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           Bursting into my best friend's room, I let the door hit the wall with a loud crack.

            I looked like a zombie.

            I felt like one too.

             Dress torn. Makeup everywhere. Ankles crookedly remaining in my heels. A swollen hand and scrapes on my knees. I was so heated that my teeth were bared like a wolf.

            "How was the interview?" Marcy asked, not looking up from her laptop. She had her glasses on. We had apologized to one another earlier that day over breakfast. When she did look up at me, her eyes went so wide I thought they were going to pop out of her head.

            I wobbled into the middle of the room, stood in front of Marcy's bed, reached into my bra, and threw a man's $350,000 golden Rolex watch on her comforter.

            "Is that...?"

            "I stole it."

            "You?" Marcy rose a brow. "No freaking way! From who? From a store? You could go to jail--!"

            "Trust me, with my luck, I'll just be forced to see this man again." I ground my teeth together. "Ask me about the interview again. And please, take off the glasses."

            "My glasses?"

            "Just take them off, you remind me of someone I hate!"

            Concerned, Marcy sat up on the bed, moving her laptop to the side so that I could sit down. I didn't move an inch. "Um, how was the interview...?"

            "Couldn't have been any worse." I yanked at a stupid silky curl that framed my face, trying to get rid of any evidence of the day's events. The curls had taken Marcy and I two to hours perfect in the morning, and all I could imagine now were two big male hands running their stupid fingers through them. "It really happened, and I was so embarrassed. The whole thing was just so... aggravating and degrading. I was border-line sexually harassed by this man. I swear, I've never been so mad in my life... And sexually frustrated!"

            "What the hell happened?"

            "Hell happened! He happened! Don't make me tell the story, Marcy. Please, I beg of you!" I started to pace the room, still wearing the most painful heels in the universe. Marcy's heels. Marcy's slacks. Marcy's blouse. Even Marcy's blazer. I wanted to take it all off. It wasn't me. I wasn't me anymore.

            "We both know you would be much more comfortable in a poor man's sweatshirt and ripped jeans," a cruel voice from the past slithered in my skull.

            "Please don't make me tell the whole story," I repeated. Now I was close to tears. What man was worth tears after meeting them for the first time?

            "Faith, it's eleven at night on a Saturday and you're here, still dressed in what you wore to the interview, with your hair and your makeup all over the place. You wanted to tell me what happened or you wouldn't be here." Marcy waited patiently, gracefully sitting on her bed and hugging a pillow to her chest. "Tell Dr. Marcy what's on your mind. When you're ready, of course."

            I stopped pacing after a few minutes. Pivoted. Accidently bit my cheek so hard that I tasted blood. Didn't wince. "Fine," I finally said. Growling, I threw myself into one of her bean bag chairs. "I called Devin Star's secretary and scheduled the interview because I had a feeling I wasn't going to get my car back from the shop if I didn't..."

            "Seriously? You thought he wasn't going to give you the car back?"

            "Seriously. There was something about the way he winked at me when he left that made me anxious about it. I told you about the wink that Devin gave me, right?"

            "The clever wink!" My best friend started to laugh incredibly hard and went back into her closet, looking for more clothes that I wasn't going to touch in a million years. "Babe, you're so dramatic. It was just a wink. It didn't mean anything."

            "It meant everything. And I found out once I got to the D & S Towers exactly what that clever little wink meant." Putting my head in my hands, I felt angry tears start to press against my eyes. It wouldn't have been the first time I had cried that night. "When I went to the interview...he offered me a drink. I didn't take a lot, but I spilled some of it on me without knowing it and smelled like whisky. Anyways, when I was telling Mom about all of the things that he said to me... The way he spoke to me... Mom caught the slight scent of alcohol on my breath and started to fire questions at me like you wouldn't believe. I ended up telling her about the accident yesterday, which she hadn't found out about because she was on the computer most of the day and couldn't tell that my car was missing. If Dad noticed, he didn't say anything to her because he probably knew she would have a hissy fit and ruin my Saturday. At least Dad will always be on my side..."

            Marcy leaned her head in her hand, listening intently. "So let me get this straight. She didn't believe anything you said?"

            "Nope! She only believes that the Star's are the hottest, most charitable people in the world, like a freaking robot! Everyone believes the Star family are just so hot and charitable!"

            "Didn't they just donated a ten million dollars to a local child hospital?"

            I glared. "Whose side are you on?!"

            "Yours!"

            "Nobody is on my side! Mom didn't even believe I went to the interview at the D & S Towers! Now I have to go to this stupid teen alcohol anonymous group at my church because she's convinced that I'm going to ruin my life! She's over protecting me as usual, trying to control everything that I do so that I remain her little baby. She always does this! Makes a big deal out of nothing. I told her the accident wasn't my fault. Why would I have lied to her about that? Now I have to keep going to these meetings every Sunday starting next week, or else my mom threatened to take away my car for good. She's already made me a nervous wreck on so many levels because of the short leash she has me on, and now I'm nervous that I actually am going to become an alcoholic! I'm so tired of this, Marcy!"

            "Mom and Dad were having a heated discussion in the living room about the whole thing. Dad is taking my side. She'll kill me when she finds out I'm not in my room right now. Kill me. I couldn't stay in that household. I had to talk to you, I had to talk to someone who would understand how my afternoon was. It was unreal, Marcy. It was quite possible the single  most humiliating moment of my life. The man is an arrogant, nasty, sexist, uncouth..."

            "Believe me, Marcy, I could go on, but my head is pounding with rage. What really put the icing on the cake, what really ruined my life for an eternity in the Williams household, was the call Mom got from the D & S Towers before I got home from the interview. He had called her personally and told her this whole false story that I had arrived at the D & S Towers drunk! All to make himself look good, I bet! He probably realized he was in for it; that I wasn't going to let him get away with how he treated me in his office. Oh, did he lay it on nice and thick over the phone! Working that sexy voice of his...." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Anyways, he was on speakerphone, so I heard it all! Even sounded genuinely concerned about my health--which is perfectly normal, by the way! He told mom that I was an obsessed fan! Like I'm an obsessed fan?! Told her that I had showed up at his office drunk! Mom went on and on after the call about how he wanted to pay for any future therapy. He even said that I grabbed his ass! She was so embarrassed about this phony story, it's driving me insane! You believe me, don't you? You believe me that I at least didn't grab his ass, right? That he grabbed mine? It hurt, too!"

            "Devin Star grabbed your ass?"

            "Oh, no. Not Devin." I started to laugh a little crazily, kicking of my heels and watching them reach the opposite side of the room. "Worse. His son, David Star. Oh, I didn't even tell you the most important part, did I? There never was an interview with Devin Star, Marcy, and there was never supposed to be one. It was for his son. His stupid, horny, disrespectful son." I shook my head, shame burning my cheeks. "I was right all along about David Star."

          * * *

            EARLIER THAT DAY...

            Perfect. 

            That about explained every single person walking around the D & S Towers. I kid you not-- I had actually walked out of the building and checked Google Maps again to make sure I had walked into an advertising building, and not a fashion model show. I was self-conscious the moment I walked into the left-wing tower. I was an unpolished gem amongst diamonds. People strutted with purpose, laughing and smiling, never looking me in the eye, (Was I freaking Medusa?) or even offering some help when I dropped both my resume and cover letter in the middle of the lobby.

            Plain Jane had walked into the most vivacious buildings in the country, and she was as uncomfortable as someone sitting on a cactus in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

            At least I dressed kind of nice...?

            Or at least I thought I did, until I saw what everyone else was wearing in the building. I had on a pair of solid black slacks I had found in my closet, and black heels. I would regret wearing heels. Marcy's dark American Apparel red blouse fit snug against me, the button right above my cleavage threatening to burst off like a really bad romance novel. Marcy didn't have a chest like I did, so it was unfortunately very tight and I was regrettably not breathing in it very well.

            Great.

            Needless to say, I would have trouble breathing during the interview. Paired with some jewelry and curled hair pinned back up in a low pony-tail, my overall look made me at least look slightly important walking amongst a bunch of gorgeous, composed, graceful, and experienced business workers.

            Ding!

            I hated elevators. I especially hated being alone in one. Did anyone like being alone in one? There was no way in hell I was taking the stairs seventy something floors up. Devin's office was on the top floor. Wonderful elevator trip, I know, especially when I checked the call buttons, my jaw falling slack to the ground. There were eighty levels in the building. Did I mention I also hated heights? I stabbed the eightieth floor and held onto the sleek grab bar behind me, closing my eyes and focusing on the eerie elevator music.

            Ding!

             The doors opened. I exhaled and practically threw myself out of the Claustrophobic Box of Hell. Checking the time, I hurried towards a heavy set of glass doors and entered a very modernized, cozy waiting room that smelled like green apples and cinnamon.

            A redhead with a tight bun and light eyes sat gracefully behind the tall, wraparound black desk. She gave me a once over as approached, then expressionlessly returned to her computer like she never even saw me. Her metal name plate said: TIARA REID.

            "Hello, I'm here for Devin Star?"

            Typing. Click-click.

            "I'm here for an interview," I said more clearly. "I have a four o'clock  appointment. Are you his secretary? I don't believe I talked to you on the phone..."

            More typing.

            I cleared my throat. "Hello--?"

            "I'm one of his receptionists." There was a bitterness in her tone, like I was annoying her to the highest extent. "Name."

            "Faith," I said a bit breathlessly. As discreetly as possible, I adjusted the tight red blouse squishing my lungs and added, "Williams. Faith Williams..."

            She reached under her desk and smacked a small pack of  D & S Towers Tissues in front of me. "These are for you," she said dryly and robotically. "Can I offer you a complimentary glass of D & S Towers Detox Water?"

            "No, thank-you--"

            "Then have a seat," she cut in before I could finish. "Mr. Star will be done very shortly."

            I was a bit taken aback by her snippy tone, but held back my own. "Wait, why the tissues?"

            Suddenly, a loud crash, followed by a girlish cry, made me jump entirely out of my skin. What the...? My eyes fell on the thick glass door next to Tiara's desk. The crash had obviously sounded from behind it.

            I assumed the door lead to Devin Star's office.

            "You'll see why you get the tissues very soon." Tiara's lip-tight smile was so nasty it made my skin crawl. Neatly getting up, Tiara slid her hands down her tiny waist, adjusting her maroon skirt and blouse. Her outfit was much tighter than mine, if at all possible.

            The tight red blouse limited my quick, nervous inhale. "Is he ready to see me...?"

            "You tell me." Smiling coldly at me, Tiara opened the thick glass door right as a woman with smudged makeup, frizzy hair, and red, tear-filled eyes ran out of Devin's office sobbing, fumbling with a pack of D & S Towers' tissues in her hands. The sniveling woman brushed past me, leaving the waiting room as quickly as she had entered it.

            Needless to say, I was stunned by the woman's swift exit. I tried to remind myself why I was still in that waiting room in the first place, and the only logical conclusion I could conceive was that I wanted to ask Devin what exactly he meant about "protecting" me from Death. Maybe it wasn't worth it to find out the answer...

            "Did that really just happen?" I mostly asked myself.

            "That would be the sixth applicant for the personal secretary position. Definitely less emotional than the interview before her..." Tiara swiftly shut the glass door and walked towards me. There was something sour in her eyes that made me shrink back a little. "Little advice, Faith. Turn around and go back to whatever poor house you came from. I know what money looks like, and honey, you definitely aren't money. You're the seventh one today, and I guarantee the last one after that incident."

            "Really? Then maybe I should leave..." Once Tiara looked convinced, I burst out laughing. "Listen lady, I'm a lot tougher than I look. Do you seriously think some emotionally unstable crying lady and your really obvious, big, juicy, and overly possessive crush on your boss is going to make me not walk into that office? You're wrong if you do. By the way, your boobs are so fake I can hear them squeak as you breathe." I mimicked Ginger-Bitch's fake smile as she gasped. "Now if you'll excuse me, Tiara, I don't want to be late for my interview." I started to move around her, when Tiara curled her talon-like pink nails around my arm and yanked me back.

            "How dare you talk to me like that. I'll ruin you, and believe me, you'll regret--" Before she could finish the rest, the thick glass door to Devin Star's door swung open, and out came the last human being that I had wanted to see that day.

          Masculinity. Confidence. Power. Expensive cologne. Arrogance... David Star turned heads when he walked into a room, and my senses instantly became intoxicated and overwhelmed. Strong, wide shoulders. A body that was so sculpted, it was rumored by many that he was the real life version of Michelangelo's David. White Armani button down and black slacks. His hair had been ombréd: blonde tips with natural brunette roots according to his consistently dark eyebrows in every photo I had seen of him. That hair, styled perfectly in its famous Star way. Slightly gelled back with a comb with a few strands "casually" in his face, identical to his iconic hairstyle featured in every fashion and modern magazine. He was clean-shaven, lean, and very tall, with a jawline that could cut diamonds.

            In summary, the smug bastard was mega-hot.

            Once again, an arrogant Star I had sworn to hate was in the same room as me, and all I could do was...well, stare.

            And maybe drool a little...

            David Star played with his phone, not looking up at me. "There's broken glass in my office by the couch. Clean it up." Oh, hell no! He then walked past me towards Tiara's desk. "Tia, I'm going out. Cancel any other job applicants today. Tell them I have that...uh, stomach virus that's going around. If they get pushy and try to reschedule, say I shit myself or something. Yeah, that sounds good. If I interact with one more idiot today, I'm going to explode--"

            "Um," I began irritably, cutting in over him, "I'm not your maid. And second of all, I don't think I'm going to be a waste of your time."

            David Star looked sharply in my direction, analyzing my features, my clothes. You know that look when someone is judging you right away? Yep. His eyes lingered on my chest, making me super-aware of the tightness of my red blouse, and then slid down my long legs a lot longer than necessary.

            "I'm here to apply for one of your job openings," I continued when he didn't say anything. I wondered if he knew anything about the car accident the night before. "Devin recommended that I come in for an interview last night. When we...got in a car accident."

            Those dark, coffee colored eyes lifted from my legs and pierced mine with every long stride he took towards me. They were like the storm after the calm: consuming and menacing. I suddenly feared this man's awareness of me, especially as he got closer.

            Up close, my hormones confirmed that he was really pretty, and I started to doubt my brain's ability to stick with my pure hatred of the Star family.  

            "Ah, I know who you are now." For a moment, he looked like he was biting back a laugh. Did I have something in my teeth? "My father said I would like you. I don't like many people, so that's saying something. David Star." His hand was a slightly rough and warm as it confidently grasped  mine. "Vice President of the D & S Towers."

            Eyes drilling into mine, index finger slightly rubbing my wrist. Was he checking my pulse? A drop of sweat slid down my spine. I put a harness on my nerves, not letting this man get the pleasure of scaring me away like the last applicant.

             "Faith Williams." Heat crawled up my neck under his intense stare. When he, oddly enough, didn't say anything again in response, I added in agreement to his previous statement, "I don't really like many people either..."

            A grin with no genuine kindness. "I can't promise that means we'll get along." David squeezed my hand before letting go. Pulling open the thick, glass office door, he lazily leaned against it, holding it open for me, grinning crookedly and inclining his head towards the entrance. "Step into my office, Miss Williams."

            Believe me, when I say I was hesitant to follow his instructions. What I really wanted to do, from the moment I made eye contact with David Star, was run out of the building and get as far away from Playboy Junior as possible.

            He was the last person I wanted to be alone with in a room.

             But once again, my curiosity, which had made partially made me go to the D & S Towers in the first place, got the best of me, and I walked past David into his office, yet again choosing a pathway most would not have taken blindly.

            Admittedly, I might have also entered the office because of the way Tiara had completely become invisible in the room and was shooting envious daggers at me with her eyes.

            * * *

            Playboy Junior's office was spacey with lush grey carpets and black leather furniture scattered around the room. I spotted a camera in the corner of the room. Cameras meant he had something very valuable in the office, so I scanned the rest of the room much more inquisitively. Nothing out of the ordinary. The windows were massive and overlooked Chicago, but pretty heavily tinted, stretching from the floor to the ceiling and ironically limiting the source of light in the room. A few lush green plants sat by his desk and a big flat screen hung up on the wall next to some black and white shots of the city. What initially caught my eye, despite the impressive decor of the office,  was the shattered glass coffee table in-between two comfortable looking couches, and the fact that his desk and filing cabinets were an absolute disaster.

            "Have a seat."

            "Why are the windows tinted in here?"

            "Eye condition. Got jabbed in the eye when I was little, now I'm sensitive to light. Have to wear sunglasses outside even when it's cloudy. I'm 'that guy"."

             I laughed. "Isn't that called photophobia?"

            "How'd you know?"

        "I take anatomy." I situated myself in a black leather chair across from his desk, nervously flattening out a wrinkle in my black slacks, my inner Neat Freak internally screaming at the debacle area of papers and garbage that were scattered along David's beautiful mahogany desk. How could a man so flawless be so...dirty?

            I didn't have any sort of disorder, but just like my mother, if things didn't look neat, I had to organize and organize until they looked perfect.

            It was a curse. Truly.

            Discreetly, as David Star fiddled with my resume, I might have plucked an old French fry off of his desk and threw it into the garbage can. Three pointer, too.

            "Miss Williams, is the mess really bothering you that much?"

            I jerked my eyes up. Caught. "Yes," I admitted after a long pause, "it's arguably bothering me more than any mess I've ever seen in my entire life, actually."

            "Do you have a disorder or something? OCD?"

            I fiddled with my hands. "Nope. Messes just make me anxious sometimes. I like things to be neat."

            "Ah, I see. Everybody loves a neat freak." His tone was dry and sarcastic. "You should know that Rudolph was my favorite reindeer. Therefore, contrasting with what my father may have said, I don't really like you so far."

            I fought back a smile, feeling heat creep up my neck. David freaking Star was teasing me!

             "Is that supposed to be funny?" I subconciously ran my hands up and down my slacks. "I didn't hit the deer on purpose, you know."

            "That's what they all say." Amusement lit his eyes. "Believe me, you would know if I was trying to be funny. I was actually trying to be cute." His eyebrow rose mischievously. "Was it working?"

            Heat crept up my neck. "Possibly."

            I relaxed a little. A little flirting felt natural.

            Interview: so far, so good.

            Devin had never specified who I was going to be interviewed by, or what job difficulty I was exactly getting into, but I had assumed I was at least going to be interviewed by him. Now, as David's gaze slid over my resume again, I came to the harsh realization that I had been scheduled to meet with David all along, and that meant I had to keep my opinions to myself if I had any chance of leaving this office victoriously.

            "On a more serious note, you need to relax a little bit. You're making me nervous, fidgeting so much." He poured himself a drink of whisky over ice, never asking me if I wanted a glass. He just handed it to me. "Here. For the nerves."

            "I don't drink."           

            "Have a sip."

            "I'm underage."

            "I insist."

            There was something laced in his voice that intimidated me. I felt forced to take a sip, nearly spilling the drink on me while I coughed wildly afterward. I had definitely taken too much. The whisky burned like a bee was gliding its stinger down my throat. "Gross. I don't know why I just sipped that.."

            "That's alright, I was just testing something." David took a large sip of the drink without even a wince, admiring my blouse briefly over the rim. "Please, tell me more about the accident last night."

            "Well, I was driving home from a party--"

            "Drunk?" He set the bottle of whisky down on his desk, watching my reaction carefully. He hadn't sat down in his chair yet, keeping me on edge. There was something very off-putting about a very beautiful man who didn't blink often nor noticeably breathe; and that was definitely a pretty accurate description of David Star.

            "No, I was not drunk."                                     

            "Never been?"

            "Not really. I've tried alcohol a few times. I get sick from it, so I avoid it. I was the designated driver and my brakes stopped working. My best friend had been drinking." I remained calm, composed. Honesty was the best policy. As nice as David seemed so far, I was undeniably nervous and hoped it didn't show. He, like any other boss, was looking for something to use against me in the interview, to corner me and eat me alive.

            "I see. And could you tell me how my father got involved in this accident? He didn't really give many details..."

            I told him, leaving out every part about Death. What I did tell him, though, was that Devin had told me he had purposely hit my car, just to see what David's reaction was.

            "Doesn't surprise me. He was probably a little drunk." David finally sat down, leaning forward on his desk. "You're very lucky to have gotten in that accident then, aren't you? This interview alone is a wonderful opportunity for girl still in high school. You're quite literally at the top of the food chain right now. And, not to mention, you're definitely a ...unique candidate for this job. Definitely stand out."

            "I know, and I'm very grateful for this opportunity--"

            "That wasn't necessarily a compliment, Miss Williams. In fact, it was far from a compliment. Do you want to know why the last girl came crying out of my office?"

            "Low self-esteem?"

             "No, she lied to me. She worked for the press, tried to get an inside scoop on me. I figured out what she was halfway through the interview, called a guy, and got her boyfriend's number. You can only imagine what I said to him once I got him on the other line."

            "You didn't..."

            "Oh, I did. Groans and all. Made it sound like she was currently cheating on her boyfriend."

            "What about the coffee table?"

            His expression went blank. "I hit it."

            "Anger issues?"

            He ignored that. "The point is, I don't like to be lied to. You're not grateful for this opportunity to be in the room with me because you hate me." He watched my reaction carefully, then grinned. "Therefore, you lied." My resume was wide open on his unorganized desk, fully exposed to those hard-set brown eyes. "All filtering aside, you should know that the only reason you're sitting in my office right now is because of your bra size. Natural D cup, and you aren't even wearing a push-up? I'm thoroughly impressed..." He wrote something down on a piece of paper at his side, chuckling.

            I gripped the armrests of my chair, digging my nails into the leather. "Excuse me?"

            "You clearly heard me very well, sweetheart, so why do I have to repeat myself?" He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, making his biceps clench and his shirt strain against his wide chest. As I noticed his golden Rolex on his wrist, I was reminded that we were from two different worlds, that I was no longer in my own territory.

             "Now, here's how this interview is going to go." David licked his upper lip a little. "Twenty Questions. My version. Which isn't necessarily twenty questions. And a list of your positive and negative attributes, hence the reason I have two columns on this piece of paper in front of me."

            David held up a piece of printer paper with scribbles on it. All I could clearly make out was the tiny drawing of boobs in the positive column next to 'NICE RACK'. "One side is negative, the other side is positive," he continued, pointing to each side with his pen, "As of now, you have many attributes listed under 'Negative' and only one attribute listed under 'Positive'."

            "Is this some sort of joke?"

            "I said you would know if I'm joking. No, Miss Williams, I am not joking." David wrote more on the paper. "Doesn't take me seriously... Definitely a negative. Damnit, hold on, I think I'm writing in the wrong column..." He slipped on a pair of glasses that made him even more handsome, if that was even possible, and began writing on the paper again. After, he smirked up at me. "Wow. Eleven negatives in the first ten minutes? That's definitely a record. You're really going to have to impress me at this point..."

            "Eleven negatives? How is that fair when you don't even know me? I didn't even see you write that many times!"

            "You've suddenly struck me as competitive," he said with that deep, pleasing voice of his. "I like that."

            "Let me see the paper!" I leaned forward, trying to read what he had written, when he pulled it sharply away from my line of vision.

            "Uh, uh, uh, Miss. Williams." David shook his finger at me. "You don't get to see the paper until after the interview."

               What the hell kind of interview was this? Was this even an interview?

            "No." I stood up sharply, anger and embarrassment boiling like a volcano about to erupt beneath my skin. "What makes you think I'm even going to stay after what you just said to me? How dare you ever think you can talk to me like you just did, David. I should report you for sexual assault!"

            "My word against yours?" Letting that sink in, David sat back in his chair and stared at me, burrowing through me with that dark brown gaze as if he knew something incredible I didn't and was amused by it. Running a hand through his blonde hair, he slowly stood up to his full height and walked around his cluttered desk, stopping once again, way too close in front of me.

            Close enough I could reach out and touch him...

            Not that I was thinking about that. "I could just leave," I muttered.

            "Leave. You obviously won't get the job if you do."

            "Maybe I never really cared about the job."

            He rolled his eyes. "I completely understand, sweetie. Not many women can handle these kinds of interviews. Perhaps you should try the bakery a few blocks away from here." David purposely emphasized his sexism, watching my reaction carefully as usual. "But I'll have you know, if you give up now, that means that you also lose." He held up the list of positives and negatives, pointing to the second positive listed on the paper.

            'DOESN'T LIKE TO LOSE.'

            "You'll have to admit defeat, walking out of this building knowing that you gave up." He leaned in when I turned my face away, whispering in my ear. "Haunting you. Taunting you. You'll see my name everywhere and remember that smug look I'll get on my face when you admit defeat. I'll make it a perfect smug face, too. I am a model, after all..."

            Definitely not a role model, I wanted to say, watching him pour a little bit more whisky into his glass. Was he even old enough to drink?  He snatched his glass off of the desk, turning his back to me, and standing in front of one of the office's large windows. He sipped his drink, leaning a hand against the glass and looking down at the city. "Tell me, Miss. Williams, would you like a complimentary D & S Towers Detox Water on your way out, or do you want me to just slap you on the ass to humiliate you on your defeat even more?"

            Doesn't like to lose. I bit my lip to prevent myself from cursing loudly.

            He was right, I didn't like to lose. I never liked the feeling of walking away empty handed, or having to deal with the constant reminder of what could have been a victory.

             Way too aggravated to respond, I sat back down in my chair, grinding my teeth together. David looked over his shoulder, side-eying me, before slowly turning back around. He stared. Fighting the urge to strangle Playboy Junior, I kept my eyes forward and my hands clasped in my lap.

            "I'm ready to continue the interview, Mr. Star," I managed to get out evenly.

            Masculine laughter filled the room.

            "You've made the right choice, Miss Williams." Playboy Junior sat back down behind his cluttered desk, triumphantly setting down his drink, uncapping his sharpie again and raising an eyebrow at me. "Now, let's get to the fun stuff, shall we?"

            I leveled my gaze with his, expression flat. "Let's."

            He picked up my resume. "Tell me about your previous jobs, Miss. Williams, and also tell me why you quit those jobs."

            "Well, I've worked at an ice-cream parlor and I waitressed. Both jobs didn't give me enough hours so I ended up quitting."

            "Boring," he sang quietly under his breath.

            "What?"

            "Nothing. Waitressing is a pretty impressive job on a resume, especially since your boss left you a very good reference. As my personal assistant, you would sometimes be moving around a lot. Possibly more than a waitress would. Do you think that would get overwhelming?"

            "I think every job can get overwhelming, but I'm dedicated when I need to be and I don't give up. Ever."  

            "Ever?"

            "You've obviously already noticed that I don't like to lose. I will push forward and get any task done that you need me to do, and I'll do it successfully. That's how I am. I've always been that way."

            David met my eyes. "What if something indissoluble gets in your way?"

            I frowned. "I'm not sure what that word means."

            "Something that's impossible to be destroyed."

            Within seconds, I had gone from settling down to my heart pulsating deafeningly in my ears. Did he know? Did he know about Death just like Devin had known about him?

            I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I--I don't know what I would do, then..."

            His serious expression shattered with a smile. "I'm only kidding. Relax. You keep fidgeting." David scribbled something out on the pros and cons list.

            "Would you be good at, well..." He swept his hand over his messy desk and jabbed a thumb back at his filing cabinets. "Organizing all of that shit?"

            "Yes. God, yes." David looked extremely insulted. I realized I had definitely answered that question a little bit too quickly. "I mean...not that you're a slob or anything...?"

            He chuckled. "That's the thing, though, I am a slob. I'm terrible at putting things neatly in their place. I'm more of a 'throw-it-over-there-and-leave-it' guy. I have like three vacant offices filled with papers I probably should have thrown out years ago. Anyway, my next question is how old are you currently?"

            Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as I thought it was going to be.

            "I'm currently seventeen. My birthday is October 31st, so I'll be eighteen soon."

            "So, Halloween? That's only in a few weeks." He wrote something down on the pros and cons. "What are the odds? That's my birthday as well."

            "Except you're not going to be turning eighteen."

            His sharpie paused on the paper.

            "How old are you, anyway?" I asked, recalling that I had asked Devin Star what his age was as well. The numbers hadn't matched up, he would have been too young to have a son around twenty years old.

            David's eyebrows crunched together. "Who's the one being interviewed here again?"

            "It's just a question. It's not like I asked you where you lived and what time you would be home after work."

            "Are you asking me out?"

            I snorted, and before I could filter myself, quipped, "When pigs fly."

            "At-ti-tude! You're quite sassy." He put the cap of the sharpie to his full lips. "Is that a negative or a positive attribute?"

            I gave him a flat look.

            "How about...you tell me how old I am?" He leaned forward on his elbows, muscles straining against his white dress shirt, a piece of blonde hair falling out of its perfectly gelled position and onto his forehead. Even with that one piece of hair out of line, he was so sexy it hurt to look at him. It hurt even more to admit to myself I found him incredibly attractive.

            "Take your best guess," he prompted.

            I analyzed his features, tried to recall any articles I read about the Star family that would have told me his age. "Twenty-two."

            "Oooh." David whistled softly. "So close. I take it you're not a fan? A fan would have known my age."

            I smiled tightly. "That would be correct."

            He inclined his head to the side. "Do you hate me? I want to hear your honest opinion of me, because I don't think you liked me even before I told you the real reason I let you into my office." After a pause, he emphasized, "Be honest. Take as long as you want. Let me hear it, Miss. Williams, this is your chance."

            I thought about that for a moment, sitting back in my seat. "David, I think you're a chauvinistic, arrogant, womanizing prick who thinks he can have anything he wants with a snap of his fingers, just because you're handsome. But no matter how many hot girls you have around you, and expensive cars you drive, the only luxury you'll truly have in life is the luxury of being alone and watching everyone else live a normal life--"

            "--and your heart is an endless void that must be filled with love by the stroke of midnight or else your Lamborghini will turn into a mouse?" he finished haughtily, spinning around in his chair and chuckling. "You have quite the imagination if you truly think I live an unhappy life. I have everything."

            "You asked me a question and I answered it honestly," I reminded him. "The unhappiness part was just an observation."

            "What could I possibly need in my life to make me happier?"

            "I'm not your psychologist."

            "So let me get this straight." David fiddled with his sharpie, appearing to be on the verge of snapping it in half. "You think that I'm an chauvinistic, arrogant, womanizing prick, and extremely unhappy, after being in a room with me for thirty minutes?"

            I quirked an eyebrow up. "I never said you were extremely unhappy."

            David's mouth went flat. "Smartass. That would be a negative."

            "I'm sorry. Did you expect me to kiss your feet, and tell you that you're perfect in every way, shape, and form? Sorry, not sorry."

            David burst into a fit of laughter so loud and forceful that I jumped a little. "I like you." He wrote something down on his pros and cons list. "Scratch that, I really like you. You have some guts coming in here, in my office, telling me all of that, then defending your opinion like it's your baby."

            I uncrossed and crossed my legs again. "I guess I do have guts."

            David stared at me for the longest time. Jaw clenched, he read over my resume again, and then slowly licked his upper lip. "You're a virgin," he suddenly said, and as if it that the most casual comment in the world, he added with a wolfish grin, "Does that mean you're religious or are you saving yourself for someone special?"

            My cheeks heated. How the hell had he known that? Is it obvious? "Whether I'm a virgin or not is none of your business..."

            "I see..." Now he was grinning even wider, eyes sparkling with wickedness. "I bet you've never even seen a guy naked."

            "I have," I lied, semi-choking it out. How the hell could he possibly know that I haven't? Had the room raised a few degrees or was I just imagining it? I was hyper aware of every pore in my body sweating. Then I realized that I had seen a man naked once, only he was covered in purple goo, I and it was at a party. Plus, he wasn't naked...for me. "I have seen a man naked but once again, that's none of your business."

            "It was health class, wasn't it? You saw your first in health class?"

            I was so confused. There was no possible way he was asking if... "Wait, what?"

            "You know, a man's Love Muscle? The One Eyed Monster? Mr. Happy?" He made a snapping gesture with his hand. "I personally like to call mine 'The Anaconda'." Then he moved his hand around like a snake. "Sssssssss."

            I must have been as red as a tomato. "I'm four-hundred percent done with this interview."

            "Ssssss?"

            I pinched the bridge of my nose. "God, help me. You are a child! It's no wonder you don't have a personal assistant."

            "For six months straight," he added.

            "Yeah, that amount of time doesn't really sound shocking. Not that it ever was shocking, by the way. You're not the most personable man in Chicago."

            "Ouch. Well, in case you were wondering, I pinned you as a virgin the moment I saw you wearing slacks. Virgins wear slacks to an interview. Period. By the way, I wasn't going to say anything, but that top button on your blouse popped off like twenty minutes ago. Must have been those D cups breaking free..."

            With a gasp, I pulled the lapels of my overcoat together, covering the large amount of cleavage Marcy's stupid tight blouse had caused me. "Well, in case you were wondering, I pinned you as an asshole the moment I saw your stupid, pretty-boy gelled hair--"

            "Shots fired! I'm hit, I'm hit!" David threw back his lead and chuckled for what seemed like an hour. Finally, after looking at my terrified face, he started to calm down, polishing off his drink, and wiping a tear from under his eye. "So...if I were say, laying on the couch over there, and you were filing some papers, would you ever try and have sex with me out of hormonal spitefulness? I mean, I'm a pretty attractive man, and you virgins can get pretty wild around me. I need to hire someone I can trust..."

            I was blushing so bad I could literally feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. "You are unbelievable. I cannot believe I even walked into this office."

            "Yet you're still sitting across from me," he pointed out. "It's a yes or no question, Miss. Williams. Would you take advantage of my body without my permission--?"

            "You know what?" I stood up, leaning onto his desk and getting in his face. "YES, YES, YES! I'M A VIRGIN, OK? I'M A FREAKING VIRGIN, AND I'VE NEVER SEEN A MAN NAKED! SO WIPE THAT STUPID SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE OR I'LL SLAP IT OFF!"

            Challengingly, David leaned even further across the desk until our faces were centimeters apart, and, like a child fascinated with a rare species of monkey at the zoo, he analyzed every aspect of my face with those sultry dark brown eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, probably something snarky, when suddenly, his eyes glazed over, and he slowly shifted his gaze to the right, watching the windows next to us with an odd expression on his face.   

            "You have to be kidding me," he whispered.

            He moved too fast for me to comprehend. One moment, there was a desk between David and I, and the next minute, I was on the floor beneath him and David was shielding me with his body. Something enormous crashed through the windows, slamming into the wall thudding on the ground; making noises that were inhuman and wetly gurgled out. For a moment, I actually thought he had slipped something in the whisky and I was drugged, but then I thought better of it, and realized he had sipped out of the drink too. The protective body above me was gone. After a moment of staring blankly, almost in shock, at the ceiling, I slowly lifted myself up, eying the source of the crash; inspecting the object that had impossibly crashed into the eightieth floor of an office building.

            My eyes grew wider with every second I processed the scene, lips moving silently over and over again, repeating, 'This can't be real.'

            I stood on wobbly legs, focusing on the back of David's white dress shirt, cautiously approaching the thing that he was squatting over. He was cradling it's neck, checking its wounds, staining his shirt with bright red blood. It. It? I knew exactly what it was, but I didn't want to admit it was even possible.

            Was it possible...?

            One of my heels almost gave out from under me when I finally reached David. Nausea built up in my gut and my gag reflex kicked in, threatening to unleash that morning's bagel and OJ all over the place. I let out a noise that was halfway between a moan and a scream and held down the vomit, feeling my world fade to black. Laying at an awkward angle amongst bits of bloody glass, halfway on the ground and halfway on a rolled over couch, was an angel with pure white wings, torn at certain parts, with his eyes completely pecked out, blood pouring out like a faucet. Suddenly, its wings stopped violently twitching, and no sound came from its mouth at all.

            The angel went still.

            I covered my mouth, suppressing the sob lodged in my throat. "Is it...?"

            David didn't say anything. Just kept his head down, watching the...angel.

             It was dead, or so I thought, until the it leapt to its feet and moved past David towards me, reaching out, hands curled like claws, roaring, "MAY GOD PROTECT US ALL FROM THE EVIL THAT IS TO COME! MAY GOD PROTECT US ALL!" I let out a shriek from my lungs that took every ounce of my energy, tripping over an object behind me, falling backwards onto the ground, instinctually covering my face and expecting its claws to dig into my flesh. It got a hold of my blouse, tearing into the material, before David gripped the angel around the neck at the last second, throwing it back against the wall with an unfeasible force of nature. The ground shook beneath me.

            David pinned the angel against the wall by the throat with one hand, his expression void of any emotion, never visibly straining to keep the creature pinned. I couldn't tell if he was strangling it or not, but the angel was surely thrashing for its life to get free, wings twitching, crying out, until finally, it went absolutely still.

                 David let it crumple to the ground, dead.

            Without skipping a bit, Playboy Junior turned sharply around and came towards me like a bullet, yanking me off the floor and pulling me out the room. "Relax," he commanded. I immediately fell slack into his arms and he picked me up. I smelled blood on him, felt some of it come off on me. I had been hyperventilating, seeing black splotches in front of my eyes, unable to find my equilibrium, and now I was strangely calm.

            We passed by Tiara, who looked as pale as a sheet, shakily holding a phone in her hand. She followed us out of the waiting room and into the hallway. "What does this mean?" she asked him so softly I barely heard. "Are we under attack?"

            "I don't know, Tia, I don't know. Call Devin. Change her clothes somewhere downstairs in one of the changing rooms for the models. Make sure the outfit is almost identical and torn in the same places and a cab ride straight home, or else this won't work. I can only make her forget so much when she's in shock like this." He placed me in one of the elevators next to Tiara, gripping the sides of my head. I started to sob as he stared deep into my eyes, penetrating the most personal part of any human being.

            Their mind.

            "The interview went terrible. You had more negatives than positives on my chart. You felt sexually assaulted because I grabbed your ass very hard at one point, so you slapped me on the face twice, and stormed out of my office. You left my office without ever seeing the angel crashing through the window. Forget you ever saw it crash into my office, there was just a bird that hit the window and everything is fine. You cried a lot on your cab ride home and smudged your makeup, and you got your blouse caught on the cab door on your way out tore it. You are frustrated. You never want to see me again, but you still secretly think I'm really hot." He then slipped off his watch, latching it onto my wrist. "You also stole my watch out of spitefulness and feel as though you must return it at some point. You know that I won't call the police. You are sexually frustrated, and also fuming because I'm going to call your mom and tell her a false story about how you arrived drunk at my office. The only reasonable explanation as to why I am doing that is because I'm an ass. Have a nice night, Miss. Williams."

            David let me go, showing me his back and stepping out of the elevator right as the doors began to close.

 * * *

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