Ford Escort

3 - On the Dotted Line

I'd never felt so out of place as I did clinging to Mr. Ford's arm. He escorted me through his marble foyer, my worn sneakers no doubt leaving skids on the tiles, my ripped jeans drawing the attention of everyone we passed - which was significantly more people than I had expected.

He appeared to have a full staff and then some, mulling around the enormous mansion. There were people cleaning, people toting clipboards and scribbling notes, people arguing both on the phone and in person, and every one of them stopped what they were doing for a moment to scrutinize me as I walked past. If I hadn't already concluded that I was in over my head, it was an inarguable fact now.

With so many people working for him, it seemed odd that he would need to hire additional staff solely to walk his dog. Didn't he have a personal assistant who could do it? Could none of these full-fledged adults take 20 minutes out of their day to handle such a simple task?

He lead me into a large, masculine room - walnut bookshelves lining the burgundy walls, leather furniture and soft, warm lighting. Before I could grasp what was happening he was closing the door behind us. Now alone with him in his private study, I was officially convinced something was about to go wrong.

"Alright," I said, making him jump with my unexpected volume, "What do you want from me, honestly?"

He continued to look amused as he released my arm and made his way over to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room. He took a seat, reaching into a drawer and retrieving a thick stack of papers. Motioning for me to sit in one of the chairs opposite him. I hesitated, feeling like his lack of a reply was somehow condescending, as if he were refusing to justify my discomfort.

"I'm not going to sit," I replied firmly. I took a step backward, towards the door, "I don't know what this is really about, but I have a feeling I shouldn't stay to find out."

"As I said before, I simply prefer to discuss employment contracts in private." He replied, the amusement on his face gone, "I don't like my other employees hearing negotiations, and I definitely don't want the general public snapping pictures of me with such a beautiful young woman. That's how rumors start."

When I didn't move, he continued, "I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable, I can assure you this meeting will be purely professional. You are welcome to refuse the position and leave at any time. However, since we came all this way I would appreciate you at least taking a seat ."

My hand hovered, inches from the doorknob as I scrutinized his face. His tone was calm, his gaze warm and unthreatening. As strange and over-the-top as I felt the entire situation was, I had never applied for this type of job before, so I was really in no position to make judgements. I couldn't completely ignore the tight twist in my stomach, but I cautiously lowered my hand from the door and made my way over to his desk.

"Thank you." He grabbed a pen and started scribbling something on the papers in front of him as I timidly took my seat, "Alright, so what is your experience with dogs?"

"Uh," The question, while completely relevant, had managed to catch me off guard, "I work in a pet supply store... and I had a family dog growing up. She died a while ago, but we had her for almost 13 years."

"What kind of dog?" He didn't look up from the papers in front of him, I tried to nonchalantly glance over and see what was on them, but the font was too small.

"Chocolate lab."

"And did you personally care for the dog a lot?" He finally looked up and met my eyes, I shifted a little in my seat.

"Yes, my older brother and I took turns feeding her and taking her on walks."

"Great." His eyes turned back to the paperwork, "You seem to be in good shape, I assume you'd be able to take them on at least two moderate walks per day?"