by Amy Cummings
The glowing of the candles sporadically placed on the walls lent an eerie ambiance to the room. The near darkness wrapped itself around me, creating an unnatural chill to rush over my skin. I looked around and rubbed my hands up and down my arms.
“Thank you for accommodating me.” His voice drifted through the shadows. “You must be nervous having this interview in my home. I do apologize, but as you know, I am confined within these walls.”
He turned from the bar situated in the corner of the room and held out a glass of red wine. I took it, and again found myself startled by the disfigured man before me.
“Thank you,” I replied then smiled up at him, knowing full well that his confinement was his choice. But this would hopefully be my employer. I needed this job, no matter how daunting the man appeared. They were only scars. I took a deep breath to bring back some regularity to my jumbled nerves, then tentatively sipped my wine. The bitter taste on my tongue slid smoothly down my throat.
“So, Ms. Hill, are you interested in being my personal assistant and all that I require of you?”
I considered him momentarily as I stared directly into his eyes. I smiled, showing him that his flawed face did not affect me.
“Yes, Mr. Grant, I’ll take the position.”