What Kind of Man || Jim Moriarty

Twenty Two

A disposable biro pen tapped randomly on the edge of the desk, sticking halfheartedly to the beat set by the small clock on the opposite wall. It was raining outside, not that she could hear it in the part of the building she was in. But she knew the forecast and it still managed to put a dampener on her mood.

Katherine sat hunched over, head held up with the palm of her hand, yet she was prepared to make a dramatic move into glamorous receptionist should anyone spontaneously appear from around the corner. It had been a slow day, having only been made to answer a call from Sebastian and take in a handful of letters to Jim once the post arrived. After a month, it had become clear that whoever normally did this job wouldn't have had to be very intriguing behind the eyes. She was there to look pretty. Create a first impression for the image of the company to the client when they came here, give his men something pretty to hear when they were trying to reach their boss. Or in the most recent case, be Jim's personal runner.

Get him lunch, bring him his midday drink, tidy his desk and office. So much for not getting her hands dirty, she'd had to dust and disinfect his whole office last week while he sat behind his desk watching her every move. Especially when she was on her hands and knees, buffing up the bottom of the windows. She'd seen his smirk, and even if she liked the attention, it was awfully smarmy.

But mostly...she was confused. Another month of her life had passed by in this office and every day went the same. She'd get picked up at 8, sometimes with Moriarty, sometimes not. She'd go through emails, messages, which she could not arrange in order of importance for him. See over the post and then wait for further instructions. Yet, he was still to tell her the real reason he'd gave her this position and how long she was going to be there for. Katherine realised the more time that passed, the more she missed the exciting jobs. Being taken to mysterious locations and being told to cover up dirty secrets. Meeting the fear filled new criminals who were begging for Jim's help like she once had. It entertained her, it thrilled her.

Sitting behind a desk reading over things she didn't understand was not thrilling in the slightest.

Unbeknown to Katherine, the day of the shooting had sparked something inside her. Now she missed the adrenaline and danger. She wanted to be more involved. She wanted to be scared, or better yet, cause the fear. Secretly she still had to admit to herself that she wanted Moriarty because of the power that dripped from him and the danger which manifested behind his eyes. She wanted him to show her what he had out there in the world and she wanted a real part in it.

"Katherine." She physically jumped, doing a poorer job of looking on the ball than she'd thought she would be capable of. It took her a few seconds to then work out the voice wasn't in front of her at the desk, but instead behind her from the office.

Katherine turned her chair slowly and let her eyes rake over the man's form, from slicked back hair to shining Italian leather. "What is it?" Humming, she ran a hand through her bouncy hair and gave a small smile.

"Busy?" There was that amusement again, that tone which had become oh so familiar over the past month of spending time around him. Jim still sent her cocky emails when he had a spare minute, taunting how long it took her to read emails or write a letter for him, and had in the past week began calling her too. Sometimes just calling and not speaking to see what she'd do. 

"No." Katherine shook her head, jabbing a hand over her shoulder at her desk space. "I was just about to call up that man you asked me too." Some employee he needed to speak to for some matter, she didn't ask what.

"Forget that." Moriarty waved the task off with a flick of his hand in the still air and smirked at her. His other hand was buried in his pocket, feet placed casually apart, when he narrowed his eyes and said; "I want to talk to you."