'MR Higgins!'
'Mr Higgins!'
'Mr Higgins!'
'Mr Higgins!!'
For nearly eight months now, Zachary Higgins had jumped out of his skin each and every time those words were screeched out of his employer's office. If he could admit one thing, it was that he was certainly never bored, though it quite nearly came at the expense of his sanity.
Today, in particular, had been going fairly well. That was, until MacIntire called for a coffee. After taking a tiny sip from the mug, he seemed to only barely resist the urge to spit the offending substance onto the floor. Much to his apparent distaste, he swallowed. 'God, was that black?'
'I-- I’m sorry I--' Forgot. The word died on Zac’s lips as he was interrupted.
'I only have black coffee on meeting days, Higgins,' he scoffed. 'Two sugars and cream on any other day. You’d do well to remember that.'
'Yes, sir. I know that,' he assured him, speaking quickly to ensure he got a word in. 'I just--'
'Mr Higgins, if you could dump this and fix me a proper coffee, I’d be much obliged.' MacIntire held the mug at arm’s length, as if the very sight of it caused him as much displeasure as the taste.
'Y--yes, sir.' It took all of Zac’s willpower not to scream as he took the mug and exited the office with just as much speed as he had entered it.
~*~*~
ZAC was entirely certain that he would be the richest man alive if only he had a quid for every time he’d picked up a foul-smelling lunch from the front desk. He was also sure that he would be just as wealthy if he had another quid for every time he was made to re-order said pungent meal. Today was no exception.
As MacIntire wrinkled his nose at the plastic bowl set in front of him, Zac began counting the pounds.
With a disappointed sigh, he raised his eyes to meet Zac’s. 'I said I wanted cabbage soup, Higgins. Not a waterlogged salad.'
Not much of a difference there, mate. 'A--apologies, sir. Your usual restaurant was horrendously overwhelmed. I didn't want to make you wait.'
He stirred the soup whilst serving it a disapproving stare. 'It would have been worth the wait not to end up with this filth.' He dropped the spoon and pushed the bowl away with a sigh. 'Take it away.'
If I had a quid for every pound you wasted… 'Yes, sir.'
~*~*~
'MR Higgins, do you beg passersby for money in your spare time?'
Zac’s eyes shot up from the screen of his laptop, the e-mail he’d been in the process of composing forgotten entirely. He was met with Augustus MacIntire looming over his desk, features marred by lines of distaste. He would have been stunned into silence by the sight itself had he not been so offended by the words that had preceded it. 'I-- No, sir. I don’t, actually.' He tried to keep his tone calm, knowing how dangerous it was to set fires around explosives.
MacIntire snorted a humourless laugh. 'Are you quite sure? Do I not pay you a generous enough sum? Because your clothes might give someone that idea.'
The hairs on his arms stood up with the laugh and he could feel his face begin to burn at the words that followed. Even so, he did not allow a single inkling of it rise to the surface. 'I’m sorry, sir. You see--'
'I see that you don’t seem to give a damn about your appearance. While that may be perfectly acceptable where you come from, it most certainly is not in this office,' his employer spat, his sharp tone leaving little room for negotiation. He walked around the desk as he spoke, raking his eyes over the suit that Zac's brother had graciously passed down to him. 'As you are my employee, you are viewed as an extension of myself, and I will not have my reputation tarnished by such off-the-rack mediocrity.' He pinched one of the too-large sleeves between his thumb and forefinger, then released it, wiping his fingers off on the thigh of his trousers. 'Tomorrow, and every day henceforth, you will wear clothes that fit you. Engineering Global has no room for blemishes. Use the company card if you must. Do I make myself clear?'
Zac bit his tongue so hard that he could have sworn he tasted blood. 'Crystal, sir.'
'Excellent. Now, get back to work.' The predator stalked off to his office, leaving only those words and Zac’s boiling blood in his wake.
~*~*~
AS her brother finished his tales of woe, she stared at him, open-mouthed. 'And you're telling me that the hellhound you just described is worth working for just because he gave you a lousy party and a pat on the head?'
Zac groaned, leaning back. 'For now, anyway, yeah. If working for him can better my position--'
His sister scoffed loudly. 'Don't get your hopes up, love. The only person that man cares about is himself. Besides, he makes you crazy! Talking to you at work is like talking at a stranger. You're stuttering, apologizing for things that aren't your fault, just generally acting like-- not you!'
He roughed a hand over his face. 'Trust me, I know. And I hate it, too. He just does something to me.'
Zelda suddenly smiled cheekily, raising her eyebrows rapidly in a very cartoonish way.
Zac laughed despite himself. 'Not like that! He's just so intimidating. Between that weird, unblinking stare-down of his and the office furniture that costs more than my flat. He might only be a few years older, but it's like we're on two completely different planes of existence. I live in the real world, and he--'
'--lives in surreal, rich-boy, fantasyland?'
He chucked. 'Something like that. I know it looks insane from the outside, but I want to stick with this job. At least for a bit longer.'
She sighed loudly. 'Mark my words, brother mine: you're going to regret ripping up those applications. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but it won't take long.'
As he shook his head, Zac could only hope that, for once, his sister’s near-psychic intuition had failed her.
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