Finding Hope in Blue

Chapter 5: Remington

Reece King as Remington Mars

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Cymbeline's POV:

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," the words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. But God, it felt good.

"Cym-"

"No, don't Cym me. You have no right to call me that anymore. God- are you serious right now?" I yelled as quietly as I could to not grab unwanted attention.

"I know it's not ideal, but-"

"Not ideal," I scoffed. "Yea, no shit, Sherlock. You're in love with somebody else and you have the balls to sit there all cool and collected as if everything were alright. Wow. I can't believe I spent 5 fucking years of my life with you," I seethed. I couldn't even look at him.

My blood ran hot. I'm sure I was as red as a tomato. I was angry.

He flinched at my words. Hah, good.

"I can't believe you," I said after he didn't even bother to say anything else.

Despite all my anger and hate for the man that sat before me, a twinge of hope twisted in my heart. Hope that he was lying or faking or pranking. Anything to tell me that I was all he ever wanted and more. But the longer we sat there, staring each other down, the more that same hope died.

"I think I should go," he said after a while. I bit my lip to stop myself from saying anything I might regret. He took that as his exit.

I tensed up as he walked by me and a hint of his cologne wavered over me. That may be the last time I ever smell it. And thank God for it.

Once  I heard the door to the coffee shop close, I put my head down and let my tears fall freely. It built in my chest, the pain. It came up to my nose and stopped air from entering. It ran down my face like waterfalls, each a memory of the past 5 years.

I grabbed a tissue and wiped as much of my sorrow as I could. I had to get out of here. But all of a sudden, a shadow covered my figure. A tall shadow.

I looked up the length of the person before me. His face looked familiar.

"Where's the Mary Poppins bag?" he asked. Ah, the man from the mall. God, I was not in the mood for this.

I fixed my best glare at him. Couldn't he tell I wanted to be alone?

I watched as he inspected my red eyes, runny nose, and incessant sniffling. He scrunched his brows in thought before sitting in Rafael's previous seat.

"How may I be of service?" he sat back and stared at me.

"Excuse me?"

"Order me."

"Is this some sort of kink? Because I'm not into it," I rose a brow at him.

"Hey, hey, we don't kink shame in this house. And no, it's not, but I can never quite resist a damsel in distress. So, order me, blue-haired stranger," the man grinned contently.

I rolled my eyes. I may be a damsel. I may be in distress. But I did not need help with my problems. I could solve them on my own.

"Alright. Buy me a coffee and leave me the hell alone," I bargained.

He pursed his lips and nodded in thought. He stood up, ordered a black coffee, and left it on my table. Instead of sitting across from me, he sat a table away. When he met my eyes, he waved with a stupid smile gracing his lips.

Idiot.

I tried to ignore the glint in his dark brown eyes and the shine of his skin as I stood up, grabbed the coffee, held it out in a motion of cheers, and exited the shop. I walked down the streets and only seconds later did I hear the scurrying of somebody running behind me.

The stranger halted beside me.

"Didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Stalker," I sighed.

"I have a question."

"Better ask it now."

"Do you have a job?"

The question hit me like a ton of bricks. Who the hell was this guy? I glared at him again. What game was he playing at?

"I don't know who you think you are-"

"Look, I need someone to fill in this position until I can conduct proper interviews with those who actually want the job. My friends are all spoiled pricks, my coworkers obviously have their own jobs to focus on, so I have resorted to asking people on the streets," he laughed humorlessly at himself.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. He had to be a murderer. There was no way I was taking anything from this guy.

I stepped around him and continued walking, but he sidled next to me.

"Look, you don't have to stay that long. A month at most. By then, I'll have somebody to fill that position. I'll pay you handsomely," he offered. My footsteps stopped.

I didn't have a job. I didn't have money save for the few hundred dollars in my bank account. Besides that, I didn't have anything. I would be slacking behind in rent by next month. I needed the money. Against my wishes, I considered it.

"What job is it?"
"Personal assistant."
"That makes sense why that position isn't taken," I nodded jokingly.
"Wow, thanks. I really feel the love," he feigned hurt. "But seriously, please consider it."

"I don't even know you. You're a complete stranger to me. You got a business card? Something to make me believe you aren't a murderer or rapist or anything disgustingly vile?" I asked. He lifted one brow and nodded.

"Remington Mars. No business card on me right now, but I do have a phone number," he held out his hand. I placed mine in his and shook it. 

"Your name is Remington? Your parents must have hated you," I said.

"What's wrong with my name?" he reeled back.

"Never mind," I murmured and asked for his number. He gave it and I promised I would consider it. But even as I said it, I was sure I knew what my answer was. It was that or getting a job at a fast food restaurant.

Remington Mars, consider me your personal assistant.