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I lowered myself in the grey office chair he indicated across from his desk, trying to appear calm and collected.
"What can I do for you?" His front tooth was stained green—by a small piece of spinach?
"I'm here to apply for a loan."
His lips turned downward. "Do you currently have an account with us?"
I shook my head, and that seemed to perk him up a little bit. "Well, we should start with that first."
I nodded, feeling a spark of hope. It wasn't a no. Not yet, anyways.
"What do you need this loan for anyway?" He asked distractedly while tapping his mouse.
"I need a loan to take care of my sister," I’d already decided to tell the truth this time, as lying hadn't helped me any before, and I hoped that he might feel some sympathy for me.
"And what's wrong with her?”
“She…” I paused, taken aback by the question, “well, she needs to eat.”
“What about your parents?"
"They're dead."
The tapping on his keyboard paused as he took that in, and he finally looked at me. "Only recently?"
I nodded, trying not to let the grief suddenly washing over me show. I'd already cried once today, I wasn't going to start again. "Yes."
“I’m sorry." There was a gleam to his eyes, one that hadn't been there before.
I forced a polite smile to my face. "Why? You didn't kill them."
His face blanched. "I certainly did not."
"Anyway," I directed my gaze purposefully towards the computer, "I need a loan to help me out until I can get a job."
“And how much are you looking for?" He was back to tapping his outdated keyboard.
“It depends," I didn't want to appear desperate, "just a few thousand, maybe five," I hedged, hoping it would keep the roof over my head for at least another month, “unless I can qualify for more."
I held my breath, the stress making my shoulders tighten, waiting for the rejection. "I'll do whatever it takes."
His fingers paused, and he eyed me again. He let his gaze linger, moving from my face, crawling slowly down my neck until they paused on my breasts. The predatory gaze made my heart pound but I forced myself still.
Whatever he would find for me on the computer wouldn't be enough, I already knew it. I was going to have to come up with a creative incentive.
He relaxed, settling back into his chair, a pen to his mouth as he stared at me. “You said your parents are dead?”
“Yes.”
"Is this the first bank you've been to today?”
I shook my head, trying not to blush. I hated how desperate I'd become within such a short time. "More than I can count."
"I see." His eyes wandered lower, as if trying to penetrate not only the desk between us, but also my tight black skirt that went well past my knees. "You say you'll do whatever it takes?” He leaned forward, his fingers clasping the desk. “And exactly how desperate are you?”
"Ver-y.” The lump in my throat cut off my next words. My chest was so tight, it was hard to pull in a breath. This man was an adult, not like the boys in school. I searched his face for something I could latch on to, some kind of kindness or handsome feature. There was nothing. Just cold green eyes and a tick at his throat. He was lanky, his suit hanging off his frame and his tie was crooked. "What's your name?" I asked him.
"Oh, I don't think my name matters at this point.” As he lowered the blinds in the glass window, I grabbed a business card, tucking it into the folder.
