By: EK Cloud
I want you to make this house feel live in, like a family or two of families have live here for generations. The six foot two man said. She could see he has broad shoulders. Not classically handsome, a hint of Greek and Native Indians. Nose broken once or twice and set the old fashion way, she thought. He is tanned from spending time outdoors; she bet, someone could not fake the leathery brown effect from going to tanning salons.
The house the man is referring to is a restored Victorian is certainly beautiful from the outside but once inside visitors cannot help but think of a mausoleum or a Laboratory. Imagine Dexter’s Laboratory without the machines in it only the chrome, glass and white tiles. Very little furniture and some paintings distributed around, instead of relieving the monotony makes the inside looks garish.
My friends tell me it looks bad he continued. His expression never changing, other people may call foreboding. As if it’s everyday that you tell a stranger that your house is ugly.
I bet she thought that those “friends” downplayed their assessment a little. The house is ugly and depressing her gaze looking around the place, already making a list in her mind those needed to be replace, change, painted and many different details needed to make the place better assuming she take the job of course!. “Who decorated it anyway? Because the house- the inside I mean is horrible and the choice of furniture did not make it better, the opposite in fact”
“I did. Miss. “
Oopps. Opened my mouth there. “I’m sorry mister Jones, I did not mean to imply”.
Never mind, he cut her off. When the house was being renovated I didn’t care, I just told the architect I wanted white and gave him a picture in a magazine; Told him to try to copy it. And he delivered, I was satisfied, but apparently, my choice is ugly. His tone of voice never changing.
What are you a robot? Melanie asks herself. She don’t like dealing with people with no sense of humour or at least similar to her own.
She looks up? Hm what? She asks confuse.
You were giggling.
Oh it was nothing Mr Jones.
He shrugged very well. He turned around, giving Marie a chance to observe his straight back, and wide shoulders. Mr. Jones must only be five seven and yet his carriage makes him so much taller and larger.
Coming miss, Maynard ask. Startled she looks at Mr Jones. Blushing, Marie is embarrassed to be caught staring at his back.
Maynard watch miss Cornell’s attempt to rid off her embarrassment. Her face a stark contrast to her fiery red hair. Irish it figures he thought. Pretty though, a nice elfin like face, manicured eyebrows, luscious eyes and what Maynard thinks her best feature dark violet eyes.
Studying her, waiting for her to regain her composure. Maynard correctly guess that miss Cornell is cataloguing his personality and was found lacking. Pity he thought, not that her opinion of him would change his plans as long as she do what he is asking of her.
Let us continue Mr. Jones. Apparently regaining her composure. Tapping her heels well, we are wasting time one shapely eyebrow arched at him. Feisty too thought Maynard, inwardly smiling.
It’s not that he is unfeeling, most likely that is what Miss Cornell is thinking. It’s just that he have developed the habit of not broadcasting his thoughts and his feelings from a less than perfect childhood.
“Very well Miss Cornell, follow Me.” leading her through the rest of the house.
Oh God. Marie thought he caught me looking. But the nerve! Acting like it’s a daily occurrence being stared at. Well he does get stared at everyday she amended.