Chapter four

I dabbed my eyelashes one last time. It was naturally long so I just wore a mascara that'd put it in place. I was about to apply my lipstick when my phone rang. This jolted me and sent the lipstick the wrong way. I picked up my phone. A message from Bella. Great. 

"The girls are wondering when you'll be going to work. Fill us in on the first day at work with your hot boss." 

I smiled and typed back: "Sure I will."

It was still like a shock to me when Margaret, Mr. Honduras' secretary got back to me saying I got the job. Maybe Mr. Honduras liked those who dared him. I was ready for that. 

Earlier today, I had set my alarm and tousled in my bed all through the night. I woke up every minute, expecting the crack of dawn. I'd feel it in my head that it was morning already and I was late. I'd run to the window to check if it was dawn already, but every time I checked, the night was as dark as coal. 

Up until now. 

My shoes were piled up in a corner, waiting to be worn. I despised my shoes. All of them. I had one whose leather was peeling off, and that was my best shoe, the rest were worse. With a well-pleated skirt and a blouse, I scurried out of my apartment with my pumps clicking against the floor. My heart beat hard as I boarded a taxi. I wondered if there was traffic down the road. I wouldn't want to make Mr. Honduras angry. 

Reaching the high towers of Neil Incorporated, I brushed to Margaret's table. She looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back. At my back, my fingers were crossed, and I wished I hadn’t done anything wrong, yet. 

"Good morning, Miss Payton." Her voice was crispy and clear, and I knew if I said anything, mine would be dry and coarse.

"Good morning. I'm to ask what my duties will be—as Mr. Honduras' secretary." I felt a sweat breaking out of my forehead and I dabbed it immediately. If this day wasn't weird enough. 

Her smile didn't falter. "You can ask him yourself. He's inside, waiting for you." To me, she drew the word "waiting" like they'd be a serious reprecaution to what I'd done. When I hadn't done anything. 

My heart rose to its peak, beating faster than it did when I got a D in literature. "Am I late?" I bent and whispered to her. She squeezed her little, beautiful face and smiled. "A bit."

I knocked on Mr. Honduras' door with a lot of expectations and feelings. I imagined that he was fuming and his heart set to let me go of my job I hadn't even started. I shifted my weight from my left foot to the other in discomfort. I waited for his response. 

"Come in." 

I walked in. It was a slow and expectant walk. I tried to read his face to see if he was angry with me, but his cold, blue eyes just stared at me, ripping my soul into pieces. I decided to plead in advance. "Please, Mr. Honduras, I didn't know I'd be late. I had to get a cab and there was traffic, and…"

"Quiet now, Zina." He brought his hands to his wrist and scrutinized for the time. "You're twenty minutes early, I give you that. But do not ever be late. Ever. No one comes before me to his workplace, so don't think you can come earlier than me." 

My discomfort eased and because I was nervous, I hadn't realized I was standing in tight heels. My legs ached now, but I dared not sit when this man hadn't requested me to. 

He chuckled. "Your legs are aching, you'll be doing a lot of walking so you don't have to complain about standing when you've just been standing for two minutes. Stand."

My big toe was aching, I felt like kicking away this shoe. Mr. Honduras spoke, but I wasn't even listening.  

"Did you hear what I said?" he searched the truth in my face with his eyes. 

I bit my lower lip. "I did. A bit."

He raised his voice. "If you want to be my secretary, you need to listen to me always. Don't take away any from what I tell you. You'll have to keep standing till I'm done."

A shiver ran down my spine. Mr. Honduras' voice was like a storm or an earthquake. It always had an effect, especially on me. 

"Never be late to work. Ever. One minute of lateness, then you're off. Do whatever I tell you. Whatever. I like coffee, always give it to me black and a little sugar. No cream. There's a coffee machine down the hall." 

I scribbled all these down the fastest way I could, taking all his information. I dared not to look at his strong, handsome face. My toes hurt already. I didn't want any other thing to get hurt. 

"One last thing," he said, interrupting my crippling thought, "never bring your relationship matter to work. Those two things should never get mixed up."

I look at him with my shrewd face. "Noted."

"Go get my appointment schedule from Margaret, from now onwards, you'll be handling them." 

I walked to the door of his office wincing in pain, my feet hurt so bad from the tight shoes. I touched the knob of the door and turned it. 

"Wait." His voice reverberated around the room and got back to me, hitting me square in the chest. A bullet I couldn't dodge. I turned. "Mr. Honduras?"

"Come."

I wondered what he wanted to do to me. What if I did something and he wanted me gone already? I got to him and waited. 

"Sit down."

I sat. 

He raised my legs and examined my shoes. He unstrapped them and watched as my toes wiggled in freedom. "Much better," he said. "Why are you wearing tight shoes? Those can be uncomfortable, especially when you're doing this kind of job. Sit still."

He dug out his phone and dialed a number. "Yul, get me a pair of pumps… heels, I don't know what ladies call it." He turned to me and whispered, "What size do you wear?"

I whispered back. "I can't pay for it. I don't have any money for that. Shoes are expensive."

He acted like he wasn't listening. He took his phone away from his face and faced me, his face turning back to steel. "What is your shoe size? I'm asking you as your boss. You can't be walking around in those tight things. It's even peeling off. Toss them in the trash can."

"I wear size right, but I can't afford any."

"I didn't tell you to." He didn't say anything else but turned to his phone. "Yul, I need ladies' shoes. Size eight. Thirty minutes? Cool." He ended the calls and placed his phone back on the table. 

"Go throw these away." 

I nodded and took the shoe away. There was no doubt I didn't feel a whole lot of shame as he saw I was struggling in tight shoes. I looked for a trash can and threw the shoes into them, looking at the shoes decelerating in the trash can. That was my favorite shoe. 

Walking back to the office, I got Mr. Honduras' schedule from Megan. He had a meeting at two today, but he was free for the rest of the day. I knocked. 

"Yes, Megan, come in. You're the person I wanted to see." 

To my surprise, the inside of the room was filled with a stack of shoes. Shoes from different collections, shoes I couldn't afford individually even in my next life, shoes I only saw by window shopping, but even didn't get to touch because I felt there was no need for feeling what you couldn't get. Only two words left my mouth. "Mr. Honduras?"

"Oh, yes, Zina, my designer got you shoes that would match you. You can try them all when you get home. You have work to do." He wasn't smiling. It was like he didn't do anything for me. 

"Yes, Mr. Honduras, thank you so much." My eyes danced all over the shoes—through the soles, the color, the length. How did this man know my style? Well, Mr. Honduras wore stylish clothes, so his design should be top-notch.

"Where's the file you duplicated? I have to sign it." I dug out one pack of paper from a file and passed it to him which he read through before giving out his signature.

I didn't realize Mr. Honduras' eyes were on mine when mine was settled on a purple shoe. I shied away when I noticed he found me looking at the shoes. 

"You love this shoe, eh?"

His eyes also stood on the exact shoe I was looking at. I nodded. "Me too," he said, "bring it."

My hands were shaky when I carried it to him. He scrutinized the shoe and sat me down. Like he took off the shoe from me previously, he put this one on me efficiently. 

"There you go, it's perfect." He said. Mr. Honduras confused me a lot. One minute he's being so affectionate and caring, and the other, he's being a harsh, controlling freak. Now I know, I'll try to savor his sweet moments. Not like I like him, but looking back, who the fuck gets dressed by a fucking billionaire? 

I was staring at him now. He didn't know because he was still trying to strap the show in its right buckle. The way his dark hair fell and his eyes were practically locked in my shoe, I remember the first day we met; I remembered the first thing we did. I remembered my hands were once locked in his hair. I remembered everything. 

Time flew when the door of the office suddenly opened. I was embarrassed even when nothing had happened. How would I explain the theory that all these shoes were bought by my boss and he was helping me try out one? I immediately took my legs down and turned in slow motion. Mr. Honduras only looked up. Of course, without an iota of fear in him. 

I had no clue about the woman that walked in. She was beautiful, no doubt, and her face dripped with luxury. It was pinched at this time, the surprise on her face was non-negligible. I wonder who she was that she could barge into a billionaire's office without an appointment. Except she could be Mr. Honduras' wife. 

Shit. How do I explain this?

Margaret also ran by the door and stood. Mr. Honduras hadn't said anything yet, he just looked. Margaret spoke. "I told her, sir, not to come in, but she blatantly refused after I told him that you had an appointment."

The woman's countenance changed swiftly—from neutral to angry. She did dramatic circles with her hands. "This is an appointment? Oh, yes I get it. You have an appointment with your fucking where."

Mr. Honduras turned to Margaret. "Don't worry, you can leave. I'll handle things here." Margaret looked more than pleased to leave the three of us alone. 

"Claudie…" Mr. Honduras said a little decibel above a whisper, yet his voice was so authoritative. "We agreed that you wouldn't barge into my work life, didn't we?"

I only looked helplessly. This new shoe was perfect. The woman that happened to be Claudie drew a long breath, then her voice broke in angry pain. "I can't come to see you at work, but your whore can see you here? That's not fair, Neil."

Mr. Honduras gave a long sigh. "That's if you see it that way. Zina, here, is my secretary."

"And you bought all these shoes for just your secretary?" her eyes moved around the shoe, there was no doubt she had already counted how many shoes were there.

"Come off it, Claudie, you have a lot more than this. A lot." I knew Mr. Honduras wasn't exaggerating when he spoke about Claudie's shoes. She looked like someone who would have a walk-in closet just for shoes. 

Her cheeks were red but she tried to keep her face in perfect composure—she always did. When no one said anything again, and it seemed like Claudie could kill with her looks, Mr. Honduras cleared his throat. 

"Claudie, meet my secretary, Zina; Zina, meet my girlfriend, Claudie." 

She was just a girlfriend. What a relief. I couldn't have her trailing me from behind because she was married to Mr. Honduras. 

I stretched my hands to Claudie, waiting for her to take it. "Nice to meet you, Claudie."

She looked at my hands like trash, of course, she didn't take it, she only looked at me with those perfectly shaped eyes. "It's Claudie Megan. Do not ever call me Claudie. I go by Megan. Only my fiance calls me Claudie." 

Great. She raised the bar a little higher than expected. Neil introduced her as just his girlfriend, she said she was his fiance. 

I smiled. "Nice to meet you, Megan."

The focus of her eyes didn't shift a bit. She looked intently. "You're wrong, Zina."

"Zina." I corrected her. 

"Yes. Zina. Whatever your dirty name is. One thing I know is that it isn't nice to meet you and it wouldn't ever be. So, if I were you, I'd pack my bags, and these generous shoes, and leave this office right now."

Mr. Honduras chuckled. "Claudie, you have no right to fire, my secretary."

She bared her teeth and gave me a dirty look. 

I knew I had made an enemy, all I had to do was watch out.