Betsy and The Beast

Three (Betsy)

The man was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Well, that wasn't fair. His mother could be a genuinely nice lady, for all I knew. The man was a bastard. Well, that wasn't fair either. I didn't know anything about his pedigree. Damn it, the man was making me insane.

I'd been stressing all weekend. Instead of enjoying the gorgeous weather, I had spent my time working myself into a tizzy. Anthony Chapman was offering me a better job, but at what cost? I'd heard enough about him to know he didn't do anything out of the kindness of his heart. So, what was in it for him?

I should ignore his offer. I should report for my usual janitorial duties and be damned the consequences. My curiosity got the better of me, though, and I found myself heading for the tenth floor bright and early Monday morning. When the doors whooshed open, I took a hesitant step out. I turned back a couple times, only to whirl right back around. Eventually I made it to Anthony's office and knocked softly.

"Come in." His demanding tone made me jump, but I pushed the door open anyway. His eyebrows raised as I entered and he sat back in his chair, watching me intently. When I didn't move further into the room, he nodded, "Shut the door and have a seat."

It made me nervous to enclose us in together, but I did so anyway. Then I tentatively took a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. I'd dressed a little more formal, not knowing what to expect, but still enough to be me. I wore a light weight, long-sleeve mauve colored dress with black leggings underneath. My black boots were more combat style than dress shoes, but I felt like he should feel lucky I even showed up. I'd left my hair down, just clipped back out of my face, so it flowed freely down my back.

Anthony picked up his phone and said, "Miss Solomon will no longer be reporting for janitorial duties. She's acquired a position on the tenth floor."

When he hung up the phone, without saying goodbye, and I asked, "Do you plan on getting that job back for me if whatever you have planned up here doesn't work out?"

"No." He said without further explanation.

I gritted my teeth, "I didn't realize you knew my last name."

"Betsy Solomon, 214 Redwood Drive, Apartment 7. I looked you up after our encounter on Friday." He stated, matter-of-fact.

I sighed, "Look, I don't understand why I'm here. I almost didn't come up. I was just going to report to my usual job, while trying to forget you and I ever had a conversation. My curiosity got the better of me, though, so why don't you cut to the chase and tell me what it is you want from me?"

"What makes you think I want anything from you? Maybe I'm just trying to help you out." He said, without emotion.  I didn't believe it for a second.  People like him never did anything without calculating their next move.

Why was he so cold? His apparent detachment was almost eerie. It made me antsy. It made me itchy. It made me want to do whatever I could to heal him. I didn't want him to know he was affecting me in any way, though, so I did my best to keep my voice even when I replied, "Your reputation tells me that's highly unlikely."

At my words, his face finally showed emotion. It wasn't a good emotion. He looked pissed. I braced myself, but instead of blowing up, Anthony gritted his teeth and stood. Then he demanded, "Come with me."

I watched him walk out of his office, before scrambling after him. I was in such a hurry to catch up, I didn't realize he'd stopped just outside his office door to wait for me. I almost barreled right into him, but he caught my elbow, so I didn't trip. Even through the material of my sleeve, I felt his heat. He instantly dropped his hand as if I'd burned him.

"This way." He said and headed down the hallway. I followed until he stopped in the entry of a dark room. When he hit the switch, my eyes about bugged out of head. The room held a row of filing cabinets along one wall, but the rest of the room looked like a cyclone had hit. Papers and folders were piled everywhere.

"What is all of this?" I asked, nervous.

"Your new job, at least for now. I can't seem to keep an assistant employed on this floor."

"Golly gee, could it be your sunny disposition that scares people away?" I couldn't help muttering, sarcastically.

I knew he heard me, but he continued on as if I hadn't spoken, "Things have gotten out of control and I can't find anything anymore. I want you to spend your time getting things filed away. When you're done, I'll give you your next task."

He began to walk away, and I frowned at the mess. I wasn't afraid of hard work and, honestly, this would be easier than some of the toilets I'd seen. However, I hollered down the hall, "Is there a computer I can use to create labels?"

"I'm headed out and won't be back until late. You may use my computer. Any other file supplies you may need, you'll find in the supply closet at the north end of this hallway." He said, without turning around and then he was gone.

I turned back to the disaster and then I looked down at my attire. So much for dressing the part, I thought. I'd make do until lunch time, I decided. Then I'd go home to change. I'd have the room organized in no time and Mr. Grumpy-pants would have no choice but to be impressed. I refused to acknowledge why it was important to me that I impress him. Instead, I was telling myself this was just my opportunity to better my life.  Scrubbing toilets had definitely not been my first choice of career path.