14 Voices

The Interview

Just as Rocky had told me last night, upon my arrival, I was led to a meeting room as soon as I entered the large extravagant foyer. For a split moment, I can't help thoughts of how I stuck out like a sore thumb. My clothes from thriftstore racks and self made, that I don't even come close to looking elegant and refined.

But I choose to push my depressing thoughts away and focus on my priority, which is this interview.

I'm currently sitting in front of a large oakwood desk. Refusing to let the soft cusioned seat lead me into a false sense of security. The interviewer has not arrived yet, probably because I came a half an hour earlier than necessary. But I'm glad to have the space to myself. It gives me a few minutes to collect myself.

I straighten my back and lock my shoulders back in a calm professional manner. I keep my hands neatly folded into my lap and stare at the chair directly in front of me as I force my breathing to remain steady.

I'm so full of nerves that I hardly slept last night. I couldn't stop thinking that this is some kind of trap. Or that there's some catch that I can't see yet. I'm just waiting for it all to come to light so I can analyze it all for later.

I gently let out a breath and force all my emotions and wandering thoughts into that tight box inside of me and lock it shut right before I feel the shift in the air at someone's presence entering the room.

I don't look back, and instead wait for the man wearing a light grey suit with a maroon tie to enter the room and sit in the seat I've been staring at previously. I watch as he places a small file down on the desk in front of him before he clears his throat and looks up at me.

His light grey eyes are framed with black glasses on a perfectly straight nose. He perfectly styled his dark hair that not a single strand can be seen out of place. Which is absolutely amazing to me.

He has distinctly gentleman like build, as if he was born in a suit of perfection. And his toned body beneath the suit and emotionless expression leaves me nearly breathless.

First word that comes to my head is Perfection. Not a single flaw in sight on his sharp and calculating face.

Prince Blackbourne is as pristine in person as he was in photos. If anything, the pictures didn't do him justice.

His handsome and blank face shows no hint of emotion, as if made of stone. Hell. Stone doesn't do him justice. He looks made out of pure granite or marble.

Then here I am, sitting in front of him wearing my nicest second hand clothes and still looking like I came from the slums. My already low self confidence went down a few notches in a matter of seconds. But I ignore my lacking self esteem in favor of hearing his deep monotone voice.

"Mrs. Sorenson, correct?"

Damn. Even his voice was perfect and smooth. As if a god themselves decended and is trying to play the part of a human. Then I can't help but think to myself that of freaking course I couldn't get lucky for him to talk with some hillbilly accent.

He makes me want to reach out and somehow destroy that perfection.

I mentally berate myself as I awnser his question with a short nod. Making sure to keep eye contact with him. Not letting my discomfort show in front of this man.

I will not show an ounce of weakness. If we are having a battle of wills, then so be it.

I make sure that the mask upon my own face is still firmly in place. He can't intimidate me. I won't let him. Weather it's intentional or not. There's nothing he could do to me that my step monster hasn't already tried. So if he wants to wear a flawless mask then I'll do the same.