Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Three

"Welcome, come in," says a tall blonde in a blazer.

I'm assuming this is Phasma, based on the accent. She's very polite and seems nice, but intimidating none the less. She's got legs for days, a strong looking frame, and is wearing a beautifully tailored silver-grey women's suit. Cropped blonde hair frames her face, and bright blue eyes look down at me as I enter the loft.

She leads the way through the foyer and I try my best to walk with confidence. Pretend like I belong.

The apartment is a stark contrast to the lobby, which was warm and classic. Everything around me is minimalist and modern, with bold blacks and whites. Splashes of color are only found on the many large canvases lining the walls. There are no family photos or knick knacks, everything has been purposefully styled. It's like walking through the pages of Architectural Digest, and it's gorgeous, but it definitely doesn't give a homey vibe.

I catch a glimpse of Central Park through the giant windows at the far end of the penthouse, and it takes a lot of effort to not gawk like downstairs. I don't get to see much more, as Phasma leads me into an office at the front of the apartment.

"Have a seat," she says, gesturing to the rectangular conference table. I take a seat at the end, and she sits in the chair to my right. "Thank you for making the trip to see us today, and I appreciate your punctuality."

Us. To see us. My brain fixates on the word. It's just me and her right now, and my anxiety starts creeping back as I wonder when the dark man will be joining.

"Of course. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

"I also appreciate your discretion, and flexibility with my inability to speak of my employer over the phone. If offered the position, you would be working here, for Kylo Ren. I'm his agent- I help plan exhibitions and broker sales of his work. The man has incredible talent, he's truly going to be a master of his time. But, with that said. He is a... difficult man. He gets lost in his work, and doesn't have time for errands or eating. It's in my best interest as an agent to keep him healthy and working. I need someone here, on site, making sure the household is running smoothly and that he's not wasting away in his studio. Does this sound like a position that interests you?"

I take a few moments to consider the proposition. It's a far cry from working in the hot and hectic kitchen of a restaurant, and I'm not used to running around town at someone's beck and call. But the salary. And the penthouse. And the undoubted connections I could make in the city. It's all very tempting.

"Yes, I think it could be a good fit. I would love to be considered."

I'm starting to feel pretty good about all of this as Phasma details the salary and benefit specifics, and we go over schedules and dietary preferences. We discuss which errands would be done daily, weekly, and monthly. She lets me know which foods he hates, like bananas and cilantro. And the other employees I might interact with, like his driver or the housekeepers. I'm getting into the mindset of joining the team.

Suddenly my heart stops. 

I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

My stomach clenches, my spine stiffens, my senses are on high alert as I await the inevitable.

And then he walks into the room.

Just as dark and handsome as Rose's internet search, but so much more intense in person. His raven hair is a beautiful mess, and he runs a hand through it as he walks to the other end of the conference table. He's more dressed down than Phasma, which is understandable since we're in his home. A black cotton tee clings to his obviously toned body, black jeans and black boots finish the look.

The only color I see comes from his hazel eyes, and the small paint flecks dotted here and there and everywhere. His cuticles have the remnants of yesterday's chosen colors. The black shirt has smears of today's pallet. Sprinkled amongst his birthmarks are tiny splatters of whatever he had just been working so intently on.

I have to remind myself to breathe.

He doesn't sit opposite me at the table, instead he stands powerfully behind the chair and places his two large hands on the back. His eyes stare me down, and I try my best to keep his gaze for as long as I can. Thankfully Phasma speaks first.

"Ah, Mr. Ren, I'm glad you've joined us. I believe I've found your new head of household staff. This is-"

"I've read her resume," he cuts her off sharply.

His demanding eyes stay on my face.

"Hello, it's so nice to meet you. I really appreciate the opportunity, and I'd love to discuss y-"

"You have no experience," he cuts me off this time.

Finally his sharp eyes leave mine and he directs his attention to my right. "Phasma, why is it so hard for you to find quality applicants. I'm not dealing with this shit today, I'm trying to finish a piece for Pryde's gallery. Bother me when it's worth being bothered by."

His words are harsh and I realize that only one of his sentences was actually directed towards me. It stings when he turns to walk back out of the room without a second glance my way. What a fucking prick.

So it seems the doorman and Phasma were right, he's impossible to work for and no one sticks around. I should be glad to dodge the bullet. But instead I get angry. I woke up at 4 am to get ready and then sat on a shitty train for two hours, just to be treated like this? I don't think so.

"I have plenty of experience, thank you," I snap back as professionally as possible.

He stops in his tracks in the doorway, doesn't pivot his body back to us. He simply turns his head to the side to acknowledge I've spoken, and stays eerily silent. His aura is slightly terrifying but I'm also electrically charged by his presence.

He leaves us without another word.

It takes a moment to catch my breath, as I stare at the empty doorway where he just stood. Finally I turn my attention back to Phasma and collect my belongings. I'm ready to get the fuck back to Philly and out of this hostile environment. Line cook doesn't sound so terrible right now.

"Thank you for your time, it was a privilege to meet you," I offer a firm handshake and a forced smile.

I keep my cool for as long as possible, and only let my eyes water once I'm in the safety of the closed elevator. What a waste of fucking time. What a fucking asshole. I blink away the tears before they fall.

The kind doorman opens the oversized golden glass door as I'm making my way outside, and I'm sure my defeated face tells him all he needs to know.

"Don't take it personal, doll."

"Thanks, you're the nicest person I've met today."

I meekly wave to him as I start my journey back home.

A couple hours later, I'm finally out of the Amtrak station and headed to the apartment. As I sit in the Uber, I check my email and realize I've gotten one from Phasma. Time stamped almost 45 minutes ago.

"After a discussion with Mr. Ren, it has been decided that the position is yours if you are still interested. Please contact me with an available start date and I will work out your moving details. An acceptance is expected by the end of the week, or it shall be assumed you've declined the offer. Thank you again for today's meeting."

Fuck.