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Eve always gets a little nervous before an interview, but today’s nerves are different. Today’s nerves are like sharp little knives, poking her in her chest and belly, reminding her that if she stuffs this up she has to spend another week living off Super Noodles and sleeping on the backseat of her car. Because her bank account is almost completely drained, and it’s been over a month since she walked out on her perfect life, and her well-paid job, and her dull but loyal husband, and their boringly suburban home, and, of course, on Drumstick – their pet chicken. But, despite living out of the boot of her car and having to boil her Super Noodles on a very unreliable camping stove, Eve has never felt freer.
She hopes this burgeoning sense of freedom will give her some kind of edge today, because she knows for certain that her appearance will not. Her clothes aren’t just creased, they’re crinkled, and her hair is even wilder than normal, and she’s had to rub herself with the little cardboard air freshener that hangs above her dash, because her ex-husband – Niko – smashed up all her perfume.
Eve checks her watch again, confirming for a second time that the interviewer is now over fifteen minutes late for her appointment. She begins to wonder if this is some kind of a test to see how she reacts, and she surmises that the office has probably been bugged or fitted with a hidden camera system. So, on the basis of this, she decides not to react or move much at all; and she just sits very, very still on the crushed velvet couch and continues to wait.
It’s a ridiculous office, really. The skyscraper kind, with windows that are blacked out on the outside, and literally everything inside it is either white or black. There’s a distinct absence of grey actually, and she wonders if that says something about her potential new boss – maybe that she’s very orderly and clear-cut, or perhaps that she’s very narrow-minded and inflexible. Eve decides that given her luck, it’s much more likely to be the second, less favourable option.
As the minutes tick by, Eve is beginning to think she’s in the wrong place entirely, when finally the lift dings and the hefty, ornate doors part. She doesn’t know who she’s expecting, doesn’t know what sort of woman would even own an office space like this, but she supposes she imagines her to be middle-aged and serious, with a short, business-like haircut and a power suit.
Well, she gets the power suit bit right at least, but the woman who emerges is otherwise the complete opposite of her expectations; she’s young, with mid-length waves of blonde hair, long legs and quite possibly the most beautiful face she’s ever seen. In fact Eve can hardly drag her eyes away from her; from this woman who just seems to command the entire solar system’s attention, like there’s some kind of magnetic pull all around her, and the rest of the universe, and the entire population of Earth, is just utterly helpless against it.
“Eve,” the woman says her name immediately, before she’s even set foot outside of the elevator. She then sweeps a well-manicured hand in front of herself by way of introduction. “Villanelle.”
Villanelle - Eve mulls the unusual name over in her head, and very quickly decides that it seems undeniably fitting for someone so celestial.
“Uh, hi,” Eve finds herself replying, and then reminds herself that this is an interview. “I mean, hello. I’m here to interview for the personal assistant role?”
A flash of amusement crosses Villanelle’s features, it lasts only for a second but Eve decides she likes how her hazel eyes soften and sparkle; and she wonders what she looks like when she laughs, and what she sounds like, and she thinks how she might like to witness it sometime if she’s lucky enough to get this job.
“Walk,” Villanelle instructs as her feet begin moving, red heels clicking across the white marble floor. “Pen and paper?”
Eve has barely lifted her bottom from her seat, let alone processed the words Villanelle’s just said, or come to any sort of conclusion about what is actually happening right now.
“What?”
“Pen and paper, you will need them.” Villanelle is still walking and talking, and not even bothering to look over her shoulder as she speaks. Eve starts to trot after her, rooting through her satchel as she does so. “Venti, half-sweet, skinny, hazelnut macchiato, with an extra shot of syrup and no whip.”
Eve stops dead.
“What?” She repeats, pen hanging at a strange and useless angle from her hand, as she clutches her notebook in the other; her notebook that has a cute little kitten on the front of it, and she really wishes she’d chosen something more professional. “A skinny what?”
Villanelle repeats her order, but she sounds very exasperated now and she doesn’t even pause or slow her footsteps. Eve starts up after her again, scribbling furiously on her pad. In fact, she’s scribbling so furiously she almost walks straight into the back of Villanelle, when she pauses to push open two large swinging doors.
“This is my office,” Villanelle continues on, not seeming in the least bit concerned about whether Eve can keep up or not.
“It’s beautiful,” Eve replies, because she doesn’t know quite what else to say about the absolutely ginormous room that looks more like someone’s studio flat than an office. She takes it all in; the floating chimney breast in the middle of the room, the sleek black sofas, the panoramic windows and – of course – Villanelle’s desk, which is a warm cherry brown with black accents. It looks particularly striking, not just because of it’s substantial size and solid design, but because it’s the only item she’s seen in the whole building to possess even a hint of colour. “Nice desk,” Eve adds.
“Do you realise that you are late, Eve?”
Eve blinks, caught off guard by her seemingly irrelevant response.
“Huh?”
“You are late.”
“Err,” Eve visibly struggles, face scrunching. “Technically you were late, actually. I was here at nine, and-”
“Wowwwwwwww, Eve! The day starts when I arrive, okay?”
“Um, I guess that’s-”
“But you arrive at nine, with my coffee.” Villanelle looks Eve up and down. “I see you, but I do not see my coffee. Hence, you are running late.”
Eve stares at her; at this beautiful, but clearly insane woman, who’s standing in front of her.
“I didn’t know about your coffee until literally five seconds ago, and anyway, I came here for an interview! Aren’t you going to interview me?”
Villanelle releases what can only be described as a hiss, like someone just let all the air out of a large pool inflatable.
“Fine. Do you want the job, Eve?”
Eve shifts on the spot, because she doesn’t actually know if she wants the job anymore now that she’s met who she’ll be working for. But then she remembers her empty bank account, and her lack of perfume, and her Super Noodle dinners, and…
“Yes.”
“Congratulations, it is yours. Great interview. Now go and get my coffee,” Villanelle says as she sinks into the foreboding leather chair behind her desk, her hands fanning behind her head as she leans back. “There is a bank card on the coffee table, take it. You will use that to buy me whatever it is I need.”
Eve looks over to the coffee table, and sure enough there’s a gold bank card neatly placed in one corner.
“You’re giving me your credit card?” Eve asks, becoming increasingly certain that this woman really is certifiably insane. “You don’t even know me, I-”
“Ew, Eve, it is not a credit card!” Villanelle sounds truly disgusted by her mistake. “It is a debit card! It is as good as having my real money in your hands, but a lot easier to carry around because I am so loaded you would never be able to hold it all.”
“O-kay…” Eve decides it’s probably best not to argue with her, and stoops quickly to pick the card up. She tucks it into her palm for now, feeling far too awkward to even attempt to slip it into her own purse alongside her maxed out credit cards and loose change.
“When you get back we will talk about your employment package.”
“Employment package?”
Villanelle rolls her eyes.
“Have you never had a job before?”
“Did you not read my résumé?” Eve counters instinctively, and Villanelle snorts.
“You are very rude! Of course I did not read it, it was far too long,” Villanelle waves a hand in Eve’s general direction. “I read your name, which I liked as it is very short and easy for me to remember, and then I looked at your photograph and I thought, she has a nice face and great hair. She will do.”
“You can’t do that!” Eve splutters, horrified. “That’s, it’s… there’s laws about that sort of thing, you know?”
“HA,” Villanelle exclaims, clearly not in the least bit concerned. “Rude and self-righteous, what a combination! I think you are going to be a lot of fun for me, Eve, and I really like to have fun...”
***
Eve finds a nearby Starbucks and fumbles her way through the coffee order, certain that she’s heard less complicated medical procedures described before, and then reluctantly starts to makes her way back to Villanelle’s office. The sky is spitting rain, and ordinarily she’d walk quickly to avoid her hair getting too frizzy and the coffee getting too cold, but today she walks slowly, mulling over everything that’s just happened.
She’s finally re-employed, and while this seems like it should be worth celebrating, Eve’s celebration is clipped and cautious. Her new boss, Villanelle, is extremely attractive but also extremely... crazy - or so it would seem. I mean, who gives someone a job without even reading their résumé or interviewing them? Villanelle also seems like a bit of a dick, and Eve wonders just how rapidly she’s going to regret taking the position, and her crazy, dick of a new boss, on.
As she enters the looming skyscraper that is Villanelle’s office block, Eve reminds herself that she doesn’t actually have to take the job at all. In fact, she could easily just turn around right now and head straight back to her car and forget all about it, and all about Villanelle too. But, she really needs the money, and there’s something (annoyingly) intriguing about Villanelle.
So, Eve takes the lift back up to the fourth floor, walks back along the marble corridor and into Villanelle’s ridiculously over-sized office, and places the half-sweet, macchiato, hazelnut thing on her desk.
“Your coffee,” she says unceremoniously, and Villanelle immediately swings round in her chair, lowering what appears to be an open fashion magazine into her lap.
“What took you so long?”
Eve hesitates for a moment, because she doesn’t actually think she’s been very long at all, and also Villanelle doesn’t exactly look swamped with work.
“Well,” Eve speaks cautiously, but with a tinge of annoyance. “I guess there was a queue.”
“A queue?” Villanelle repeats, her lips curling downwards. “You do not have time to stand in queues anymore, Eve! You work for me now. Your time is my time! And my time does not wait around behind other people in an orderly little line.”
“Right, but I’m guessing the nice people at Starbucks don’t care about that, so…”
“Of course they care! Everybody around here knows who I am, and how important I am! Next time, you call ahead, you give my name and my order, and then you will go straight to the front of the queue. Do you understand?” Villanelle picks her magazine up and throws in onto the desk with a thud and flutter of pages. “This is very basic stuff, Eve.”
Eve widens her eyes in disbelief, not quite believing what she’s hearing.
“So, it’s very basic, and yet you completely neglected to mention it?” She throws back. “You do realise I only started working for you about twenty minutes ago?”
“And? What has that got to do with anything?” Villanelle looks genuinely confused as she picks up her coffee, taking a small sip. “This is cold. I will need a new one.”
“What?! You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“Excuse me? Did you read your job description?”
Eve recalls the job description in question, it had been attached to the application form and was well over sixty pages long; but effectively it had said that she was being hired to meet Villanelle’s every want, need and whim, twenty-four hours a day, six days a week – because, mercifully, she gets Sundays off. And Eve is already thinking that she’s really going to need a day off from Villanelle.
“Yes, I read it,” Eve replies, although in truth she’d given up after about twenty-five pages.
“Then you already know that if I ask you do to something then it is your job to go and do it! You are not paid to argue with me or to have an opinion about it, Eve.”
“Wow.”
“I know, it’s so easy, right? And the perks are sooo good too!” Villanelle opens the drawer of her desk and pulls out a bunch of keys and a fairly expensive looking smart phone, which she tosses onto the surface between them. “Those are the keys to your apartment and your new mobile phone. It needs to be with you and switched on at all times. I already text you, so you have my personal number and your new address, too.”
“I get an apartment?” Eve queries uncertainly, because she’s pretty sure she’d remember if something like that had been mentioned before.
“Of course! I need you to be nearby. There is a key to my car also, in case I need you to drive me somewhere.”
Eve nods in understanding and cautiously picks the keys up, still waiting for the catch. She thinks fleetingly that maybe this job isn’t going to be quite so bad after all.
“And you will need a new laptop or an iPad, whatever you like. Just go shopping for one later and put it on my card,” Villanelle continues, her attention already diverting back to her magazine, which she flicks through with one, lazy finger as she speaks. “I will give you access to my virtual calendar so that you can see what I have booked in, and your job is just to make sure it all happens and runs smoothly. Oh, and anything in red on there is an errand for you to run, okay? Like my dry cleaning, you need to go and get that from the launderette round the corner. As in, you should have picked it up ten minutes ago already.”
“Err, okay? I’ll go now. But what about your coffee?”
Villanelle stares at her with two piercing, wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape.
“Eve!” She finally exclaims, as though Eve is some kind of an idiot. “This is exactly what I pay you for! Coffee and dry cleaning, that’s two outstanding problems I have now. Go, solve them! And do it fast!”
Eve finds herself out the door seconds later, still clutching the bunch of keys and her new phone to her chest, and wondering what on Earth she has gotten herself into.