Carmen - H.S

Chapter 7

*fat Albert voice* Hey, hey, hey. Idk I feel like this chapter is so awkward but I guess I'll fix it later.

Please comment and vote if you'd like! :)

"Go get me a coffee."

"Umm, I-I'm not actually supposed to-"

"Peppermint mocha, decaf, no whipped cream," she ordered, disregarding his protests. It was like he was mute.

"B-But Ron said I shouldn't-" he began. He was abruptly stopped by her withering glare.

"I just told you to do something," she snapped, and her voice was as sharp as the edge of a gleaming sword. "Now go do it."

Harry scurried out of the room, feeling his heart pound frantically in his ribcage. A lot of things scared him. Public speaking, bikes, large dogs, loud noises, heights, strangers, enclosed spaces, his father's disappointment. The list could go on and on. But nothing frightened him quite so much as the pint-sized Carmen Willows.

It had only been a week, and she'd taken every chance she could to terrorize him. She'd somehow managed to hide all of his important documents, and he'd missed at least three deadlines because of it. She would slide her hands all over him, his hair, his thighs, his chest, when they were alone, eyes dark and smoky, then ignore him whenever anyone else was around. Once, she'd even cut a lock of his hair when his back was turned. He'd started to rub the fuzzy spot whenever he was stressed, which was all the time. And that was hardly the worst of it.

The worst part was, she never stopped laughing at him. He couldn't stand the teasing and belittling she constantly threw his way, but he was much too terrified to make so much as a peep.

He wasn't sure exactly why she was so formidable. She was delicately small and innocent looking. The trouble she caused him was merely childish, and he should've been able to roll his eyes and ignore her.

But something about the girl made him start to sweat uncontrollably and tremble whenever she looked his way. Perhaps it was the power that seemed to radiate from her. She was Ron's most important client, and she knew it. No one would attempt to smother her rising star and swelling ego if it meant they'd lose profit.

Perhaps it was the fact that she acted like the queen bee from some poorly written chick flick, and everyone else was afraid of getting stung. She sent biting, hateful words to anyone who got in her way and seemed to live off of their fear and humiliation. She was, to put it simply, mean.

But here he was getting her coffee like a good little errand boy. He was weak and pathetic and any other insult he could think of. He hated himself.

But he refused to quit this job. He had worked far too hard to get here. He recalled every night spent studying while his classmates partied wildly, and every lunch spent reading business textbooks alone in the towering library stacks. He had sacrificed too much to get a job like this, so he defied her in the only way he could. By staying.

He finally reached the gourmet coffee machine that was installed on the third floor. The plump, amiable woman who manned it grinned at him, waving a pale hand in his direction. He returned the gesture shyly and stepped forward.

"Hello, Gale," he greeted, but his voice was barely above a whisper, and he had to repeat himself.

"Hello, dear," she chirped. Her watery blue eyes blinked at him. "How are you?"

He simply nodded, and she smiled, knowing that was the best she could hope for from him. "What does the little missus want today?" She was already used to him coming here, as Carmen had a coffee craving that never seemed to be satisfied.

He repeated what Carmen had said, this time loudly enough to be heard. She willingly obliged, and soon the order was filled.

"Thank you," he mumbled, but she was too absorbed in cleaning up to notice him. Grasping the cup firmly in his long fingers, he headed back to the elevator, hoping desperately that Ron would be back. She never bossed him around nearly as badly when he was there.

He dashed into the room as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, he didn't see the large figure in a pricey suit standing right in front of the door.

"Damn it," Ron groaned, as coffee and bits of whipped cream dripped from his suit. He could feel the burning liquid seeping through his clothing, and he hissed in pain.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, shooting the stuttering, blushing Harry a glare. Then he trudged out of the room to clean up.

At first, Harry simply stood there, staring intently at the brown stain on the fluffy, beige carpet. Then he heard something. It was quiet, so quiet he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. But it grew in volume, and his cheeks burned even more fiercely with shame.

She was laughing at him.

Her laughter was mesmerizing, like the harps that angels played upon plush, white clouds. But at the same time, there was more than a hint of malice behind it. She thought of him as a pathetic, bumbling joke; that much was clear. He felt like crumbling into ash under the fiery rays of her scorn. In this world, he was nothing, and she was everything.

Finally, she collected herself. Her grin turned mischievous, as she firmly settled her exorbitant eyes on him.

"You still haven't told me your name, sweetheart," she cooed. Her lashes were unnaturally long.

He only blinked rapidly at her. Maybe she was like a witch. If he didn't tell her his name, she couldn't hold any power over him. Well, any more power.

"I think I should make up my own name for you," she giggled, leaning closer to him in her pristine chair.

She tapped a thin finger on her chin, as if seriously dreaming up the name that would suit the timid, gangly boy best. He was already beginning to sweat.

"Maybe I should call you my bitch." Technically, that was exactly what he was, but by no means did he want to be called that. He had to say something, anything to get her to stop. This was absolute torture to the minuscule, fragile ego that remained huddled deep within him, faintly breathing but still alive.

"Could you please stop?" he asked, and although his voice cracked, it was loud enough to reach Carmen's impertinent ears.

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and looked at him carefully. She flashed him an achingly sweet smile.

"Oh, look," she smirked. "The little pussy is standing up for himself. How cute." Just as he began to fear that his face would soon burst into flames, Ron strode back in. His clothes were rumpled and still stained, a completely unprofessional look. He would just have to make do, he thought with a sigh.

"Bring me the quarter three projections, Harry," he grumbled. Harry saw her grin widely upon hearing that bit of information and groaned internally. He instantly obeyed Ron and sped from the room, thanking his lucky stars that he'd finally escaped her clutches.

Her attitude towards him had yet to change and seemed as if it wouldn't budge, though he'd noted with some relief that she treated everyone here in much the same way. She snapped at Gale, the kindly coffee woman. She taunted Eddy, the genius accountant. She even plunged her stinger into Anna, the head of marketing. No one bothered to stop her, and she ran wild and free.

She was terrifying to say the least, but at the same time, puzzling. How could someone laugh with a throat of honey one moment and spit stinging words the next? How could someone smile and become the image of loveliness, and then glower with the ferocity of a pride of lions in the blink of an eye?

She was a twisted mystery. And he wanted her to stay unsolved.