My CEO Boss Is A Masked Internet Sensation

(Arata)

The first impression of his office was the noticeably low intensity of lights. The air was heavy with tension as I scrambled forward towards Mr Karsten's desk.

My eyes lifted and I glanced in the direction of the man who was such an enigma in the fashion industry.

He sat with his body angled at 5'o clock. The glass on the window behind him was such a dark shade of blue that it almost seemed black. The little light it let seep in highlighted his sharp features.

He was even more handsome in real life than he seemed on screen.

An aristocratic nose, that held the hints of pride. The pointed tip was almost kissed by the front fringe of his lustrous coal-black hair. Such dense colour as if the essence of the untameable darkness had been caught in them. Slightly damp they glistened under the light like a midnight lake where the ripples of water sparkled under the starry light.

High cheekbones and a deep-cut jaw as if with a razor to shape it. There was no hint of a smile or smirk on his face. Just a casual hint of disinterest.

Was it for me or the world in particular?

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I would find out soon enough.

But it was his eyes that made my heart skip the first beat. Just like his hair, the irises were the colour of an obsidian blade that would cut you deep and fatally. They took me in from my hair to my shoes, slowly as if scanning me for hidden weapons I might have sneaked into his office.

Unnerving and unsettling, there was this uneasiness and yet something hauntingly beautiful in his gaze.

The zaffre blue dress shirt he wore had the top button undone and the collar laid back against his collarbone. A tattoo of what seemed like a coiling serpent peeked out and travelled to his thick muscular neck. The serpent had glowing red eyes.

I gulped as he twirled the black pen with silver nib in his hand and finally spoke without taking those globes of pitch darkness off of me. His thick brow lifted up and disappeared in those luscious streaks of charcoal hair.

"Miss Arata, you are 39 seconds late from the given time for your interview. Is that a habit, or did you make an exception today?"

He leaned back in his huge executive chair, and with deliberate ease, he twirled the pen in a continuous circle, the rhythmic scrape against the polished wood created a soft, insistent whisper.

The sound was hypnotic, with a quietness of control and precision. Just as effortlessly as he manipulated the pen, I wondered if he governed the lives of those around him too—bending them to his unyielding command.

So no greeting just direct and blunt.

I quickly checked the time on my watch.

What kind of lunatic measured the time with the second hand? It was 9 am for me. Ignoring the sharpness in his voice I kept my posture straight and had no desire to be intimidated by him.

I began. "Good morning, sir! I take punctuality seriously." With a forced smile, I continued, "I will be more careful next time."

A slight amusement seemed to flash in those inked pools and vanished as if it had been sucked into those murky waters. He pointed towards the opposite chair from his desk.

"Have a seat." His voice was naturally commanding, like a dominant, and there was an accent to it. Spanish—I would say.

Pulling the plush black leather chair back, I slid into it and sat straight facing him. I placed my file in my lap which contained my documents and résumé. Any minute he would ask me for it.

He shifted his chair slightly, now facing me directly. His hands steepled together in front of his face as all his attention rested on me.

I squirmed slightly, the leather was extremely comfortable against my butt but his gaze was not. It tied some strange knots in my stomach for reasons unknown. The energy he exuded was overwhelming. I tightly held my hands over my file, they were getting cold by the second.

I had never felt such pressure and scrutiny under a man before or maybe they all treated me sweetly because of my last name.

Was this how most men were?

He asserted. "Tell me one good reason why you think you are qualified for this job."

My mouth went slightly dry like the sand but I willed myself to speak clearly.

"I work diligently and can be trusted to get the job done." I never broke eye contact with him.

He let a delirious snort fall through as if my answer had somehow amused him. A wrinkle appeared on my forehead which made the side of his curvaceous lips twitch.

When one envisions a male with kissable lips, that is exactly the man one daydreams about.

Focus girl, stop staring at his lips. I had to reprimand myself.

"Most of the females are stubborn but trustworthy. Common traits. Are you a common girl, Miss Arata? Or do you have something different to offer?"

My mouth slightly opened at the objectification of women. He sounded so cocky or was it a tactic to test me. This was an interview, maybe he was trying to provoke me and see if I would crumble under the pressure. This line of work would see me deal with all kinds of people.

Racists, misogynists, entitled...the list would go on.

Maybe, he wished to see how I would handle a situation where I would need to speak with such a man.

His facial expressions remained set in granite, giving nothing away.

"Every woman is different and unique in her own way. I hope you don't take their kind nature as a sign of weakness. They give birth to children and can multitask, they are the embodiment of resilience and strength. I think these are enough reasons."

He once again leaned back in his chair and it slowly turned left and right like the little movement of a pendulum.

"That didn't answer my question—what I want to know is if you can follow orders without saying no. I don't want a rigid secretary and I don't like to repeat myself, nor do I approve of tardiness," he meaningfully paused, letting his words be drilled into my brain before continuing. "My word is the law here. Your patience will be tested so If you think you are up to the task, you will be hired."

This was not what I had in mind. I believed he would go through my résumé and ask me general questions like typing speed and experience. But he hadn't even taken a look at my file. All he asked for was submission.

There went my pride, but I needed this job, for I had a point to prove.

"What would I need to do to show that I could follow your orders, sir and that I am the right fit for this job?"

His tattoo of the black serpent with hissing tongue gleamed as the light reflected off it, mesmerising and haunting at the same time. I shouldn't stare but I did as I waited for his answer.

"Bring me a cup of coffee, black with no sugar. It should be scalding hot. And a blue tie, I need to attend a meeting. You have fifteen minutes. Not even a second late. Dismissed."