Murderer - IV

In RubyLust's building was no normal afternoon. Cerise was the hot potato of each department, having no idea that there was an 'heir' moreover being introduced with an unexpected meeting. Even heating her popularity further in the building as they didn't expect a young swan as the next director.

The room is filled with sounds of aggressive typing, in front of the monitor, and unaware of being the topic of the day, Cerise's mouth dries cursing the same words from earlier a thousand times more. "I hate you Fleur Jean" she continues muttering and her father points out with a deep sigh that she's become a nuisance as soon as he came back from an urgent call, landing himself a spot on the couch. A tired block of meat that seemed wrinkled from all the weight on his shoulders.

All of a sudden she felt apologetic for her attitude and got back to working on the assigned task—to create a compilation of shoots that Fleur Jean has for the next month. A task supposedly done by assistants which her father lured her into being one for the given time.

Hours pass with Cerise spacing out in between encoding and trying not to scream at the bitchiest secretaries ever over the phone, strings of downgrading phrases falling out of her mouth every time she finishes a call. Her legs grew numb and it was a sign to take a break from sitting down any longer, the longest she'd sat motionless was way back when she fell asleep in a cubicle—skipping classes.

"I'm done father, may I catch some air?"

Saliva clogs her throat when he appears beside her, another habit of his that is really creepy. "Send the output first then do so" Cerise follows him back to his table and made herself comfy on the bean bag by the desk, growing restless by the minute and searching for her mobile.

Speaking of phones, now that she and Sal had different places to be in, it would be convenient if she gets her own. She slaps herself on the head, wondering why she hadn’t bought her one way before all this. More random thoughts begin a tornado in her head despite being tired.

Until now her life was made up by only her and her best friend, decisions come with her consent along with living a carefree childhood. Not. it wasn’t carefree at all, but that’s a story for another time. Faradiso is great, she's not the type to compare places either way but what’s got her pent up is the fact that someone else would manage her entirety here. She only arrived today yet the schedule is bustling, the so-called free week is arranged by her father- ‘dinner dates with well-known people’ he says is a boost to her career.

There’s even this Tea guy who’s supposed to be her assistant (in title that is) who’ll help her adjust and teach her the boring stuff. He’s overseas at the moment and Cerise is not keen on meeting such people who love long flights.

“Design department on the line, may I…..”

Cerise's little break is long over and all she ever did was mentally chop off the chandelier which hung from the ceiling, a good enough sign to get up and mess with some of the documents pinned on the board behind her.

There she sees different files including all sorts of numbers and foreign languages, taped at the corner is a picture too eye-catching to ignore.

She glances back at her father, drowned in a phone call with some dude from whatever department and she takes the chance to rip the image from the board. Vintage-like with faded numbers at the side which she assumes was the date, the tip of it between her fingers crumpled and brown.

She observes it further, her grandfather and Jean were standing in front of an empty space, by the side was a pole sign reading 'Alithea street'. The name spread mysterious discomfort through her.

"I see you've taken a liking to Fleur. Why so?" She snaps her head in the direction of her father, again, out of nowhere beside her already. Cerise sticks the photo back with a newer strip of tape, flattening it out as to not worsen its condition. "Curious is all, a little story would do"

Cerise's father clears his throat, the look on his face giving out that he was contemplating with himself. He felt the eagerness coming off of her, eyes saying ‘I don’t mind waiting years for an answer' so he finally lets out

"He got picked up a long time ago on the outskirts, went through rehab before becoming the reason why this-” he points at the signature billboard of the company “is thriving."

She processes his words, slowly putting pieces together that she hesitates to ask, yet her mouth had its own plans

"Why was he rehabilitated?"

A suspicious look is sent her way, closing the door from her urging. She didn't really care if he was becoming more cautious and he couldn't determine any reason as to why she was doing this either. Cerise bites her inner cheek, quickly thinking of a direct reply which wouldn't fill his bar further. "I want to know more about him, for work."

Thick tension arose in the small space around them, suffocating, forcing Cerise to stop any action at his next words.

"He’s a murderer" contrast to how nonchalant and grim his manner was previously, this one was short and panicked. He settled back in his seat, playing with his digits nervously and a voice interrupts him before he could spill more tea.

"TMI?" Cerise shrieks at the sudden interjection. Jean stays behind her, closer even. His breath lingered on her nape, sending goosebumps all over her body. She had seen her father in the corner of her eye also jump and he promptly composes himself like he didn’t just call Jean a criminal. Which he technically isn’t.

"Aren't you supposed to be shooting for the annual?" Cerise's father inquires, the professional side back within a blink. Cerise is put off with the word ‘shooting’ associating it with the recent information and she's now got a screw loose, too overwhelmed at the mere fact that her back is pressing against the model’s chest and he only inches closer before she squirms away.

Jean brushes some dirt off his flannel, adjusting it like he wore it in a hurry "My shots are done, I’m here for a coffee break with this lady right here." He spoke in a flat tone yet Cerise felt like it was a tease directed at her, alluring yet similar to a bully's voice echoing from the top of a playground slide. Her father sends both of them a dismissing look, murmuring something under his breath which Jean undoubtedly hears.

Instead of opening the door leading to the hallway, he held his hand out, waiting for Cerise. "What is he doing?" she mutters, hesitantly bringing her arm up and he grips her tightly before she could even fathom what had happened. A burst of neon colors passed through her, making her body go numb for a split second.

"Sorry, walking is a waste of time so-" He lets go of her hand, scratching his neck with a suppressed smirk and she ignores it as her attention pans from the thick rings coating his fingers to the wall behind him. 

The wall is different.

Cerise blinks.

The wall is different!

Cerise turns and concludes one thing. 

This man has just teleported her with him.