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At first, he ignored me, and I felt quite embarrassed. But as I reviewed my statement, I realized that my comment might have read as rude.
“I mean, your apartment is so beautiful that’s why I feel it’s a bit sad.”
My words faltered toward the end, especially as he glanced up from the document he was reading. After this, my mouth instantly zipped shut.
When he was done, however, and had closed the last folder to hand over to me, to my surprise, he responded.
“So if it wasn’t a beautiful apartment, it wouldn’t be sad?”
This made me smile because, once again, he was communicating with me like an actual human being.
“If you had seen my first apartment when I came to New York, then yes, you would have considered it extremely sad. If I still lived there, I'd sleep in the office. This place is much better, so I'd probably carve a little space under my desk and live here.”
He continued to stare at me, and I quickly remembered that this was my boss and the owner of this building I was speaking to, not my friend.
“I’m—I didn’t mean I’d live here, not now. I have my place now. It’s beautiful. I mean, not your kind of beautiful, that’s out of this world—, it’s in the skies, but mine... I mean-”
I faltered because he had leaned against his chair now and was staring up at me, listening as though intently. I knew he had to think this was senseless because nothing I was saying was even the least bit interesting. I was just rambling nervously, and he was very, very aware of this.
“Go on,” he said after I shut my mouth, and I narrowed my gaze at him.
“No need,” I replied with a smile, and he continued to watch me.
“I want you to continue,” he said, “tell me exactly what your apartment looks like?”
At his words and his tone of voice, my heart skipped several beats because I knew that tone of voice. I knew what itinsinuated and what it could mean, and just like that, I could no longer feel the floor underneath my feet.
I opened my mouth then to respond, but no sound came out, so I cleared my throat, looked away from him to get my bearings, and cleared my throat.
“I’m... it’s, uh... “ I started to describe my apartment, which had very minimal color, but when I recalled that I was supposed to be Sophie and that this might be a test of some sort, I growled inwardly and had no choice but to describe Sophie’s apartment.
“It’s, uh, quite feminine,” I said, and that was putting it lightly. To me, it was a cutesy apartment, and I liked it at times and at other times, I absolutely hated it.
“It's pink,” I replied. “Green, yellow... colorful.”
“Bright?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Yeah, but soft. There's no, like, reds or oranges... mainly pastels. Even the fridge is pink.”
As I said this, he watched me and nodded, and I truly wondered what he would say afterwards. He simply watched me and then nodded. Just then, my phone began to ring, and I looked at the screen on the table. My heart leaped in my throat when I saw boldly the name that it rang, so I hurriedly picked up. However, it nearly flew out of my hands and right at my boss's face. Thankfully, I was able to catch it in time, and throughout it all, he just stared at me.
I immediately ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket.
“Creep?” he asked, and my heart sank. Of course, he had seen it.
I nodded and smiled in response.
“Who’s creep?” He asked, and I sighed.
“Um, my ex,” I replied.
“Your ex-fiancé?” he asked, and I nodded, sincerely wondering why he was drilling me so hard now. He never usually seemed to care at all.
“You call your ex creep? On what grounds?” he asked. “I thought you two only broke up because of his inability to navigate his grief?”
“Well, because of that, he became creepy, hence why his name has been changed to creep in my mind.”
I stared at him and watched as his expression darkened toward me. He was sure I was lying, and there was no way I could convince him otherwise, so I didn’t bother. What I knew was that I wasn’t going to tell him about Gregory harassing and downright threatening me back at the restaurant.
