CAELAN'S PREY

Part 2- Towel-

"What do you mean my bike was put somewhere? And you didn't know where? I need it now. Stop playing jokes with me. I'm tired, okay?"

Randy. The name he said- the head of the security maintenance in the building.

I was directly sent to his office when I finished my job and couldn't find my bike. It had been an exhausting day and I just wanted to go home and rest 'till morning for another new day.

"Ms. Mathews-"

"Call me, Scarlette."

He sighed calmly behind his desk like he wasn't bothered at all by my concern as he checked up whatever dancing monkey there was on the paper he was looking at.

My bike! How would I get home without my bike? A taxi would be very expensive for me.

"He said you can take a taxi to get to this address." He muttered, producing a piece of paper, and my hand immediately grabbed it.

"His? A man took my bike? Brought my bike to his place?!" my question splattered like acid.

″That sounds like it, Ms. Mathews," he said as he looked at me through his reading glasses mounting on his nose.

"I don't get it. It's just a bike and I need to go home." I griped. But then it hit me. The car's owner?

I silently groaned. A man? Couldn't it be a woman so I could easily ask for forgiveness? He must be mad. He should be one of those difficult rich men who would hold onto an argument for a small accident.

"Now, you, see?" Randy stated. It wasn't really a question.

"It was just a scratch. I did not mean it; I was in a hurry."

"Mr. Henderson can be very inconsiderate, Ms. Matthews. A scratch is a scratch. However, you see it, his car was scratched. You must be new to the company since you didn't know him. I suggest you go see him, personally apologize to the man, and you're good to go."

I held my tongue. It was exhausting to reason out things you knew you'd end up being the one to still take the blame. "Alright. I get it." I said and left the office.

Whoever this man was, he was indeed inconsiderate.

A scratch? It's not that his car won't run anymore. Mr. Henderson. The name's too old. It must be his age that influenced his miserly attitude. I noted in the paper that I'd pay for it. I admitted it. I was just in a hurry. I didn't want to be late-

"Scarlette?" A voice called just as the elevator opened.

"Oh, hi, Devy," I managed to paint a smile on my lips.

The woman was a colleague and very approachable. She was the first woman with whom I made friends in the company. She had always been kind and pleasant. Working for the company for three years now, and at 27 years old, she knew the job like the back of her hand. Moreover, she was very generous and indulgent in teaching newbies in the company, including me. I heard she was close to the CEO, Mr. Logan Devaughn. Yes, Mr. Devaughn was an excellent leader of the company. He was chivalrous to all his employees, as far as my ears could absorb information around the company.

"Where are you going? Are you going to commute?" She asked as we entered the elevator. I pressed the ground floor button.

"Oh, I-I'm taking back my bike. I had a mishap this morning because I was being clumsy again." I sheepishly chuckled.

"You weren't hurt, and that's more important." She encouraged.

"I couldn't agree more."

"Wanna take a ride with me? I can drop you off wherever you're headed for."

I shook my head briskly. "No. No-no... I’m fine. I'll just take a taxi. I can't bother you with my business now, can I?" I spoke.

"Alright, if you insist."

"Thank you."

"So, Scarlette, how do you like it here?" She asked.

"I like it so far. People are okay to work with, though I'd say I can't remember all the names yet." She gave me a soft chuckle. "But I'd say, time helps."

The elevator signaled our floor. Stepping out, she touched my arm as we walked to the outside of the building. "People here are earnest and cordial towards their colleagues. You may be new, but I know you'll learn the ropes fast."

"I hope so."

"You will," she winked. I giggled.

Her car arrived, the valet runner got off and handed her the key. "You sure you don't want a ride?" She asked before getting in.

"I do insist not." I winked and waved at her. Her head slightly shook as she got in front of the wheel.

"See you tomorrow."

Two hands were now waving at her. "See you, Devy..."

I turned to the parking attendant and requested a taxi. After a minute or two of waiting, the cab arrived. I hopped in.

"To this place, please," I gave him the address.

I took a deep breath. This happens when you're clumsy, Scarlette.

I looked at my watch. A quarter after five.

Four months and I survived. I thought it would be difficult but I somehow managed. I currently work as a marketing assistant on our Senior Marketing team headed by Mr. Mark Perrier, who has been working for 10 years now in Devaughn's Pharmaceutical Company. The man was taciturn but wholesome outside work. He had two lovely daughters, around 20 years old, and a lovely wife. I hadn't met his wife though.

The last job I had was as a waitress in Red Castle restaurant located in downtown Chicago. I was terminated because I filed a complaint against a VIP customer. The man was an old douchebag. A sickening old bat. As he had chosen a VIP room, I had to serve the food alone. To give an abstract of what happened, I had hit the man with the tray when his blind, nasty hands craved for my backside and maniacally squeezed. Taken by surprise, my initial reaction was to hit him, leaving the old man whimpering in pain as he braced his head when I hit him again and again with the round copper tray.

I was jobless for two months. The management did not hear me out. Worse, I was blamed and accused. I did it for money. I fabricated the story for a good amount of money in return. That's what they said. Terminated, I couldn’t do anything against the accusation. It was certainly hard to claim one’s innocence when the matter was already favored by wealth. Two months later, I was dejected as if I had lost a pound and found a penny. I wished I could kill the old man, or I believed I had wished his demise at that time.

And again, this whoever Mr. Henderson is. I swear to God if this person encroaches on my job. I will kick his balls and will never respect him for his age.

"Are we there yet?" I asked the driver.

"In five minutes, Ma'am."

"Alright, thank you." I fished out my phone. Travis had not called yet. I wondered what kept him busy.

Travis was my boyfriend for two years. I met him in my senior year in college. Since I was an orphan, I have been attached to him. My parents, unfortunately, died four years ago in a terrible car accident. I was only seventeen. They left me with nothing but a house. What would I do with a house? So, I asked for help to sell it to provide for my needs. It somehow or other helped me send myself to college, but it wasn't enough. The money was not enough to sustain my lifetime needs; therefore, I got to find a job and live life.

I lived in a small apartment. Almost every night Travis would stay over. He said that way we could look after each other and be with each other. He was a nice guy. Two years and he still treated me like a princess, until recently. It seemed to me that he had been busy with his job. He worked for an IT company as a software developer. He loved his job. At 25, I could see his potential. He was an ambitious man; he had a strong desire and determination to succeed in his career. His parents were the same.

In truth, his parents weren't so happy about their son's relationship with me, especially his mother. She was literally a b***h. Last year, she spoke to me, asking me to break up with her son; it was overwhelmingly degrading.

Angry, I confronted Travis; he was so mad. I guess you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make it drink because we continued seeing each other, and to his mother's irritation, Travis rarely visited his home. His mother blamed me for that.

"We're here," the driver roused me from my thoughts.

"Oh, thank you," I guess I had to pay the man with my own money.

$15?! I silently groaned. Vexed. Had Mr. Henderson spared me his foolishness? I could have saved that money.

The taxi left, leaving me in front of a classic 2 flat grey stone apartment with at least three small windows and two big ones — one of which had a fern wreath, an elegant black glass door, and ingeniously devised beautification.

Taking a deep breath, I neared the door. Why was I nervous? Should I knock? Press the doorbell? Break the door? Call for his name? Or just storm in? I understood where my nervousness was coming from. I was meeting a man who decided to take my bike out of shallow anger and, not to mention, a complete stranger.

Of course, be appropriate, Scarlette. I groaned. It was my fault anyway.

I looked around the neighborhood; it was very quiet. I shrieked when the light post suddenly fluttered on and off, frightening the life out of me, making me knock on the door in haste. Nobody answered.

"Hello? Mr. Henderson?" I called out. Nobody.

Damn. I did easily get scared. That was why I never wished to be alone. When I was alone, I felt like the world was not revolving and everything around me was unreal, illusory. Hallow.

I span around to see if someone passed by, but the street was silent. I suppose people here were early sleepers. Sighing softly, I let go of the air with bated breath. Someone must be inside. He had to be inside.

I turned to the door to knock again, determined to talk, "Mr. Hen-" I sucked a breath, suppressing an almost squealing sound, because, when I turned to knock, the door just happened to pull open, and there stood a man- oh, not just a man, but a very handsome man, standing in front of me, a white towel swathed loosely around his hips that with one accidental move, the towel could fall.

I audibly swallowed the liquid down my throat. My eyes slithered up to his muscled abdomen- soaked with glistening dew, he had definitely just showered, until my eyes landed on his lips; a confident smirk drew his lips together, waking me up from whatever blinding spell this man threw me in.

Clearing my throat, I found myself talking. "I-I want to speak with Mr. Henderson, please," I looked at him in the eyes.

Oh, his eyes...