Nameless // h.s. au

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

*Hunter*

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared into the green eyes that had harassed me merely hours ago. I blink at the figure and wish that I had never gotten out of bed this morning.

His eyes flash wide for a moment before a faux smile plays on his lips and I clench my jaw.

"Well. Hunter. Looks like I finally learned your name." I look down at my feet and sigh.

"Looks like you have." I mutter quietly.

"Come in... let's proceed with the interview process." He says and I can see venom flash behind his eyes before he steps aside and lets me walk further into his office.

A dark room. A maroon carpet and draped windows facing the lit city and the balcony facing the shop.

His desk sits in front of the back windows with one lamp on and two cherry wood chairs sit in front of his desk. Prestigious, pompous, mysterious. I would expect nothing less from the stranger on the train.

A velvet couch is sat in the middle of the room. Looking back on the conversation we had earlier I cringe at the thought of multiple women sprawled out on that couch at the boss man's beck and call. Now with the added title of boss, he just seems more and more self- absorbed and vain.

There's a coffee table in front of the couch, probably meant for overpriced champagne flutes and a loud ass radiator roaring in the corner. I feel as if I'm in a spy movie and he's going to press a button only to reveal a whole evil lair behind the wall.

"Please. Sit." He motions towards one of the two chairs sat in front of his desk.

I obey and take a seat but don't make a move to say something until this man holds out his hand for the application sheets.

He snatches them from my grasp and I rub and hand over the back of my neck as his eyebrows furrow and unfurrow. His jaw clenches and unclenches. Everything about him is tense until he leans back and proceeds to make me want to upchuck my small breakfast of a food truck smoothie.

"You expect to work here with no references?" He questions harshly. I swallow.

"I have a reference from an uptown job." I say motioning towards the sheet.

"Waitressing means nothing to me." He snarls. I swallow the saliva building on my tongue and play with my hands, which rest in my lap.

I look anywhere but his eyes, scanning the items on his desk. A name plate catches my eye. 'Harold Styles' printed in script on a wooden desk plate you see on teacher's desks in cliché movies from the seventies.

"I don't have recorded experience no." I say in monotone. It catches Mr. Styles off guard until he resumes his usual persona of being a cocky bastard and leans forward so his eyes are staring straight into mine.

"Then what are you doing in my shop when I have much more prepared possibly future employees waiting just outside?" I was taken aback by his approach. Mean, demeaning, cut throat. It's expected but my anxiety is just growing more and more.

"I am just as qualified as anyone down there." I say keeping a straight face.

"Oh I doubt that- with no experience." He leans back in his chair again and crosses his arms.

"I have experience in other fields." I was referring to my extensive knowledge of tattoo parlors over the past few years, all that I had looked into in order to have this trump my awkward internship stage in life. However, I think Mr. Styles took it the wrong way because his eyes darken and bites his lip ring. The same one I stared at mere hours ago.