Who: Orin and Hayley What: An unusual job interview Where: Monarch Industries When: Mid-Morning on Monday Warnings: It's Orin. Warning for that. Also sass.
Only the fact that Lilith wanted her to do this kept Hayley from turning on her heel and walking out of Monarch Industries. And even then, it was hard to keep her feet moving in the forward direction. From what little she had seen of Orin Monarch, he was an utterly deplorable human being. Which was a hilarious assessment to come from Hayley of all people, as she was starting to realize that her entire life was filled with deplorable human beings. Hell, she wouldn’t begrudge the idea that she was deplorable. After all, she was bad at being bad and bad at being good. Two strikes, and the pitcher was too bored to throw another pitch.
All those insecurities, all those niggling doubts, sat on her shoulders like talkative gremlins as she stepped inside the office building. She tried to ignore them, tried to push them out of her mind, as she approached the front desk. She was dressed smartly in khakis and an olive green blazer, a splash of orange color seen in a scarf wrapped around her neck. As always, she wore a pair of gloves, brown like her shoes. It was business casual, laid back but still professional. Springy curls bounced against her shoulders as she walked, doing her best to regulate her breathing as she approached the desk.
At her side, she held a manila folder that contained her resume. It was a very professional document, typewritten and everything. It detailed accounts of her employment from the present back to when she was sixteen, including references to past employers. Every reference was real, every contact number viable. No one had to know that [Destiny] had recruited a few members of the Texas Brotherhood to submit their businesses as either references or places of prior employment. It was, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly normal resume for a perfectly normal 21-year-old woman with workplace and web design experience. And, to be fair, she had worked for all the individuals listed on her resume at some point - she just wasn’t making cute web pages for them.
The secretary looked up as she approached, and they shared a mutual smile. When asked for the purpose of her visit to Monarch Industries, Hayley mentioned that Mr. Monarch had suggested she submit a resume. What kind of work she would be put to, she wasn’t sure, but anything secretarial or web-based would do. Despite the butterflies in her stomach, she was sweeter than apple pie, and before long the secretary seemed to recognize her. That horrible photograph insert from the carnival had done her only one favor so far, and this was it. Not long after the secretary’s gaze rose to the silver tendrils that framed Hayley’s face, she picked up her phone and placed a call to Mr. Monarch, saying that she was with a job applicant of his own recommendation. Orin had just hung up the phone with the new head of his research department, and it was a stroke of good luck and even better timing to hear from the woman at the front desk. Now, he wouldn’t exactly admit to remembering the job offer to the woman on the phone, laughing in her ear and saying a lot of people had his personal recommendation in a way that had to make the secretary blushed. Still, he told her to bring the applicant on up to his workout room, since that’s where he was heading when the phone rang.
Monarch Industries was a large skyscraper - windowed walls and the the sort of modern-metal cleanness that seemed appropriate for a company involved in research and science (even if the ultimate goal was killing people.) Orin’s office was on the top floor, and his workout room was across from it. The space was light wood, with a glass-doored shower and sauna obscenely placed in the back, along with mirrors and equipment. It was, at the end of the day, the precise picture that Orin liked to present of himself.
He left the door unlocked when he entered, and he changed into track pants and sneakers without any hesitation or modesty, and then he climbed onto the treadmill. Setting a steep incline and a fast pace, he turned on the sound system in the room and began jogging. The music could be heard from the elevator to the floor, loud and annoying even to his ears. The way the secretary blushed while on the phone with Mr. Monarch was worrisome, and the fact that she was being sent to the “workout room” was even more so. Still, Hayley didn’t let her smile slip as the secretary gave her directions. She waved to the woman, just brimming with appreciation and joy and a zillion other Hallmark-friendly emotions. It was easier to fake it around the secretary, because Hayley imagined she could have liked her. The hard task was still ahead.
She stepped into the elevator, feeling like she was going up into space as she felt the box rise. The entire building looked like something out a movie, and if she tried to separate herself from her enthusiastic distaste for Mr. Monarch’s company, she could actually see herself happy working in such a pretty building. Once the elevator stopped on the top floor, doors opening, Hayley began to retract that optimistic thought.
The music surrounded her as she stepped out into the hallway, resume held against her side. Every step she took towards the room that - from what she could see - contained exercise equipment magnified the noise until she wished she had been born deaf. She considered knocking on the door, but realized that no. She was not knocking. She was going to walk in there, because he was expecting her, and he probably wouldn’t hear the knock over the music anyway.
As she stepped inside the workout room, the sound of shoes pounding on treadmill caught her ear over the obnoxious music. She turned, eyes widening as she saw Orin Monarch - shirtless, of course - running on the treadmill at an incline and speed that would have likely made a normal human being pass out. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression utterly baffled. What was wrong with people? And then, the words came out, loud and completely without a filter. “If I’da known this was the dress code, I’da just come in my underwear, too.” Orin, who knew who was going to walk through the door, even if he pretended otherwise, was not disappointed in her opening volley. “If you had come in your underwear, you would have gotten a nicer salary offer,” he told her, his grin firmly in place and of the shit-eating variety.
He hit the remote button and turned off the music, slowed the treadmill and lowered the incline slightly, and then he let himself look her over in her work clothes. “Left the feather at home?” he asked her with a smug sort of knowledge that spoke of a shared intimacy that went much deeper than a few minutes shared at a carnival. It was intended to make her squirm, admittedly, and he watched to see if she reacted, even as he reached for the water bottle on the treadmill’s dash.
She was a pretty thing, he thought, not for the first time. “Going to hand me that?” he asked, using the bottle to motion to what he assumed was her resume. “And if you’re cold, we can warm things up for you,” he added - a reference to her gloves. Come to think of it, he’d worn a pair at the carnival, too, but that was outdoors.
He motioned to the treadmill beside him, not really expecting her to take him up on the challenge. Oh, she should have seen that coming. Looking to him with a sour, thoroughly unimpressed expression, she rubbed one hand over her face as if that might wash away the memory of his horrid comeback. She countered that shit-eating grin with a glare packed with barely concealed malice. He didn’t seem to like nice at the carnival, so what was the point in even trying?
She was about to say something in response as he slowed the treadmill and killed the music, giving her ears a well-needed break. Unfortunately, he abused them again by opening his mouth. The question was met with a roll of her eyes, utterly uncomplacent. “Nah,” she drawled, though even the warm southern twang sounded a bit cool coming from her lips. “I brought it in my back pocket, in case you wanted me to use it on you.” There was nothing flirty or giggly about her, despite the fact that she was saying the sort of thing a flirtatious girl would. Maybe Lilith was proving to be a stronger influence than she had thought, or maybe this was Sol’s fault. She’d find someone to blame before the interview was over.
As he asked after her resume, she walked forward, winding around the nearest treadmill to hand it to him. The reference to her gloves made her pause, a slight uncertainty flickering in her face. “No, I’m fine,” she said as naturally as she could. She should have taken them off, but he was shirtless. It was too dangerous. One second, he was running on the treadmill. The next, his shoelace came untied and he fell, and then what? She waits to put her gloves back on before making sure he wasn’t dead? No, it wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Her gaze slid over to the neighboring treadmill, a brow raising. She was in boots, though luckily they didn’t have a heel. They were boots she could walk in for miles, so she supposed a run wouldn’t be out of the question. And really, what was the worst that could happen? With a shrug, she climbed up onto the machine, setting it on a brisk walk that nearly became a jog - partially because she didn’t want to completely sweat through what she was wearing, partially because her footwear was adequate but not ideal, and partially because she didn’t want to get too hot. He glanced over at her as she climbed on the treadmill and turned it on, the smile that was just hinted at on his lips widening as he watched the process of her turning on the machine and setting a pace that was acceptable for her shoes. Good thing she hadn’t worn those big old heels women wore when they wanted someone to notice their legs. He liked those, admittedly, and it would have been entertaining as hell to watch her attempt it, but he didn’t much want her suing him for falling on her job interview.
He read over the resume slowly - intentionally - watching her out of the corner of his eye. Honestly, he didn’t care what was on the paper. Her address told him she was a Creation, and that meant he didn’t believe a thing on the resume he was holding. It didn’t, however, mean he wasn’t going to hire her. She deserved the job just for getting on the treadmill and staying there this long in those boots.
He turned his own treadmill off, after he’d let her sweat it out long enough, and he tossed a towel around his shoulders as he walked around to the front of her machine and folded his arms on it. “See, there’s this job opened up this morning,” he said, leaning on her dash and watching her with that damnable smile on his lips. “But I think you should tell me why you want to come work for me, honey,” he said, sexual harassment be damned. Though she was no powerhouse, Hayley wasn’t out of shape. Most of her time in Texas had been spent outside, climbing trees until her sweaty hands slipped out of her gloves. And Destiny had encouraged her to stay active, keeping fit in case it was necessary. So a bit of powerwalking wasn’t that big a deal, even in heavier-than-normal boots. The only major discomfort was her scarf, gloves, and jacket. They were hot, and the longer she stayed on the treadmill, the hotter they felt. Her face began to flush scarlet, though she wasn’t wheezing or sweating yet. It just seemed that her body was trying to escape the oppressive heat it was feeling, and she was casually ignoring it.
When he turned his treadmill off, she considered doing the same, but decided not to. He had told her not to give up so easily before, and really, how was this situation any different? So as he casually leaned against the dashboard of her treadmill, she continued, trying to ignore the discomfort of sweat rolling down her neck and back. She looked ahead at him as he spoke, letting her breath out in controlled measures.
Raising a brow, she pondered his question for a few seconds as she sweat on the treadmill. Why did she want to work for him? Short answer, she didn’t. Long answer, Lil wanted her to work for him and Hayley was spineless enough to let what Lil wanted be what she wanted. But none of those answers would satisfy, and really, they weren’t fun to say. So she grinned through the huffing and sweating, face red as a beet. “Because, sugar,” she started oh-so-sweetly. “You’re such a lech that I’ll bet you want all your employees looking their best. Which means I’m betting the dental plan here at Monarch Industries is the best in the whole damn city.” He laughed. He knew she was giving him shit, of course, but he appreciated the attempt at bile from a young woman who, he suspected, generally didn’t dish any bile out. Granted, she was still on the treadmill, and he didn’t know whether he was impressed or disappointed. On the one hand, he admired her perseverance. On the other hand, he would have told himself to go to hell by now. She was doing a good job of pretending she wasn’t uncomfortable, but all that red on her skin indicated otherwise.
“I’m not used to seeing a woman so flushed if she isn’t in my bed,” he admitted, and he realized he should find out what the fine was for sexual harassment sooner rather than later to see if the risk was worth it. Still, he couldn’t help it with Hayley. He grinned at her, and he pushed the button to stop her treadmill. “Feel like telling me the truth?” he asked her, eyes intelligent despite everything else. The fact that his comment didn’t surprise her was a bit worrisome. Was she getting used to his lechery already? Maybe that was her other super power. In addition to being incapable of touching another human being without hurting them, she had the extraordinary ability to tolerate bullshit. She just gave him a poisonous glare as her treadmill slowed to a halt, breaths heavy and quick. Gripping the bars on either side of her, she looked down briefly as she collected herself, hearing the question with a stab of irritation. What was this guy, a lie detector? He should just work for the police interrogating suspects instead of harassing random women for kicks.
She looked up at him once she was breathing semi-normally, controlling every breath. The basic truth, the easy truth, was something she had to hide. But maybe, just maybe, there was more than one kind of truth here. “I haven’t been able to find a steady job since comin’ to Seattle,” she said, once again realizing that she was pathetic. “It’s all freelancin’, I’d like somethin’ permanent.” She cracked a thin smile as she realized, in a strange way, that this was true. Maybe she just needed something normal and not-evil in her life. “Even if that somethin’ means I permanently have to wear long pants every day.” Or hell, maybe she was the evil one. When she mentioned the long pants, Orin looked down at her legs, as if he was making an assessment of what she’d look like in something short with heels. He toweled off his face as he looked back up at her, every inch the bored playboy with nothing to do but sweat in a workout room during the work day. In truth, he had a meeting in fifteen minutes to fight about continued manufacturing of weapons that had been made before he took over management of the company, weapons he had issues with, but you’d never know that to look at him.
“You go on down to the basement. My private research department has a lab down there,” he said, making the lab sound like it was an insignificant room instead of a full street block in length. “The head of that lab’s named Will Lowell. You tell him you’re my new girl for down there.” It was a deceptive statement, especially given how important the work that was conducted down there was, but he had a good feeling about this stubborn girl (who was clearly lying to him about damn near everything). “Oh, and he doesn’t much like perfume, but I doubt he minds you wearing pants.” The glance down made her roll her eyes, stepping down off the treadmill. She only paused when he mentioned going to see someone - she was covered in sweat and likely looked like hell. Damn him. Wiping a gloved hand over her face, she nodded, knowing at least that whining wouldn’t get her anywhere.
“Okay,” she said, fairly breathless. She took a step towards the door, hesitating as she made a realization. “So what exactly does a “new girl down there” do?” It wasn’t until she said it that she realized all the horrible things that could be read into that statement. She sighed, trying not to give away the fact that she wanted to bang her head against the wall. She was so impressionable, it was pathetic. He was rubbing off on her already. He chuckled, and he would have tipped her chin if he hadn’t been so sweaty just then. As it is, he moved his hand but let it fall short. “Answer phones, keep secrets, help out however Lowell needs her to, wear feathers but no perfume.” He grinned. “Bring me coffee when I call down and want some.” He moved away from her, then, grabbing the forgotten resume and holding it out to her. “Feel free to show it to him, if you want, but tell him you’re already hired. I’ll get HR on it once I get out of the shower.” He gave her a look, one that indicated she’d be free to join, and then he wandered off in the direction of the clear pane of glass that was the shower stall. If she wanted to save herself an eyeful, she was going to have to scoot plenty quick. Her gaze snapped to his fingers, defensive, though she relaxed when he let his hand stop midway. She wondered if there was a way to enforce a no-touching policy, for Mr. Monarch’s sake. Raising a brow at his description of her new job, she smirked. “It sounds like you’re just asking me to have sleepovers,” she said, accepting the resume. “And sure thing.” She paused, about to thank him, when he mentioned the shower. That look almost made her gag. She definitely needed a no-touching policy.
“Make sure you get behind your ears,” she called out as she turned her back on him, moving swiftly for the door. She lingered, almost turning around to thank him out of compulsory habit. After a second’s pause, she opened the door and left the workout room. He didn’t need thanks. He knew what he was doing.