Break of Dawn

07 | somewhere at the end of the rainbow

TUESDAY CAME with a change in the weather. Rory had woken up to thunder rumbling and grey skies. Ominous clouds covered the atmosphere and the looming threat of a storm made the day drag on gloomily. The rain only came at the end of the afternoon, pouring down mercilessly, and Rory was thankful she was sheltered when it did.

She had just arrived at the football team's offices when the first drops hit the ground. Charles Northrop had sent her an email at noon asking for a meeting at six p.m. The suddenness left no room for preparation, although it didn't take long for Rory to figure out that it didn't really matter.

Prepared or not, her encounter with Charles Northrop was bound to be one hell of a ride.

The first thing Charles Northrop did upon opening the door to his office was sizing her up.

He scanned her body — all five feet and nine inches of her — starting on the tawny brown hair tied up on a ponytail, down to her sea green eyes, then to the freckled cheeks and nose, where not even an ounce of makeup covered her skin — she knew appearing too feminine could spoil things in these situations. His eyes roamed to her chest covered in a white oxford shirt and then down to her denim-clad legs and finally to the bronze ballet flats on her feet.

Rory felt like a prey; ready to go into the lion's den by invitation of the lion itself.

"Aurora?" He asked, and she nodded "Come on in."

She waited a couple of seconds to see if he would go in before her, but — unsurprisingly — he didn't. Rory made a beeline for the chair, certain that he was checking her out from behind.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Northrop," she said once he closed the door behind him.

"No problem," he replied "Please take a seat," he gestured for his desk.

Rory sat down facing a high-backed leather chair, the type one would hope to find at an executive's office not behind a rather small desk of varsity team's employee. Charles Northrop soon came into her view and she took him in, he had a lean body and a scrawny face, with dirty blonde hair and pale skin, he looked no older than thirty-five and had the darkest set of black eyes Rory had ever seen.

"Gotta admit, I reckoned you'd be a little different—" He said with a hint of a southern accent in his tone, like he'd worked too hard for too long to change his enunciation "Less girly, for sure."

Rory swallowed hard, her lips on a thin line while her hands clutched tightly to her black leather satchel.

"Girly girls like football too," she said in a clipped tone, trying to keep her sarcasm harbored. It was easy to sense how that conversation would go, everything in Charles Northrop oozed of sexism, from the way his obsidian eyes kept scrutinizing her to the way he sat with his arms resting on the cushioned armrests like he was a king — like he was above her.

"Sure they do," he retorted absently, meaning anything but "From what Mrs. Jiang told me, I understand you yearn for a career in the sports industry."

"Yes, my main goal is actually in the football industry."

"Well, you see, watching Super Bowl and working on the football industry are two completely different things."

No shit Sherlock, she thought.

"I'm well aware."

"Good—," he started "Why d'you think you are suited to work in this field? I'm certain you'd find it is a lot easier to get into more conventional jobs."