Hint of disappointment - Luke Hemmings

1.

'I thought I smelled second choice with a hint of disappointment.'

The boy, leaning against the wall next to the coffee machine, had his lips curled up in a smirk. He wore a tux that costed more than a month's rent, his curly sandy brown hair was carefully tucked behind his ear and his shoes were shinier than a diamond. As if all of that wasn't annoying enough, my fellow intern Luke Hemmings was also a complete ass.

Of course he saved up all his bad behaviour for when he was engaging in a conversation with me, around our boss he was all polite smiles and "looking good, sir". The filthy snake.

'It is called personal hygiene, you should try it,' I bit back as I turned my back to him to get my morning coffee.

If you saw me in line at the supermarket, you would not give me a second glance. As long as I remember I have always looked sort of mediocre. Brown hair that never seemed to grow any longer than my shoulders. Eyes that were also brown, but not the type of brown that resembles the wood of some fairy tale forest. I was of normal height and never wore clothes that would stand out in a crowd. Even my name could be considered nothing special: Abigail Jones, nicknamed Abby by all of my two friends.

To be fair, I never made an effort to look nice. That was because I found out people – read: men – tend to take you less serious when you looked pretty. And I did like to be judged for my intelligence. I could show you my perfect school records, my debating awards and my bachelor degree in Politics with a minor in environmental studies from the University of San Francisco, where I graduated with honours last June.

'I did, and it was so nice that I decided that the people of Haryana could also use some fresh water.'

I turned around and took a sip. 'If you think Cavanaugh is going to assign you the rapports on India, the hint of disappointment you smelled is your future.'

Luke and I had both started working at ATLAS in august. He had just finished a bachelor in Law with a minor in Middle Eastern studies and decided to annoy- excuse me, assist local NGO's in a gap year before he applied for a master at Cambridge. In his free time, he played the guitar in some dumb-ass Green Day wannabe band, so you could not possibly expect me to take this guy seriously.

So far, so good. ATLAS was a big organization with tight connections to the European Union, the ASEAN, the United Nations and basically everywhere were the power was. Its lobby varied from transparency for journalists to the education of girls, but Luke and I were both working at the Sydney headquarters, which specialized in the distribution of water.

We both were unpaid interns for Anthony Cavanaugh, whose name you would never read in a newspaper, yet every sitting head of state was on first name basis with him . And one of us was going to get a recommendation from him at the end of the year. The best one.

In other words, I would not let it be Hemmings.

'We'll see about that Jones,' Luke said, and he straightened his tie. 'I am just getting started.'