obsession | wilhelmina venable

1 | Lasting Impression

December 20th
Y/N's P.O.V.

I never expected for this to be my life. Getting sucked into the normal, ordinary life of a housewife. I always thought I would be out the house, working and traveling around the world. Though, not many things work out like they were supposed.

This had been the first job I applied for in 4 years. The chill in the air made the anxiety bubble up in my stomach even further. Layers upon layers of clothes was the norm for this weather - even if I was wearing tons more. I approached the office building with a rather sad grin.

I sighed heavily, before opening the front doors of the building, and entered. A gust of wind followed me in too, and a woman at reception spanked her cane against the floor. She was decked out in purple clothing, with fiery orange hair pulled back into a long ponytail. She stood up, though it looked as if it caused her pain. She scared me in a way.

"Mrs. Y/l/n, I've been expecting you. Please follow me to my office." She said, moving slowly to a room down a long hallway.

"Lovely place this is," I tried to compliment, but she responded with a bitter thank you. "Do you need help walking?"

"I'll tell you if I need something! Otherwise, I don't want to hear anything from you!" She yelled, turning around quickly. I felt bad, even if she had no right to yell at me. I stood back away from her, and she headed on. What a way to start, I thought to myself.

We reached her office and she sat down in a tall purple chair. I just stood at the desk, looking dumb-founded. "Please sit." She said. She twitched an eyebrow, and put on her glasses. She looked down at my resumé, but completely ignored it after skimming through it.

"I don't need to see this. You're hired," Ms. Venable said, throwing my hard work into the bin. I instantly bent down and tried to get it. "You can call me Ms. Venable, and I like my coffee black. No sugar or milk." No wonder she is so sour, I thought to myself.

"What would you want me to do first?" I asked, taking out a notepad that I burried inside my pocket only a few hours ago. She looked up, and smirked. What was she thinking, I thought to myself again.

"Please take care of my appointments. I have one for 5 today, and I forgot the others. Send a little reminder to each person too." She ordered, holding out a board with people's names on it. And pictures too. That was a bit weird.

"Okay, I'll do just that. Do you want me to bring you coffee or some water-" I said, but was cut off by her abrupt rude response.

"Do what I said! Nothing more please!" The red headed woman yelled. She had some anger issues. It was obvious. I walked out her office and to the reception, sitting down. She was an organized woman by the looks of it. There was piles where faxes looked ready to shred, and some important documents as well as a work calendar. I looked through the appointments, a number of them with a Michael Langdon. That seemed odd.

____________________

"Hey, y/n. I need to know when my next appointment is with a certian Michael. He is a serious customer." Ms. Venable asked as she walked out of her office.

"Well, it says today, 5:30 P.M., but isn't that after closing?" I asked, and she nodded. What was so important about this guy?

"Yes. I want you to wait here until he turns up. And get us some coffee." She ordered, and I nodded, getting up out of my seat. I headed out of the building and down to a Starbucks.

It was freezing, everyone had twice the layers on they had this morning. The breeze would've been nice if we were in Egypt, but here it was horrible. My toes could've froze off.

Then, a crowd of people turned to watch this mad man in just a coat and jeans. How was he doing that? That was nearly impossible to stay that warm. Many old women, and young kids asked if he was cold, or offered a jacket. But he would say he was fine. What a weird man?

I went up to the counter and asked for three coffees. Though, the woman didn't seem too happy with me. She looked around 20-something, pissed off at the world.

"£12.25 please." She muttered, her expression bland. I handed her the money, and went to wait for the coffee. Michael Langdon, where'd I hear that before? It did sound familiar.

I knew a woman called Billie Dean, and she used to talk about a Langdon household she worked for. She was some crappy fake medium that I had met at a carnival down in Florida. Gosh, I wonder where she is now. Probably dead.

"Y/N!" One of the women working yelled, and I went to get the tray, putting on a smile. She nodded and went back to working. I quickly moved out of the shop and headed back down to her office.