on the spot where my stockings had been torn.

"Oh—oh no, it's okay. I don't think that's from the broken glass. I tripped earlier, before coming in here and earned a few scrapes. It must've started to bleed and I didn't notice," I explained, as I tried to cover up with my coat, hiding from further embarrassment. "I can take care of it, it's only minor. Thank you."

I slightly bent down and grabbed the handkerchief from his hand, giving him an assuring glance that I'd be fine. Hesitantly, he let go of the handkerchief and stood back up. As I finished patting my knee with the handkerchief, I straightened out and placed it in my coat pocket.

"I apologize again for how unprofessional this is. Between catching me trying to touch the art and breaking your wine glasses—I'm sure you wish you had hired someone else." I let out a little laugh and looked down, trying to make things less awkward for me.

"Stop apologizing, Miss Adams. You're fine," He replied. "Here, we can talk in my office. I believe I have a first aid kit you can use as well."

❦

Walking through a long corridor with rather dim lighting, we reached two large french doors. Pulling one open, Mr. Dupont gestured to me to walk through, with him following suit.

His office was larger than most, as well as everything having a dark walnut finish to it. Book shelves had lined the back perimeter of the room while the remaining walls were filled with works of art. In the middle was a large desk with a black, leather chair behind it—similar to one of a throne.

"Sit." He asserted, walking around the bend of his desk and opening one of the drawers. He pulled out a small leather bag. Sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, he walked back around, towards me.