'Do I Look Like I'm Joking?'
597 Words
"What's in file 459M?" the towering, uniform-clad general asked me again. Wearing a forage cap, his back was to me. I couldn't see his face, but judging from his built and the rigidness of his stance, I knew then who he was.
My dear boss, Mr. Sebastian Lancaster.
I sat in a chair with my hands bound by cuffs, resting on a table that had seen better days. A single light above my head aided me in focusing the imposing man. Walls around us were gray and dull and lifeless. Almost like his office in New York.
I scrunched up my nose. Oh, wait. What was his question again?
As if on cue, Mr. Lancaster the general and my current interrogator faced me with an expression as blank as the number zero.
He damn had twelve stars in his uniform. Yes! I counted it all. Twelve! Who gets that kind of rank in this normal world? Apparently no one but my boss alone.
'Again, answer me, what's in file 459M?' He placed a hand on the table and stared sharply at me. Sharp, by definition, if you meant icebergs ready to bury you on your deathbed.
'I don't know. I never saw its contents,' I replied whilst lifting my chin up.
He released a long, nasal sigh and rounded the table, all the while his gaze was still trained on me.
I saw some flicker of admiration there, or was it just my imagination?
'Do you know what I do to helpless women that lie?' Mr. Lancaster asked when he stood inches close to me.
I looked up at him, met his cold eyes with fierce determination and said, 'No. Enlighten me.'
'I let them work as an errand boy, with trousers and all.'
I scoffed.
'You're joking.'
Grabbing the back of my chair, he tilted it up, bringing me in the boundary of falling downward.
'Do I look like I'm joking to you?' He could well drown me with those sky-colored eyes. I wouldn't care a damn thing.
'If you're not joking then so be it. Working as your boy wouldn't hurt I guess,' I told him, my mind already made up.
'Oh, it will,' he replied and despite how ghostly his grin appeared to be, I caught it with mischief. 'It comes with a special chore.'
'And what is that?' I took in his scent. The scent of a male I'm supposed to avoid. Greatly. With all my strength.
I guess that strength was nonexistent now when talking about my boss.
'You'll have to polish my rifles for me,' he worded smoothly. 'You are not afraid of guns are you? Long, hard and ready to explode anytime, any day.'
I couldn't help myself but ask, 'Are we talking about metallic objects here, Mr. Lancaster, Sir? Or something else?'
'Depends on how you understand it,' came his riddle and then he pulled my chair down. 'Now, talk! That's an order!'
I grinned at him this time.
'How about we start polishing your rifles now?'
Taken aback momentarily, he growled low, something between controlled hunger and rage, and then, in one swift motion, held my head up to meet his mouth.
*
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*
But where I stood now, I couldn't be more confused. Where's that tempting specimen of a man? Where's that uniformed-clad general who wanted me to caress his rifles?
Gone.
And in his place, stood a man wearing a tuxedo, looking dashing as ever.
My mouth dropped.
Never had I ever dreamed I would be in the middle of a marriage ceremony with him.
- Writer
