"You can see me," he said, looking stunned.
I was equally stunned.
Did I look like someone with vision problems? But then again, he hadn’t asked me a question; his words were more of a statement.
So, I simply affirmed them. "And your pink boxers."
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He scoffed in disbelief and turned to look at my interviewer. I, in turn, turned to her, wondering what on earth was happening, only to meet with a stunned expression of her own.
Okay, this was getting awkward.
My gaze drifted to the lady in the long-sleeved shirt, and I noticed one of the buttons wasn’t properly done. My eyes widened as I put two and two together - I had interrupted something between them.
But did I really interrupt something if they weren’t meant to be doing it in a workplace, though? That question I asked myself didn’t stop me from standing up to say,
I apologize if I’m interrupting…" My gaze wandered to the man again, and for the first time, I took in his features, realizing he looked familiar. I shook the thoughts away as my gaze settled back on her, the lady who had interviewed me.
"Thank you for the job offer, this means a lot. Can I get the materials I would need for the work schedules to meet up with your standards?"
But instead of acknowledging me, they resumed their peculiar conversation, completely disregarding my presence.
"I can’t smell her kind." the lady said to the man.
"Me neither," the man in turn replied.
’Smell me? Why the fuck would they need to smell me?’ I wondered to myself.
"How can a human see me when I’m wearing my lux?" The man asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
I expected the lady to tell him I can see him because I’m not blind and he’s in front of me, but Since the lady wasn’t saying anything , I quipped in.
"Because you are right there?" My words came off as a question, because I was starting to question my sanity.
Or is this a drama club?
If they were paying me a huge sum to endure all this madness... I guess it’s worth it... but the least they could do was to see if I wanted to partake in any of it.
"You heard us." The lady’s words deepened my confusion, and I furrowed my brows.
’Not her too… was there some sort of script I wasn’t following?’
I cleared my throat. "It would reassure you to know I’m not facing any challenges with my ears or eyes, in case this is some sort of test—"
"No, you heard us… like we weren’t talking with our mouths," she clarified. "We weren’t moving our lips; we were communicating through our pack link… what— are you?"
I forced a chuckle, trying to downplay the bizarre situation. "Is there something I’m missing?"
"What are you?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing.
"I believe you mean who—" I started to correct him when a loud growl ripped from his throat. The interviewer shot him a calming glance, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease. What was happening?
My interviewer turned to me. "My name is Celine, and we are werewolves."
I stared at her blankly, waiting for her to reveal that it was all a joke, a ploy to scare me away from the job. But the breathtaking woman before me didn’t crack a smile.
I forced out another chuckle, trying to defuse the tension. But their serious expressions didn’t waver.
"Look, I’m not here for whatever drama or play this is," I said, trying to sound calm. "I’m here for a job... an actual one. Now, if you can’t hire me—"
Celine cut me off. "If you weren’t hired, I wouldn’t be revealing our identity to you."
My eyes widened in gratitude, and I felt an overwhelming urge to jump up and celebrate finally landing a job. But Celine’s unwavering commitment to her fantastical claim gave me pause. I decided to humor her, thinking that "werewolves" might be some sort of company nickname or team-building gimmick.
"Fine, and I’m a vampire," I said with a straight face, trying to mirror her seriousness. "So, can we sign the necessary documents and fill me in on the details so I can start early tomorrow?"
With speed that was out of this world, Celine brought out an iron clad dagger and pointed it at me.
Not in the ’oh you can have it’ way, but in the ’I’m gonna stab you to death with this’ and fear engulfed me immediately.
"I think there has been some sort of mistake," I said, already backing away. I turned to make my way past the open door, but it slammed shut in my face without anyone touching it.
I turned back to the interviewer and the man, and my eyes widened in surprise - he was now fully dressed. If I weren’t in such a dire situation, I would have been distracted by his chiseled features and the impeccable fit of his suit.
But what really caught my attention was the impossibility of it all - getting dressed in a suit, complete with a perfectly knotted tie, in mere seconds? It defied logic.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing, and cleared my throat, fighting to compose myself. One lesson I’d learned in law school was to never show fear, to maintain a poker face no matter the circumstances. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.
But my bravado was short-lived. Panic set in, and I mentally threw in the towel. ’Nah, screw this,’ I thought, as I frantically banged on the door, screaming for help.
When no rescue came, I resorted to the only tactic I knew that might intimidate them, despite my own trepidation. "Don’t touch me!" I warned, trying to sound braver than I felt. "My father is Mr. Laforteza - he’ll come for you."
Two things happened at once: the man halted his approach, his face frozen in stunned surprise. It was clear that my words had hit their mark.
"THE Mr. Laforteza?" he asked, a sly smile spreading across his lips.