"Hi Jordan" I smile at our driver that we have had since Albert left. Jordan was a middle age man with deep chocolate eyes. Jord was tall, 6'2 maybe? He had a dark complexion and was made to look even darker with all the dark clothes he wears. I knew he was married and that he has two young daughters, Malia and Karsen. Even though he has a hard demeanor and only ever smiles when I ask him about his daughters. You wouldn't be able to tell from first glance but I knew he has a soft heart. I like Jordan and his smile. Even if I only see it once in a blue moon.
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"Hello Ms. Davidson" I roll my eyes at the name I have been given over the years. Dad likes everyone to be super formal with me. "Hello Ms. Davidson" "How are you Ms. Davidson?" "Do you need anything Ms. Davidson?" It's all so suffocating. Like, no, my name is Sophia so please call me that. I am not my father, my uptight father.
"How many times have I told you to call my Sophia?" I laughed and Jordan shook his head and smiled in the read view window. My dad looked up from his phone and looked between Jordan and I.
"Soph I told him to address you properly." He said with annoyance.
"Dad it's fine. I want him to addre-" I began to explain to him about how it is okay for him to be casual to me.
"He will call you Ms. Davidson. He is working for me and he will follow my instructions." The car was quiet. I knew Jordan heard what my father said and the now tense air flooded my senses. We didn't say anything for the rest of the ride to dad's office.
Tall black walls stood way above me and way above the grey clouds. Touches of dark woodsy timber add an accent of nature.Tinted windows lined up in perfect rows blending in seamlessly with the dark structure. Scientifically it is the lighting that helps reflect the picture of the sky off the window but I'd like to think it is because of luck and beauty. The smooth pavement spreads down the entire street and since dad pays people to literally wash off the trash, our cement still looks white. The front entrance is lined with brick which stands out against the black walls. Flower boxes stand at each end of the rotating doors. Two doormen stand proud and alert in their black suits and sunglasses waiting for a moment of danger.
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Paparazzi stood outside the iron and windowed doors, flashing their camera, yelling out questions and accusations about my family. Neither of us left the car while Jordan exited and walked to my door side. I watched as the usual security guards rush out and push people out of the way. Jordan waited for the crowd to move to make a narrow walkway before her opened my door for Dad and I to slip out and walk in.
