He leaned back against the desk—a golden-brown monstrosity with swirling lines and curves. Its lighter colour seemed light a blot in the otherwise shadowy room.

"So, Miss Mahal," he said, the curve of his lips putting me in mind of secrets hidden, "why don't you sit down and we can get this pointless excursion over with."

I took a seat on one of the plush obsidian couches, trying to look confident and calm—everything I didn’t feel. "You are the one looking for a secretary. Surely for you this must not be pointless."

He raised an eyebrow. Damn, how did people do that? "Do I detect a certain vibe in that statement that you, in fact, consider this pointless?"

I raised my eyebrows too—both of them. What was he, a mind reader? "No, you do not. This is an opportunity for me, no matter how ill gotten. I intend to make the most of it."

"And you think you have it in you to be what I am looking for when so many others before you have tried and failed?" He smiled in a decidedly patronising manner.

Wasn't that a line in a movie? "I have it in me to try," I said shortly.

He took his time replying. Where before his eyes had shown nothing but disdain for precious time wasted, now there was definite interest in the slant of his brows. He was studying me, taking my measure—examining my worth. I squared my shoulders and glared back.

"Fair enough," he said after a while. "I guess it is only fair to give you a chance. If only," he added, winking, "to see you fail."

My eyes flashed.

"So, Miss Mahal—" He stopped. "I'm pronouncing it right, aren't I?"

I shrugged. "As right as you could ever possibly manage it."

"Adequate." He nodded. Picking up a giant cut glass paper weight from the table, he rolled it between his hands. "Miss Mahal, where are you from, exactly? You don't look or sound from here in the least."

I had to smile. "I didn't know there was a look here." There wasn't. The history of this godforsaken country, as everybody knew, was riddled with migrations and settlements till the original blood was nigh on gone, sadly.

He looked blankly back but I could have sworn something moved in his face. "I must be confused. I meant to say, you don't sound from here in the least."

"I see." I folded my hands in my lap. "Maybe because I am not."

The paper moved from right to left. Then left to right. And then back.

"I am from Pakistan."

I can honestly say I surprised him. "Really? I would have guessed Arab."

"And you would have guessed wrong. Now, is this part of the interview?"

His lips thinned. "Maybe, maybe not," he answered vaguely. "Now, where exactly in Pakistan are you from?"

"How is that relevant?"

The glass ball stopped. His eyebrows jumped up, high enough to disappear into his hair. I watched with interest as a pink blotch seeping up his pale skin, like water level rising in a jug, and wondered if the time for straightforwardness was long dead. Somewhere in the back of my mind the realisation that my actions were perhaps hopping the limits did rear its head, but I was in mood to court reasonable thoughts right now.

"I am just trying to get a feel of what I am to expect from you. That seems reasonable enough to me." His voice was still calm, thought his preternatural stillness was anything but.

I huffed. He was right, of course. It all did make sense. Every employer does want to know what it was he was employing. And he was only asking me about a place. There was nothing to be alarmed about that. What could he possibly do with that information? "It's a village some hours from Lahore."

"Hmm…" He frowned, not satisfied. But then he shrugged, as if thinking: Whatever. "Okay, so why did you come here?"

"Please," I said. My panic levels were spiking; the skin on my hands was hot, where I had rubbed it over and over in an unconscious attempt at dispersing the tension surging in my breast. He was hitting the nail too close to the head. "I don't do back-story." Yes, I did steal that from Tangled. So sue me. "Ask me only the things that are necessary for the job.

"Ask me if I can type, yes I can," I said, holding up reddening fingers as I counted. "Ask me my typing speed, around sixty wpm; ask me if I can catalogue things and keep appointments in order; I am very good at it. Ask me how I work with authority; good enough if the authority behaves itself." I waved a hand, ignoring how it shook. "Ask me if I have had previous experience in this field, no I haven't, isn't that what you want? There, that's your interview for you. Now do I have the job?" I could feel sweat pooling on my brow. My armpits were clammy.

I know what you are thinking. What kind of a person was I, to be this vague? I mean, what had I expected him to ask, when I agreed to the interview? He would obviously ask about me, and I would have to answer. That's what any sane person would do.

But you know what? You haven't lived my life, so don't bloody judge me, not until you know.

One of his eyebrows was permanently glued to the top of his forehead. He didn't speak, staring at me with those striking eyes, a slight frown marring his features. I had expecting his to explode; instead, he seemed to be contemplating the situation. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the glass orb.

"Miss Mahal," he said, after what felt like centuries. "I have no intention of having people suffering from mental illnesses in my employ either. Surely you realize that?"

I heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn't asking about before. Finally, he wasn't asking about before.  But there was more to that statement, wasn’t there? It took me a moment to realise he had called me crazy.

I narrowed my eyes. "I’m not crazy, Mr. Rodwell. I am just trying to point out the questions that you should be asking."

"I think I might be a better judge of the questions I must be asking, considering that it is I who am going to employ you and not the other way around."

"Then it seems there is nothing more for me here," I said, getting up. "I have no intention of answering the questions you are trying to ask."

I waited for him to say something. When he didn't, I turned and headed for the door. Tasha would be so disappointed. I had to start thinking up a tale to tell her; I didn't even know if there was enough time to get home and prepare, or if she was waiting outside. What am I going to say?

She would have wanted me to tell him all he asked. Or if I wasn't ready for the truth, at least fabricate some lies that would placate him for the time being. But I couldn't, could I? How could I make up lies that a little deep research would disclose? What was the point of going through it all if he was going to fire me the moment the truth came out?

"Miss Mahal," he said suddenly. I twisted my head.

He stood the same way he had been standing before, not having moved an inch. The glass orb was still in his hands. The only thing that looked altered was his face. There was a pensive expression stamped there, like he was trying to riddle something out in his head.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Miss Mahal, I might have reconsidered. Apparently, there is something for you here." He looked at me. "Can I just ask you a few more questions? I promise they won't be personal."

What?

It took a moment, but then I shrugged. Why ever not? If there was even a slight chance I could avoid Tasha exploding all over me, I was taking it. And I couldn't deny it to myself any longer. I actually did want to work here, did want all the comforts this job could buy for Ella and Granny Tonks. "Alright."

"Miss Mahal, about the way this place works, I will be telling you all there is to know. You will have to do any and everything that I ask you to. Within reason," he added on seeing the face I made. "Is that acceptable?"

I nodded. I could do that. Especially with the 'within reason' attached.

"Good. Now, when you will be working for me, you will not be accompanying me to meetings or any other business-related endeavours. As far as I am concerned, you will only function as a walking, talking diary. Is that acceptable too?"

This one took some time to answer. But then I nodded again. Good enough. I won't know what to do in those meetings anyway. "Okay. I can't very well run away, as you can see." I motioned with my head to my bum leg, hidden under the folds of the abaya.

He nodded, glancing at my legs and immediately looking up. He didn't deem the comment fit for a reply.

"You will come to work at the normal morning hours and stay as long as I need you to. That could be for just one hour or for hours after closing time, depending on my mood and requirements. Okay?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Hours after closing time? What for?"

He shrugged. "I have things to do."

"And I have a family back home," I countered. "No hours after closing time, thank you very much."

He was glaring now. For a moment I thought he would reconsider once again and tell me to take a hike. Instead, contrary to my expectations, he took a deep breath and nodded stiffly, like it hurt him to do so. "Fair enough. You will just have to work really hard, then. I can find ways."

I smiled at the challenge. "Done. You seem to be getting a servant out of this rather than a secretary, do you realise?"

"Maybe that's what I intend." He smiled a small, sarcastic smile. "Now, you will—"

"Aren't you done yet?" I asked, incredulous. He seemed comfortable enough to go on for the whole day.

His lips twisted. He looked at the orb again, contemplating, then shrugged. "Yes, you're right. The rest of my requirements can be ironed out during the course of our work engagement. So, you will be sending me your C.V.?"

"I will mail it to you, if that's alright. Though, mind you, it isn't a very impressive one. I work as a dish-washer, you know."

"Are you trying to tell me, Miss Mahal, that you are in fact not very intelligent?"

I scowled at him. "It might seem like a foreign concept to you, but there are people in this world who don't get to see their dreams realised due to a bad financial state." I almost spat the last words.

My reaction seemed to take him aback. A shadow passed over his face. He held up a hand. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Of course you didn't. Is that all you need from me?"

"That's enough for now. Geric will send you the essentials today. It seems, Miss Mahal, that despite all odds, you actually got yourself a job. Now, all that's left to see is how long you last."

Somewhere, in a deep corner of my head I paid no heed to, it did seem funny to me that he would flip his decision all so suddenly and want me working for him. Deep down, I knew something wasn't right here, something didn't add up. Yet, at that moment, I wasn't ready to see. I was too mired in thoughts of a better home and an easier life. I was also thinking about a life with no Fred in it. Frankly, I was sold.  

I bowed as deeply as was possible for me. "At your service, I am sure."

"You start tomorrow."