Blunt

"I'm running late!" Elma's hands were busy working behind her skimpy black corporate dress that dropped just before her knees. Her reflex was swift and skillful the way she did it but for some basic reason, the zipper just would not cooperate.

Ugh! The situation was becoming more critical. With her locks stuck in the zipper, she was about to lose it altogether!

Elma stopped, abruptly, and began puffing air through her nostrils: deep inhales first then exhales. If she didn't do her bit to calm the raging tempest inside of her, she was going to lose out. Squarely.

On the table right ahead, Elma saw her phone ring. It had only screeched a couple of times in two seconds by the time Elma reached it, yanking it up to her ears.

"Ted?" Of course, it was him.

"Elm. Hey, Elma. Are you out already?"

"No. Why?" Elma's pencilled brows jumped momentarily. "Tell me you can make it. You can," Elma said, hinting on his promise before. "Ted, you are a man of your word. You're going to come to drive me down. Will you?" Elma could feel her already thudding heart becoming heavier. She did not like that feeling. Like, why was he keeping her quiet for this long?

"Hey," Ted said. "Just breathe, will you?"

"I'm not breathing till you tell me you're going to be here," she gasped, letting some steam out. "Okay, fine. Think I still have five minutes to be there, since I have wasted the previous five, struggling with my zipper. Honestly, I think I might just hurl the dress away and go 'regular demand' style."

" What?" Ted's shout was loud enough. "Why would you wear a Tee and faded jeans to your first-ever interview with the Di Mauro's! Trust that you're going to get F I R E D on the spot!"

"Then help me. Come save me."

"Know what? Say no more. I'm hopping up to meet you."

"What? You are here? Did you fly over or something —"

Elma soon heard his thudding footsteps clambering up the stairs; she could hear it louder in the fore than from her bedroom.

BUST!

The door pushed open to the sight of Ted, her favourite redhead. Only that it wasn't his actual hair colour; he'd dyed it some few days back over some BTS show he'd seen on Television.

"Shit! Elma. Did Himari descend into this place?"

"Hima— what?" Elma's full lashes batted as swift as a dog on the run from its own poo.

"First, let me help with that zipper." Ted traversed across the room. "I honestly don't think you're interested in catching the eye of the Ricardo Di Mauro. Otherwise, why would you have wanted to go in casuals for your interview!"

"And why should I be?" Elma shrugged his hand off her back. Luckily, he was done with her zipper. "I'm too ambitious to become my own person, my own boss, someday, to care enough to hold onto a rich man's thigh."

"Elma—"

She'd already skirted out of there, her leather bag in hand. Ted could guess her anxiety level, even though presently she was walking with so much airs and all. Ted was almost closing up to her.

"Your phone," Ted had rounded the floor, suddenly stopping in front of her. He held it out to her. "You were going to leave this? How were they going to contact you then and vice versa?"

Elma knew he was right. She couldn't thank him enough for being there at that exact moment. She was supposed to be prepared for this, but inwardly, she was shaking so bad.

"This is it!" Ted announced.

"Thank you," Elma picked herself up when his firm hands held her back in place. He was looking her over with a glint in his Caribbean ocean eyes; so much warmth and happiness inside those irises.

"I hope you kick their asses, Elm," Ted was smiling through his eyes.

Elma felt relaxed at these words. But she needed to leave already. "I'm not exactly going to fight the Judo Belt Tournament," she said, slapping his hand away. "It's just an interview. They called, but maybe it would be best if I didn't get my hopes up or anything."

Ted, whose hold was now upon the steering wheel, tilted to snatch her a final glance as she jumped out in a bid to close the door. "You don't have to believe in miracles, Elma. I do. So, I know you're going to get the job."

"We'll see."

The sleek yellow Mercedes Benz skidded off faster than she could wave him off. She knew why he'd done it. The car was obviously Billy's— his boss.

"I consider it bad manners that you'd appear for your first ever interview two minutes late—"

Elma turned to see who it was. The breeze was cosy at that side, her gingerbread hair tossed about easily.

"— and still have the time to spare, waving off your boyfriend."

The man frowned. Despite being a handsome John, his eyes were sable-black and his dimpled chin was hard with the muscles near his jawline jumping about. He was pissed.

"I — I am sorry." Elma bit her lip for stuttering like that. How would she get a job when the interview was yet to begin and she was already shaking all over.

"There's no use for any of that."

What? She lost the job already? Elma shook that thought out of her head, retaining the glow in her hazel green coloured eyes.

"What does that mean?" Elma asked instead.

"It means that Di Mauro's Enterprise cannot handle someone like you as her Secretary. You'll be too incompetent to bear up," the man stated in a blunt note.

It may have taken more than a minute of watching the sophisticated gents and ladies streaming into the Vletzela Bistro or the rush of the mid-morning dew flying its chill over the delicate surrounding. But when Elma finally digested the meaning of his words, her eyes that glimmered with anticipation a while ago, suddenly lost their colour.

Elma could feel the slack in her jaws when she said, "You mean I already lost the job!???"

——> TBC