Rune turned and left without another word while mouthing “yes, your majesty” “no, your majesty” the moment she turned her back to him. She knew what this was.
This was not his regular routine, and she did not miss the slight narrowing of his jet-black eyes or the crease between his bushy brows. She had thrown him a googly, as her gramps used to say when he played cricket. And Dorian did not know what to make of it.
The afternoon arrived with five new, eager faces in the lobby. Rune arrived at 1:00 p.m., her movements precise and her face a mask while her frayed heartstrings were tucked carefully away from sight. She greeted each candidate with her usual quiet professionalism, offering them water and a smile. Nostalgia hit her unexpectedly. Five years ago, it was her in this very lobby, hoping for a chance. A nod fromAdrian, one of the pool secretaries, wrenched her from the reverie and back to the job.
She took her place at the far end of the interview room with her notepad and pen as an observer, not a participant. Rune greeted each candidate as they walked into the room, then sat through the interviews because Dorian insisted that she take notes. She wasn't sure if it was protocol or cruel and unusual punishment.
Dorian sat in silence, leaning back in his chair like a king on a throne he’d built himself.
They filed in, one after the other. Candidate one was a brunette with perfectly curled hair, red lipstick, and a neckline that belonged in a nightclub. Her resume was forgettable but her body, less so, at least that's what she was betting on. She leaned forward within seconds, her ample bosom nearly toppling a glass of water.
"So," she purred midway through the interview, "what's a man like you doing in an office like this?"
Dorian deadpanned, not looking up from the blank page which seemed to hold his interest. "Screening candidates for a job. Just not the one you seem to be auditioning for. The escort service is in the next building."
Rune nearly choked on her own spit. The woman flushed, sat back stiffly, and the rest of the interview was a graceless tumble into irrelevance. Dorian cut it short after five minutes.
"She won't do," he muttered before the door even clicked shut behind her.
“Oh, I don’t know. She states her typing speed is 100 WPM. Just not with her fingers,” Rune muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Dorian to hear.
At the continued silence, she found him looking at her with his mouth slightly open as if the teapot started speaking.
Candidate two was younger. Maybe twenty-one. Barely out of university, her ponytail too high, her blazer a little too big, her smile hopeful in a way that hurt to watch. She tried, she really did. Fumbled her way through answers, corrected herself, and apologized three times too many. By the end of it, she was blinking back tears. In some ways, this was Rune for her interview. She wondered why Dorian didn't send her packing back then.
Rune stood up to guide her out, but the girl bolted, apologizing for "not being ready" as she disappeared down the corridor.
"She'll be a great receptionist," Dorian muttered dryly. "For someone else."
Candidate Three was Margo. She made a perfect entrance, heels clacking, hips swaying ever so slightly, her voice well-modulated and cut glass which spoke of private education. She was tall, and her platinum blonde hair was up in a knot, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was impeccable and understated like the old Rune. She oozed competence, slipping in buzzwords into the interview that had started to sound like a conversation between old friends. She had given Rune a brief, superior look that implied that she had been judged and found wanting before shifting her laser focus to Dorian. Her resume was solid, but nothing Rune hadn't seen before. However, she had Dorian’s undivided attention, Rune noted with invisible despair that she couldn’t quite suppress. When she crossed her legs, his gaze dropped. And for the first time all morning, he smiled.
Rune pretended to look down at her notes but her nails dug crescents into her palm. As she incredulously looked on the interview slid smoothly from conversation to flirtation.
"Oh, a start-up," Margo said when asked about her last job. "Lots of late nights. It was a small team, but we were very... close," She said it like a sultry promise.
Rune recorded the line with cool detachment.
"And you are twenty-four?" Dorian asked.
"Correct," Margo replied sweetly, eyes sliding to Rune. "Hard to believe how quickly some people age in corporate settings, isn't it?"
Rune blinked at her like watching a goldfish in a bowl. Or a piranha.
When Margo stood up, and Rune led her to the door, she leaned in close and whispered, "Good luck, honey. Men like that don't usually keep exes hanging around."
Rune replied, calm and quiet, "No. They usually bury them."
Candidate four was a man in his fifties. Polished and articulate, but flat. His answers were textbook and his approach lacked imagination. He wasn't applying to work for Dorian, he was counting down the days to retirement so that he could holiday in Spain.
Dorian, bored within five minutes, speed-wrapped the interview with a perfunctory nod and a "We'll be in touch" that meant absolutely nothing. When he left, Dorian muttered to Rune, "I'd rather outsource the job to a fax machine."
Candidate Five was Tom Burton. Fresh-faced and bespectacled, yes, but sharp. He wore a modest suit, not expensive but well-tailored, and sat with the kind of calm that inspired confidence. Rune had a good feeling about this one.His answers were thoughtful, his questions intelligent. He didn't fawn. He had prepared for the interview with well-reasoned suggestions for streamlining client communications and restructuring file systems. He performed the best without a doubt. But he didn't have breasts.
Rune, for the first time that morning, let her pen rest. Dorian nodded, giving nothing away. And for Dorian, that was practically affection. When Tom left, Dorian leaned back.
"I think Margo Fairman will be a good fit," he said, almost absently. Rune didn't respond. She just got up, but her neutral silence only seemed to egg him on.
He watched her closely. "You think that's the wrong choice."
