Chapter One

Chapter One

 

            Interviews. That word should be pronounced “torture,” since guys are required to wear stiff, collared shirts and a noose that some people call a “tie”. I didn’t care if it added to my rugged physique, I would rather not wear one. And that’s the sugar-coated version. As you can probably deduct from my disdain, I’m wearing just that, and I’m certain you can deduct the reason why. After sending what seemed like hundreds of résumés to prospective employers, I finally landed an interview. Yay me.
            For probably the twelfth time in the last five minutes, I tugged at the knot in my tie. It didn’t help and I tried to put it out of my head as my navigation system told me that by taking the next left I’ll have arrived at my destination. Briefly flicking on my indicator, I pulled into the drive and stopped before a massive gate. A bit surprised, I double-checked the address from the ad and the number on the gate. One and the same.

            I reached out my open window and touched the call button for the gate. After a half second of debate, I firmly pushed it before quickly removing my finger.

            Two seconds ticked by.

            “Are you here to sell cookies?” the slightly distorted voice asked through the intercom.

            “Uh, no.”

            “What do you want then?” the voice snapped.

            “My name is Aston Hackworth, and I’m here about the assistant job listed in the paper.”

            “Oh. Come in then.”

            On cue, the gate slowly started to swing inward. I waited until the gate was wide enough to fit my narrow Fiat through before zipping up the drive. I had long cleared the gate and still hadn’t seen any signs of a building�"maybe that had something to do with the dense bushes flanking the drive. Three bends and nearly a half-mile later I finally caught sight of the residence. It was a bit of a let down to see that my car was almost as big the solo building nestled into a rock face. It may have modern design, cubicles looked larger.

            Would there be just one cubicle inside? I wondered as I parked and made my way to the door.

            A brass door knocker. Go figured. I raised it and let if fall with a resounding thud. The door opened almost instantaneously causing me to jerk back involuntarily. To say that the man who answered it was the epitome of a cliché butler would be, well, a drastic understatement.

            I just couldn’t resist. “Alfred?”

            The man tilted his head in a quizzical manner before his mouth formed into a tight crease that I assume was a frown. “You must be mistaken, my name is Robert.”

I gave a long slow nod, as I tried to remain business-like. “I’m here to see…” I glanced down at the ad which I had removed from the paper. “..a Ms. Deveroux.”

“Please follow me, Mr. Hackworth”

            I did as he said. My first thought upon entering was that I was wrong about it being smaller than a cubicle. What could be seen from the outside took up the space of just the entryway, the rest was embedded into the rock behind it, and it was big. You could park a semi-truck inside the living room.

            Eyes wandering over the great room, I paid just enough attention to Robert as he led me through the vast cavern. I half expected there to be suits of armor and medieval weapons on display, but the reality of the décor was far more outrageous.

            Gnomes.

            Yes, that’s right. I’ll say it again just so we’re clear.

            Gnomes.

            Not just a couple, a lot.

            I wanted to stop and study them, but I was acutely aware that Robert was leading me away from the great room and towards a large, oak door. He rapped the door twice before turning the knob and entering.

            “Master Deveroux, your ten o’clock appointment is here,” Robert said to the back of a chair.

            A hand appeared above the chair and made a slight waving motion. Robert left without another word.

            I stood and fidgeted with my tie. Should I say something?  Maybe introduce myself? Unsure, I opted to do nothing, which only made me more uncomfortable. Finally, the chair swiveled around and I caught my first glimpse of Ms. Deveroux as she stood up to greet me. I was thankful to see that she herself wasn’t the size of a gnome, but just a few inches shorter than my six-foot self.

            I reached my hand out and she took it and shook my hand much firmer than I had expected, belying her slight build.

            I introduced myself, “I’m Aston Hackworth.”

            “Natalie Deveroux,” she said with great intensity and flair. She paused and her eyes bored into me. “Your middle name wouldn’t happen to be Martin?”

            Her brown eyes glinted mischievously as she broke into maniacal laugh at her own joke. I didn’t join in.

            “Actually, yes it is.” I tried not to take offense. “My father was a bit obsessed with cars.” Like really obsessed.

            Her laugh was cut short immediately. “Oh.”

            And then the laughter started up again. This time, I knew she was laughing at me�"or at least my moniker. Once again, I tried not to take offense, just not as hard.

            “What sort of an assistant are you looking for?” I said, trying to change the subject.

            The laughter died down as she replied. “One that does all that I can’t get around to doing.”

            That narrows it down.

            “Such as?”

            She waved her hand and said, “You know, answering phones, taking notes, that whole lot of things.”

            I nodded. “The basics.”

            “Precisely. When can you start?”

            “As soon as needed.” This isn’t how I thought the interview would go�"like, at all.

            “Good, you’re hired.”

            “Excuse me? Don’t you want to see my reference letter, or talk about my résumé?”

            Deveroux laughed, just not as harsh as before. “What would be the point? You’re the only candidate!”

            “Oh…” Yeah, this isn’t normal if you ask me.

            “Just one condition, you’re attire…”

            I will not dress up like a gnome. I will not dress up like a gnome. Have I said that I won’t dress up like a gnome? Well, I WON’T DRESS UP LIKE A GNOME.

            “…you must wear all black while working, and loose that hideous tie.”

            I immediately smiled. I like this job.

“I can do that,” I said confidently.

            “Be here at eight tomorrow. That will be all.” She shooed me.

            “Absolutely. Thank you.” For some awkward reason, I bowed slightly and backed out of the room.

Reviews

[ashesonfire]

I just love the sarcasm and humor in your main character, haha. I can definitely tell you have written before, and that this is not your first story. The pacing is nice, and the flow is experienced.

Haha, I love your villainess so far. I can easily see her movements in my head by the way you describe her. Your descriptions are well done :D and I love how his name is Aston Martin, haha!

You do have a couple of quotation marks randomly thrown in there that are not necessary, at least two.

Very gripping story!

[zach h.]

Thanks for taking the time to read and review this! I also appreciate your encouraging words, it is always nice to hear that things turned out alright. Thanks for the tip of the quotation marks. They are supposed to be a double dash, but for some reason I think they were re-formatted into quotations! I'll make a note and get around to fixing them! Thanks again for the review!

[ashesonfire]

No problem :D it's a very interesting story