Cinderella Man

Aubrey dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a white tank layered under a lime green, v-neck tee shirt. She slipped into black flats and let her brown her fall around her round face.

She scanned her reflection, the dark circles under her eyes staring back at her. She never woke up at five in the morning. It was an unheard of time to wake up.

She sighed as she dipped her finger into the bottle of foundation. She covered the dark circles, smoothing out her skin. She quickly applied mascara and eyeliner. After checking herself over one more time, she went into the kitchen.

Her apartment wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small either. Her bedroom was decorated to her taste. Crimson red walls and posters of her favorite artists adorned her room: none of them being Eminem. Her white comforter set lightened up the dark colored room, while the plumb colored curtains set off the red.

The living room was painted a clam gray color with white leather sofa and recliner contrasting it. Her coffee table held many of her late night snacks, which she always forgot to clean. The curtains were also white, adding to the simplicity of the room.

Her kitchen, unlike the other rooms, was a mess. She loved to cook, but hated cleaning. Hence the piled dishes and uneaten food scattered about. She made a mental note to clean after work since she was free after work. She grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and reached for an apple.

As she ate, she proceeded outside. She lived just outside of the bad part of Detroit. It wasn’t by choice, of course. After her parents cut her allowance in half, she had to downgrade her living arrangements. She couldn’t live on campus anymore because it cost a leg and an arm.

She got into her midnight blue Volkswagen Passat, the stale smell of cigarettes reaching her nose. She was a smoker, addicted since she was seventeen. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was six thirty, leaving her only half an hour to get to work. She took a bite of her apple, multitasking as she drove to her new job.

…

Why did he hire her? Hell if he knew. There was something about her, some spunk. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew she would be hell of a challenge. He half expected her to lie about her job experiences in hopes of getting the job, but her smart remark caught his attention. The way she said it, that bitchy undertone- Marshall would have fun playing around with her. He loved the stubborn ones, the ones who thought they were too good for everything. Why? Because they would be kissing his ass and there was no greater feeling.

He picked up his phone, punching in some numbers.

…

Aubrey stared at the phone. How the hell was she supposed to answer it? Marshall Mathers’ personal assistant, how may I help you? Yeah, no.

She slumped back into her chair, slowly picking up the phone. “Shady Records, Aubrey speaking.” It was better than her first option. She groaned inwardly as she heard him chuckle on the other end. Her first day and he was already finding amusement in her misery.

“I can tell you neva answered da phone before.” His voice was velvety smooth, his laugh a melodic lullaby. He was going to enjoy the fact that this was her first job.

She took a deep breath in, calming herself. His voice entered her ears again. “I left you a note on your desk. It will tell you what to do wit all them papers.” Aubrey’s eyes rested on the two foot long stack. “I need you to book an interview with Vibe magazine, they been buggin’ the shit outta me. My schedule should be on your desk as well. Think you can handle it?” His voice was challenging her, seductive and persuasive.

“I’ve handled bigger before,” she retorted, not thinking about the words. She mentally slapped herself. She would get fired for unintended sexual harassment.

“Oh really?” he snickered. “You ain’t handle nuttin like me yet.”

She blushed, collecting her voice. “Is there anything else you would like for me to do?” She really needed to think before she spoke.

He chuckled again, “Well, if you’re offerin’-“

She hung up the phone, partially angry and partially embarrassed. What a way to start the first day. She grabbed the first paper from the stack, reading it over. It was an invitation to some spring break party, asking Eminem to be a special guest. She sighed as she looked over the note he left that instructed her on what to do with the stack.

Her day went on and noon was just around the corner. She got done with half the stack, her fingers cramping from taking notes. Her trash can was full of what Marshall called unimportant appearances.

Her phone rang again. She groaned as she noticed the same extension staring back at her. It was him again. She picked up the phone, “What?”

He found amusement in her tone. “What’s fo lunch toots?”

“The name’s Aubrey,” she replied. “Was I supposed to get you something?” She glanced at her work sheet and sure enough, ‘order lunch’ was plastered on it. Damn.

“That’s the point of havin’ a personal assistant,” he remarked . “Order something, you got fifteen minutes.”

She mumbled some unintelligible words, “What would you like?”

“Surprise me,” he snickered, ending the call.

He was amused by her, a nice change from the typical crazy-eyed assistants that wanted nothing more but to fuck him. He found amusement in her stubbornness, her unwillingness to submit herself to him. He liked a challenge.

He leaned back in his chair, watching the time tick by.

…

Exactly fifteen minutes later Aubrey came through his door, juggling a large brown bag, two drinks, and a clip board. She set down the bag and drinks on his desk, avoiding his piercing eyes. She could feel them on her.

“I hope you like Chinese,” she opened the bag, handing him a styrofoam carry-out box. He took it, his eyes glued on her. She cleared her throat as she glanced over her clipboard.

“MTV is throwing a spring break party in the Bahamas. They want to know if you will be a special guest.”

“No,” he replied as he took a bite of the sweet and sour chicken.

“Some Australian magazine wants to book an interview.”

“Nope,” he chewed his food, eyes still roaming her curves.

“I booked your interview with Vibe next week on Thursday. You were free in the morning,” she glanced up at him, finding his eyes glued to her. “What? Do you have an eye problem or something?” Her tone was harsher than she meant, but it spread a smirk across his face.

He shook his head, fixing his eyes on his food. ‘I may grow to like this job if I can get away with talking to him like this,’ she thought.

She continued to go down the list of offers as Marshall denied all of them.