Enchant

RICCARDO DI MAURO…

Elma could not stop playing that name inside her head. It was like a song that wouldn't just stop; a bad headache that would always rebound. Had she not heard too much about such an influential man from Ted, a couple of times too many to count, maybe she would not be freaking out so badly that the fluids were about to crawl out her pants. Then again, who was she kidding? Having to send direct emails to the management of that company was also because of the delicious gist Ted had told her about the owners. From owning a High standard hospital, to having one of the biggest privately-owned Casino in the United States, to Oil wells their businesses majorly centered on, to building a Foundation Centre for Creating Cancer Awareness and catering for Cancer Survivors! — The Di Mauros were a huge force to reckon with in the whole state!

Hence it was only natural that Elma would want to work in one of their establishments. But why had she never considered how Riccardo would be in this branch in Kansas?

'Shit!' Elma facepalmed herself inside her mind. She thought she deserved that. She must have been too absorbed in whatever and had missed out on the one time Ted informed her about the office in Kansas being the headquarters.

"Ech—" Sasha's scoff instantly cut off her musings. "When you're done obsessing over his call, I'm sure you can figure your way out yourself." After muttering that in a gruff tone, Sasha was soon out of her desk, and in a dash, she'd started her elegant catwalk down the hall.

"What the hell!" Elma could not believe her conduct. How was she going to find her way up to Riccardo's office? That brunette bitch had suddenly vanished into thin air!

"Hi, Newbie…"

"Newbie?" Elma had to turn. The broad-chested pink-lipped man in front of her was too much beauty to behold. She hesitantly swallowed, her eyelids flapping unrestrained.

The man buried his hands in both pockets, smacking both lips against the other in freaking slow motion. "Call me Ishaq."

"Isaac?"

"No," the man said. "Ish—ak. Caught the pronunciation yet?" His chiselled face glimmered once he shook out a laugh. He must have guessed that Elma looking away told how embarrassed she'd got, so he locked his happiness away. "Sorry, if you felt bad about that."

"You're damn right, I did." Elma flicked her eyes quickly at him and then back at the glass-floored passage she was walking into. "I'm sorry if you heard all that happened between me and that person…"

"Sasha?"

"Yeah." Elma stopped to steal a peek at her thinly strapped watch. "Shit! Not again."

"Hey, what's the fuss about?" Ishaq stopped, wrapping his bold arms about her shoulders to have her face him. "If it's Sasha, then I suggest you forget about it. She's particularly grumpy on Tuesdays. The rest of the week? Boom! She's a disaster!" Ishaq gestured with his hands and Elma could not help laughing away.

"Thanks," Elma had to break off the fun. "That felt good to know. But if you really want to help my mood, you could maybe show me up to where Riccardo would be?"

"You mean, Mr. Di Mauro?" Ishaq's eyes widened.

"Uh, yeah, that's him," Elma said, biting her lips. "So, can you? Show me to his office?"

Elma's eyes squinted as she begged. Ishaq's features painted a massive scowl altogether.

DING! YOU HAVE REACHED THE TOPMOST FLOOR...

"And blah, blah, blah…" Elma, bobbing her head along with the elevator's AI, sauntered outside the lift. She felt she was already screwed on ever getting the job anyway, so she may as well ignore the throb in her heart and try to be elegant in her gait?

In the end, Sasha had got what she wanted— Elma was ten minutes behind schedule.

The floors on that hall looked even glossier than the ones she'd found on the ground floor below. As Elma moseyed along, her overall outfit came into view— an electric blue long-sleeved shirt hemmed in her black thigh-high skirt and black shoes to match. Her hair was neatly put away, wrapped in an updo, a single hairpin piercing through.

Ignoring her reflection on the shiny floors, Elma flitted her eyes about the hall. All around her was glass; transparent glass; all the walls were made of glass.

Elma soon reached the office of the Chief Executive Officer. At the uppermost part of the door was inscribed his name in full print.

A quick knock, and a corresponding "Come in" from a low-sounding baritone was all she needed to have her walking into his enormous workspace.

******

Letting out a hesitant sigh, Elma pushed forward and more forward. The office was like a large theatre, although not exactly cinematic. But every bit of detail seemed all too structured and neatly organised. From several pieces of recognition awards hanging in a circular pattern on the walls to the several monitors sitting on multiple desks all at once.

Did this office belong to one person or there were others?

"You may as well sit, once you're done feeding your eyes."

Elma halted in her tracks. Something told her she had heard the voice before. Of course, she had. He'd chanted for her to "Come in" a while ago.

Was that it?

"Where are you?" Elma said, turning her head about. "Sir?"

"Try looking furthest to your right, Ms. Gray. I am not exactly invisible."

Was he, though? Why else couldn't she see him yet?

Elma, not wanting to look any more stupid by asking, started toward that angle.

It took a little over a few seconds, but a sturdy clean environment soon came into view. That too and a handsome man in a maroon-red suit. He sat slouchingly at the plush silver cushion, his orbs peering into the Macbook sitting on his lap. His side portrait was breathtaking, his aura encompassing.

The cologne in the air was all too familiar.

"I thought, you'd be a bit apologetic for being late," the man said, tilting up his chin, "Again."

"What?" Elma staggered a few feet backward, orbs widening with disbelief. "It—it was you. Back at the interview. Was it?"

Elma was sure she wasn't seeing black in place of white.

It was him…

At that Bistro…

The failed interview…

Sable black eyes and those dimples….

"Ms. Gray. Have you never heard of staring being rude?"

"S-sir?"

"What then, cat's got your tongue?"

"No, Sir."

"Much better because judging from your file I read a while ago…"

"You read my file?" Elma didn't know how to feel about that. First, he had interviewed her himself, back at that Bistro, next he had dismissed her of ever clinching the job, and now this? Reading her file?

"Sit."

"Huh?"

"Or better still, you know what? Just stand," said Riccardo, jumping up to his feet. His gait was brisk. Elma had to pull back when he stopped.

"You got the job." His volume was strong.

"I did?"

"But not as my secretary," Riccardo said as he breezed past her.

Elma had to turn. "What then if not—"

"Starting today…" He stopped to steal a glance at his watch. "Ah, you are fifteen minutes early for that."

"Early for what?"

"Your first job. Side-by-side. With me."

"With you?" Elma threw back her head, her brows wrinkling too. "What would I be doing," Elma could feel her cheeks warming up when she said, "with you?"

"Ah," Riccardo sighed softly before dashing into a part of his office that Elma knew nothing about.

When he returned, his prints were pressed onto a glass. Whatever that was, it smelled harsh; strong, and hard.

"Vodka. Never had one of these?"

Elma shook her head.

"Jokes aside, we have a plane to catch. And there's no way I can let you leave with me." Riccardo twisted his mouth into a snarl and then said, "Wearing that."

"Wait, what is wrong with my dress and what flight do we need to catch?"

"You still don't get it, do you?"

Elma was still shaking her head when he suddenly teleported in front of her. Too freaking close; his breath was fanning her cheeks.

Leaning slightly, his lips almost greasing hers, he said: "Starting today, Ms. Elma Gray, you have become my Personal Assistant."

"Your what?"

Riccardo pulled back, giving her as little time to process what he'd said. He sipped on his drink. "Anyways, I think we're done here. You already used up five minutes of our time."

"How did I use up fi—"

"Ten minutes more, Elma. Instead of standing there to question me, why not hurry on to your desk already."

"My desk," Elma recounted. "I have a desk?"

"An office more preferably. In there, you are going to find something befitting to have you change into. Mr. Marseillemo is going to feel highly insulted if he finds you in that. Not as half as insulted as I already feel, but still, you should get out of that fit."

"Is Mr. Marsei— whatever his name is— that's the person you want to meet?"

"Not me. 'We'. We want to and are going to meet with him in ten minutes. Look here, Elma Gray…" Riccardo's face suddenly lost all expression. "…if you're going to retain your job then you've got to prove it to me. Right now, it's hard to say if you can even bear up. But Lincoln's is not exactly an enchant school, so I would like to think that you earned your degree without getting to cut corners. I'd like for you to prove that."

Damn right I will! "Em. One more thing, Mr. Di Mauro."

"Riccardo or Ric is just fine."

"Mr. Di Mauro," Elma said.

"Fine, if you insist. What is this one more thing?"

"My office."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I don't think I know where it's at," Elma said, chewing her lips.

"Wait. You don't know where your office is supposed to be?" Riccardo, palm, striking his fore with his palm, shook his head many times in between. "You know what the more time you waste, the more we're going to be late. Lateness, I HATE."

"Okay." Elma was already on her way out when his thick baritone resonated in her ears.

"On a second thought…"

"Huh?"

"Come," Riccardo was suddenly locking hands with her. "I would take you there myself."