Runaway Read Free

I have an appointment for the personal assistant position,” I stood straight and tried to give her the impression that I fit in here.
    “Sure thing hun, take the elevator to the top floor,” she said casually.
    “Er, thanks,” I said flatly and made for the polished steel elevator. The Optics building was one of the tallest in the city and it made for a long ride to the top.
    I used the time to take Carolyn’s advice and pulled my hair down and smoothed it out as best as I could. With a few floors left to go I reapplied my lip gloss and unbuttoned my jacket. I can do this, I thought desperately to myself like a mantra. The doors slide soundlessly open and I stepped across the threshold.
    Inside was an equally modern waiting room. More bare bulbs hung from the ceiling and the floor was glossy concrete. Lively green plants spotted the room, along with chicly, mismatched furniture. I could smell the real lemons on a nearby tree and there was punk rock music playing quietly in the background.
    I felt a stone drop in my stomach; the room was also full of stylish runway models. All of them were three times as hip as the girl downstairs and they were all dressed like they had just stepped from the pages of some fashionable magazine. Carolyn would die, I thought.              
    The elevator gave an angry beep behind me. I had been standing in the threshold like a moron for too long. I quickly stepped away and made for a winter green, plush arm chair in the corner. Across the room was the only other door. I sat listening to the music and resisting the urge to chew my nails or run from the room, forgetting this whole mess. After what seemed like forever the door opened letting the recent interviewee escape.
    “Next, Daphne Tyler” I stood and moved towards the entrance as smoothly as my shaky legs would allow. Inside, the office was more intimate. It had the stereotypical oversized windows that allowed the occupant to gaze down on their domain, the floor was more polished concrete that glinted from the bare blubs hung from above, and the walls were that raw brick that made the space seem smaller then it likely was. I felt suffocated, which didn’t help when my gaze settle at last on him, the CEO of Optics Technology Cooperation.
    He had to be at least 10 years older than me, but wealth can buy youth, and he was as handsome as any Calvin Klein model. He was sitting but I could see the bulk of his arms under the rolled up sleeves of his button down. Instead of a traditional tie he wore a bowtie, and his hair was swept to one side. A tattoo peaked just above his collar and cool blue eyes, stared at me in silence. My prep work had told me a lot about the company, but little about its CEO. I knew his name, Christopher Schuler.
    “Hello Mr. Schuler, I’m Daphne Tyler, thank you for this opportunity,” I reached out a hand but he just kept staring at me. I dropped it awkwardly and continued to stand. He picked up a printed out copy of what looked like my resume. The most impressive information he would find there is the degree in business science I had earned, along with my list of accomplishments as the chairwoman for my acting club.
    “Tell me Miss Tyler, would you be willing to be seen on television and photographed for the company?” He leaned back in his chair and waited for me to respond, resume forgotten. Everything about him said he was really indifferent to how I would respond; this was just a formality before he dismissed me.
    “Yes Sir,” I replied doing my part to hurry this along.
    “What if you were asked to cut and dye your hair?”
    “What?” That was not the question I had been expecting.
    “Your appearance dear, it doesn’t match this company or this position. I have worked very hard to keep this company moving forward, showing everyone that this is where the future will be created, and you walk in here looking like a weather reporter straight out of 2001.”
    “You’re a jack ass,” I