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xxrainshadowsxx · 11 months

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Interpersonal Ch. 1

"So don't be nervous," the skittish receptionist, who herself was looking very nervous indeed, was saying as she hurried you down the hallway. "The business has been very strong lately, so it's likely he'll be in a good mood."

"And if he's not in a good mood?" you ask wryly.

"Well…" she hesitates, seeming to choose her words very carefully. "Even if he's not in a great mood, I doubt you'll see much of it," she attempts to reassure. "He's not going to want to lose you as his PA, not after such an aggressive hiring process."

If the process was so bad, you'd think he'd be more involved… or involved at all, you think to yourself. But despite how closely you'd be working with him, you had yet to actually meet Mr. Onceler face-to-face. The extent of your ‘communication’ with him had been a congratulatory email sent when you'd been hired, and you were certain it was generic and that he hadn't actually written it himself.

Of course, it didn't matter much anyway. You weren't planning on staying here long. The only reason you'd applied was because you were new to the budding metropolis of Thneedville, you needed a job to get you settled and on your feet, and the Thneed Company was hiring. It wasn't like you had any intention of being a PA to the CEO of the corporation to become your life's career.

"Well, here you are," the receptionist, whose name you'd already forgotten, said, snapping you back to reality instead of your barely-formed dreams for the future. "Mr. Onceler's office is just through the double oak doors. Hurry in… he's expecting you." You nod a thanks and she takes off again, scurrying down the hall like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world. That's comforting.

Taking one deep breath to steel your nerves, you push the doors open.

You barely have time to take in anything but the size of the admittedly enormous office before a screaming voice is assaulting your ears. "For the last goddamn time, I told you I don't want you near me or my company ever again!"

You balk, unsure if you're in the right room, but as your eyes adjust to the light being let in by the large window behind the desk, you manage to locate the speaker. He's sitting on top of the desk, his back facing you, and a telephone in his hand.

"Because I don't need you, and I don't want you around. Don't call me again, I'm busy!" He slams the phone down into the receiver, and before you can decide if it's time to turn tail and pretend you didn't hear anything, he spins around and spots you. "And who the hell are you?" he snarls.

Well, so much for first impressions. Despite all the reassurement you received earlier, it seemed this man absolutely did not care who he was an asshole to when he was in a foul mood. You resolve to speak as little as possible so as not to further aggravate his temper. "I'm the new PA," you state in what you hope was a mild tone.

He frowns. "You're starting today? Why wasn't I told?"

"The receptionist said she sent out an email–"

He waves a hand impatiently, cutting you off. "Reception knows I don't have time to read emails. That's why I need a PA," he grumbles. "Well, don't just stand there. I need you to fill out these forms before you can start–" The phone rings shrilly, cutting him off and causing him to swear loudly. "OK, new plan. Can you give that phone a new number?"

"I think that would require a request to IT, but I can put that in as soon as I have access to a computer," you promise, hoping he doesn't blow up over his demands not being met right that second.

To your surprise, he actually looks slightly mollified. "Fair enough," he acquiesces. "But do you know any way to make it shut up?"

You're more than slightly perturbed by this point, but you figure as his PA it's your job to make his life easier, so you head over to the desk. You pick up the base of the phone, find the cord, and disconnect it. The incessant ringing finally stops, filling the office with an awkward silence.

The room is still for a minute until Mr. Onceler finally breaks the stifling silence by beginning to laugh. "I'm going to get so much shit for that," he snickers. "Ah, but it's worth it for a morning of peace for a change. Keep this up and we might actually get along."

You're not quite sure how to respond to that, but thankfully he's already moved on as he's pulling a stack of papers out of a drawer. "I really do need you to sign this before I can legally let you do anything else. Technically you shouldn't have even been allowed to pull the cord."

"What is it?" you inquire curiously, trying to read the first page upside-down.

"An NDA," he shrugs carelessly. "Fairly basic; after you don't work for us you can't contact anyone from the company, and if you're found spreading sensitive information we have the right to pursue legal action, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…."

You're only half listening during his ramblings and instead you're very carefully looking over the NDA agreement. There was indeed a clause about not contacting Mr. Onceler at all after termination of employment, so apparently he'd either had terrible experiences with ex-employees in the past, or you were going to be working with extremely sensitive information. Or both.

Probably both.

After several minutes of reading and scratching down your signature and initials when prompted, Mr. Onceler takes the forms from you, carefully looking it over himself and adding his own loopy signature a few times. "There. I'll send that over to my lawyers to get it notarized, and then they'll send you a copy. I would advise not losing it." He puts the papers into a Manila envelope, writes your name on the front, and places it back inside his desk.

Once he's done, he leans back in his chair, looking you over with a critical eye. "Do you have a thneed?" he asks abruptly.

You will your cheeks to not grow warm from the question. You figured it would come up at some point, you just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. "No, I don't," you say, forcing yourself not to look down.

"Why not?" he presses. He doesn't sound particularly happy, but at least he doesn't sound totally hostile either. Not yet at least.

"Because I just moved to a new city, just started a new job, and I'm only in my early twenties. I'm not made of money," you explain, keeping your head held high.

"I made money in my early twenties," he points out, reminding you that despite the power he wields, he's not much older than you are. While you wouldn't exactly say he's shown severe immaturity, he's definitely different from the uptight, fussy CEO stereotype you'd been expecting.

You shake your head slightly to force yourself to stop analyzing him. His blue eyes bore into yours and you realize he's still waiting for an answer from you. "W-well, not all of us are able to get so lucky," you manage to stammer out.

He snorts at that. "You really think I managed to build all of this just by getting lucky?" He seems to really hate that word, and you feel like you're on the edge of dangerously pissing him off, so you hasten to clarify what you meant.

"Of course not, sir. This clearly takes hard work and dedication. But everyone needs a little bit of luck to get them started. I'm still waiting for my turn."

You can't tell if you've managed to pacify him or not, since he looks more confused than anything else. But before either of you can break this new tension, there's a knock at the door.

He does look genuinely annoyed by the knock but still manages to bark out a "Come in!" Immediately, a harried-looking man practically runs into the room

"Mr. Onceler! There you are. No one has been able to get ahold of you all morning–" he began to wail, but your new boss cuts him off.

"I know. I like it much better this way, but I suppose I do have a business to run." He lets out a dramatic sigh before turning back to you. "Is that phone number changed yet?"

"Have you given me access to a computer so I can actually make that happen?"

The other man in the room looks as though he might faint at your words, but Mr. Onceler actually lets out a small laugh. "Right. You have a mouth on you. I'll have to remember that." He points to a door offshooting from his office that you hadn't noticed before. "That'll be your workplace, but make sure to check in with me every morning in case I have something urgent for you." With that, he stands and follows the frumpy man towards the exit.

"Of course, sir," you murmur as you make your way into your own office space.

Once there, you take a look at your surroundings. It seems to be a fairly standard office, with a good computer and telephone of your own. The best part is that it's quiet, giving you few distractions when Mr. Onceler isn't hounding you with urgent requests.

Which reminds you. You should probably send that email to IT.

You don't see Mr. Onceler again until that evening when you're packing up for the night. He lets himself in without so much as a knock and hops on your desk, seemingly without a care in the world. Before he can ask the same question for the umpteenth time that day, you quickly say, "IT says they should have the phone number changed sometime tomorrow. I'll let you know when it's done and what the number is when it happens."

He pauses for just a second. "I actually forgot about that, but since you mention it, I do have a very important rule for you regarding that." His jovial mood suddenly turns deadly serious. "Never, EVER give that number to anyone claiming to be a member of my family."

It's absolutely none of your business, but your curiosity forces one word to your lips before your mind can remind you that it's a bad idea to poke into his personal life. "Why?"

He glares at you, and you know instantly you've just overstepped your boundaries. Despite his flippant attitude toward you before, he's still very much your boss, and you only just met him today.

He leans forward until he’s leaning over you slightly, and as much as you know you should probably apologize, you force yourself to meet his gaze until he's said his piece.

"Do you think you're owed an answer to any question you ask?" he growls. "I'm not your friend. I'm your goddamn boss which means I get to make demands without being questioned about them. Got it?"

"Yes sir," you gulp as you look up at him. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be better in the future. But…" His eyes flash dangerously and you swallow heavily, but force yourself to continue. "If I do mess up, it's never intentional. And I'm going to have to get to know you at least a little bit to do my job."

You half expect him to blow up. What he does instead shocks you more than anything else that day; he seems to deflate. He slides off the desk and turns away from you. "Nobody knows me," he murmurs so quietly you almost don't hear him. Without another word, he stalks out of your office, slamming the door with a resounding thud.

There it was. Of course. You should have seen it before. How many stories were there of celebrities who all said the exact same thing?

The man was lonely.

No wonder he didn't want friends. It was probably for the same reason he didn't want his family contacting him. How many people had tried taking advantage of his money since he had earned it? Had he been able to form one meaningful connection since then? Or was every relationship, every attempted friendship, marred by fears that people were after his money?

You didn't know how you were going to do it, but you resolve to yourself that somehow you'd convince him that you were sincere. You didn't know why you wanted to help him so badly when it was clear Mr. Onceler wasn't exactly the warmest person you'd ever met, but you just felt so sorry for him for some reason. You weren't sure what you could do, but maybe if he learned to trust someone, that could improve his attitude with everyone else as well.

And there was no better time to start than tonight. You couldn't push your luck too much, but you did still have to leave for the night, and you didn't see another way out of your office than by going through his.

Gathering your things and your courage, you quietly slip back inside his gargantuan office that was really more like a hall. Mr. Onceler was staring out his window behind the desk, cutting a striking but lonely silhouette indeed. How fitting.

"Good night," you say demurely, making sure to be quiet enough not to startle him but loud enough that he hears you.

He just waves his hand dismissively, not even bothering to turn around. You try hard not to be disappointed, and after his hot and cold emotions you shouldn't be surprised that's all you're getting from him tonight.

But as your hand touches the door to leave, you hear a very soft "Good night," from behind you. And you can't stop the smile that spreads across your lips even if you had wanted to.

Maybe he wouldn't be so impossible after all.

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