Status: newp
Top Floor
part two™
It’s Friday and I have the 1am shift at the lousy coffee shop. It’s empty, as always. I fry myself a grilled cheese. I hear the door open and a short stumble. I look around me and see a man plopping himself into a booth. He hunches his head over the table. I don’t move, feeling uncertain. I decide that I might as well ask if he wants to order something. After an eternal minute, I walk to his lonesome table with a glass of water.
“A-are you alright? Do you need something?” I whisper.
Nothing happens. I step back, because of the strong stinging scent of alcohol, and tend to my patient grill cheese sandwich. I eat half and save the other for later. A deep voice groggily springs to my ears.
“So,” the drunkard at the table says, still hunched, “You work here?”
My brows lower. I watch him try and stand up. He wobbles a little, but fixes his posture quickly. I analyze my surroundings. If this drunkard tries anything, I’m safe behind the counter, which will give me enough time to run out the back door. But once the drunken man walks towards me, I recognize his blond locks and sky irises.
“It’s you,” I murmur.
He grins unevenly, “So it is.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stupidly.
“Euh…” he sighs and rubs his head, “Had a few drinks. Party got boring fast. Couldn’t find my car.”
I scratch the counter. I try hard to be kind.
“Well,” I say looking out the windows, “What does your car look like?”
He grins a laugh.
“To be honest, I can’t remember if I took the Bentley or the Lamborghini.”
My eyeballs nearly fell out of their sockets. He must be bloody rich to not remember which car he drove in.
“Heh,” I pretend to laugh with him, “You sure you didn’t come with your helicopter.”
I thought my joke was fitting, but the man looked at me seriously. He drinks the water I gave him.
“Why would I fly my helicopter in town?”
“Um, never mind,” I say, nervously, “I’ll help you find your car… It’s the least I can do.”
We go outside. It seemed as though the man sobered up a little, as he was walking straighter that I was. I look over my shoulder and I notice that he’s really close behind me, making me walk a tad quicker. There aren’t that many Bentley’s in this part of New York, so once I see the expensive vehicle sitting in it’s parking spot, I know it belongs to the friendly stranger.
“I think that’s it there,” I point.
“Ah, thanks,” he says.
He pauses and then locks his eyes on me. I try to look elsewhere to avoid his stare. He searches his pockets and pulls out a glossy business card.
“If you’re looking for a better paying job, contact this guy.”
The man hands me the card. It reads ‘Pierce Corporation CEO’. I study the phone number.
“The CEO is looking for an assistant. Call for an interview,” he tells me.
He opens his car door and hops in. Contacting the CEO directly? That doesn't sound like something i can do.
“Wow, thank you so much,” I say, “But I’m just not qualified…”
He smirks, as his eyes look me up and down.
“Trust me, you’re over qualified.”
He then drives away.
“A-are you alright? Do you need something?” I whisper.
Nothing happens. I step back, because of the strong stinging scent of alcohol, and tend to my patient grill cheese sandwich. I eat half and save the other for later. A deep voice groggily springs to my ears.
“So,” the drunkard at the table says, still hunched, “You work here?”
My brows lower. I watch him try and stand up. He wobbles a little, but fixes his posture quickly. I analyze my surroundings. If this drunkard tries anything, I’m safe behind the counter, which will give me enough time to run out the back door. But once the drunken man walks towards me, I recognize his blond locks and sky irises.
“It’s you,” I murmur.
He grins unevenly, “So it is.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stupidly.
“Euh…” he sighs and rubs his head, “Had a few drinks. Party got boring fast. Couldn’t find my car.”
I scratch the counter. I try hard to be kind.
“Well,” I say looking out the windows, “What does your car look like?”
He grins a laugh.
“To be honest, I can’t remember if I took the Bentley or the Lamborghini.”
My eyeballs nearly fell out of their sockets. He must be bloody rich to not remember which car he drove in.
“Heh,” I pretend to laugh with him, “You sure you didn’t come with your helicopter.”
I thought my joke was fitting, but the man looked at me seriously. He drinks the water I gave him.
“Why would I fly my helicopter in town?”
“Um, never mind,” I say, nervously, “I’ll help you find your car… It’s the least I can do.”
We go outside. It seemed as though the man sobered up a little, as he was walking straighter that I was. I look over my shoulder and I notice that he’s really close behind me, making me walk a tad quicker. There aren’t that many Bentley’s in this part of New York, so once I see the expensive vehicle sitting in it’s parking spot, I know it belongs to the friendly stranger.
“I think that’s it there,” I point.
“Ah, thanks,” he says.
He pauses and then locks his eyes on me. I try to look elsewhere to avoid his stare. He searches his pockets and pulls out a glossy business card.
“If you’re looking for a better paying job, contact this guy.”
The man hands me the card. It reads ‘Pierce Corporation CEO’. I study the phone number.
“The CEO is looking for an assistant. Call for an interview,” he tells me.
He opens his car door and hops in. Contacting the CEO directly? That doesn't sound like something i can do.
“Wow, thank you so much,” I say, “But I’m just not qualified…”
He smirks, as his eyes look me up and down.
“Trust me, you’re over qualified.”
He then drives away.