the red investor was always likened to an empire of sorts, with each worker being patriotic plebeians under the government of their beloved king, Mr. Cavill. Through the connections of her aunt, amelia winters gets a job and falls almost immediately...
it took her until march to get used to working at the red investor. the people were pleasant once they didn't identify you as a threat. though how personable they were varied with each person; one thing she did notice was that they all held mr.cavill on a pedestal.
they praised the king with every chance they had and though they worked in the same building, she only saw him on fridays.
on friday's, around noon, he would walk through each floor and by 11:50 each worker was making absentminded preparations for it.
finally the elevator would sound and every other sound would be ripped from the atmosphere. his dark brown leather shoes emerge first; always right before left.
he strides in without his jacket, hands buried in his pocket as he would so casually look around without making eye contact with anyone.
"good noon" his voice would break the silence and a chorus of enthused voiced greeted him back.
how would a man as young as him own such an empire already? inherited maybe.
absentmindedly she trailed off from what she was typing as she watched a few of the workers flank him with inquiries; he doesn't seem at all overwhelmed. that's right, it happens every friday.
he presents himself every friday for just that purpose, small talks, questions, any thing they had in mind. for it pleased the king to see his subjects happy.
even some of the business owners who were there on business excused themselves to have a moment with him.
his lips curved at this, silver cold eyes trying their best to not let anyone feel left out as he glanced at each of them.
days ago she had a question too. looking at him now though, clothes adorning his fit figure like skin, she could only question his beauty.
fringes from his slicked back hair glided across his broad forehead.
could i brush it back maybe?
if ibrushed it back then maybe he would allow me to caress his stubbled cheeks and jawline. how beautiful his pale cold skin would look in my hands.
if he allowed me to caress his stubbled face, would he also also me to massage the swells of his lip with my thumb? just to memorize the texture.
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and fantasizing about touching him, from his face to his lips, her eyes wondered down his muscular neck, imagining how beautiful the plateaus of his pale chest must look. though the shirt was fitted enough for her to see each the outlines of his chest, it was not tight enough to for her to visualize his long torso.
it wasn't enough at all.
still her thoughts caused her heart to thump loudly, drowning out everything else and she glanced up at his face again.
finding mr. cavil's silver eyes on her face for the first time in three months, a soft gasp escaped her lips and she looked away almost immediately - toe curling in her shoes.
maybe he just zoned out and glanced her way. without realizing.
she tried to reassure herself.
sneaking a glance back at him, she realized he was quite aware of his own gaze and he offered a smile.
in her head, she panicked as choruses of "baka (idiot)" resonated within her and she sunk bank in her chair to retreat behind the walls of her cubicle.
the few workers that noticed were not pleased at all.
