Not All Is As Seems

Commencing

Impatiently I switch my gaze from the Sea-Dweller Rolex on my wrist to the black ash wood door a few meters from me. Yes, I said a Sea-Dweller Rolex, I may or may not like to flex about my watches, will that be an issue? You may be asking what the hell I am waiting for, and to that I say, that's none of your concern. What, just because you can now somehow hear what goes through my head doesn't mean getting answers out of me will be any easier.

Just as I decide to change my attention to the papers in front of me, I hear the silent click of the door handle turning, and the soft footsteps of someone enter the office and approach me. I look up to see a woman in a tight red dress, which is a bit too short for my comfort, looking back at me. When her striking forest green eyes catch my glare, she smirks, almost flirtatiously. I doubt she means for it to come off as such, as based on her outfit choice, she seems to be the kind of lady who tends to enchant men so often, it's simply second-nature. Still, the thought doesn't keep my sense of unease from increasing.

Ignoring the compelling feeling to ask her to kindly leave and never return I usually get whenever encountering anyone, I gesture the woman to take a seat in the armchair in front of me. I'll be straight with you, I'm not what most people would describe as a kindred spirit. In fact, most people who know me tend to describe me as a "cold-hearted insult of a person who wouldn't be able to smile, even if offered a lifetime's worth of cash." These words are obviously not something my mind conjured as an official description of me, but something someone has said to me in an attempt to perhaps hurt my feelings. However, as they addressed, I'm too "cold-hearted" for that to show results.

Let's see... ah she's here for the bounty hunter job. Well isn't this ironic? Once I skim through the resume I had received earlier that day on my desk, I return my gaze back to the woman's face. Let's just get this over with. "Hi, can I help you?"

She sits up a bit straighter. "Hi, I'm Breanna Meadows." I figured that much out from your resume, thank you. "I heard you have a job opportunity?" She looks me over for some reason. "Oh, you're British?"

She doesn't seem like the kind of person up for the job, but who am I to judge... I'm still judging her. "Er, yes. Pleased to meet you," yes I just lied, get over it, "I'm Agent, er yes I'm British, that is a correct statement."

"Agent what? Cool you're from Britain"

Why is she so caught up with me being British? Whatever, why don't we humour her? "Agent Agent."

She doesn't seem to catch the tone. "Your last name is Agent?"

Oh, well if she can't catch sarcasm, not my problem. Let her believe what she wants. "Yeah, kinda. Heard that," When I say heard, I mean read off the paper in front of me, "you are an expert in sword fighting and self-defence, and that's all we need. Are we done here?"

She tilts her head suspiciously. "Wait! That's it?"

"Yep." I glance down at my watch. Out of practised courtesy, I invite her, "Well I was going to get some lunch, want to join?"

*****

I usually meet with important people, who happen to always be busy, so understandingly they politely decline. My error this time, however, was I forgot this wasn't one of those meetings. Imagine my dismay when she agreed.

I haven't been in New York for too long, but I've done my research on the place, so luckily I knew a half-decent place close by. The closer the better, meant less small talk to make. 

Even though that means less small talk, unfortunately, it didn't mean no small talk. My dismay increased at the discovery that Ms. Meadows was a talker. I kept looking down at my watch, partially because I was counting down the time it would take us to reach the place, partially because I hoped I look too busy to talk to. It didn't work.