Heather opens the door, and the sound of your shoes clicking on the oak floors echo as you walk into the office. This building has a thing for wasting space, you think, as you walk into another room with an unecessarily high ceiling, and beams of light coming in through a windows on the roof. There are a couple of old couches, some bookcases and file cabinets on the wall. You wonder how many of them are actualy filled with useful files, and you catch yourself simply gazing around the room as Heather walks towards a desk near the back, and you eye who's sitting behind it.
Mr. Warritch clearly fits the mold of undesirable. It's not even that he's ugly, or at least hideous, you think. Sure, he's overweight, and clearly hasn't aged well, be it the lines on his face, his thinning hair, or the clearly out of date glasses he's wearing. But he's not smiling. He's a man who clearly doesn't like what he's living for right now. He's short, and portly, but it's the lack of happiness in his life that makes him undesirable.
Or, you think, a lack of 'Joy', which you intend to fix. You walk up behind Heather, who's apparently unsuccessfully trying to get Mr. Warritch to look away from his computer.
"Montgomery." she starts, and you try to hold back a chuckle at that name. "There's someone here to see you. Her name is...."
"...Joy." you finish, and if Heather has any reluctance to you using your real name, she hides it quick.
"She's from a local high school looking to interview you, and-"
"I don't do interviews." snapped Warritch, and his voice is gravelly and deep. The voice of a man who's had to get used to not getting what he wants.
"Normally not, Montgomery, but you and I both know why this is happening." She glares down the older man who is her superior. "You have to agree to do this. It's your company duty to do so." Warritch starts to look up in response, but he stops with a start as he sees you for the first time, your legs riding up to the hem of your short skirt. You smile, the sunglasses obscuring your eyes, looking just like the eager high schooler looking to begin.
"Fine." he snaps. "Leave us." Heather nods, and gives you a look as she leaves. You hear the oak doors closing behind her, and it's just you and him.
While Warritch seems content to ogle you, he seems to be in mood to give you any real attention. "You've got questions. Sit down and ask them."
You take off your shades, and while he seems drawn to your eyes for the first time, he doesn't seem to care too much about anything else you're saying. You move the chair back slightly so he has a viewing angle of your legs, and you let a shoe carelessly dangle off of one bare foot as you start with mundane questions about his current job, salary, and how long he's been working here for. He mutters only one or two syllable answers, and seems inclined to get you out of her as quickly as possible.
"Mr. Warritch." you start. "I feel like you're not paying attention to me."
He again gives you a look over, and you see the lust in his eyes as his gaze meets with yours. "I'm answering your questions, missy. Ain't no law saying I have to give you the answers you want." As he talks, you put the clipboard on your lap for a moment, and undo your hair clip, shaking your hair loose so it is now messy and tangled, no longer neat and held together, but with the 'just got out of bed' look that guys seem to like so much, pulling your shirt lapels apart a bit as you did to reveal more of your collarbone and upper chest, and you can see his eyes *are* drawn to that.
"I feel so stifled and far from you. Why don't we do this interview on the couch." You motion to one of the couches, and without waiting for his answer, you stand up and walk there yourself, sitting down and leaning back against it, crossing your legs together as you wait for his answer, your eyes darting between his and your 'clipboard'.
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