"Does this make me look too casual for you? Would you only like to be seen with me in contacts?" He smirks, leaning over me and resting his arm above my head, against the wall of the elevator. I can't help but notice the top of his shirt is still unbuttoned as I try desperately to avoid eye contact.
When I do look up at him, my face burns brightly. When he towers over me like this, it's hard not to get worked up. Evidently he's aware of this, given the fact he does it repeatedly. One can only assume he gets his kicks being an asshole like this. I wish I could muster up the courage to play along, sometimes. I wish I could be like a femme fatale in a movie, and counter all of his flirtation with words that make him kneel.
Before I can muster an even semi-coherent rebuttal, the elevator door opens and a familiar face is staring right at us.
"Woah– Uh–..."
Dixon. Dixon's staring at us both with wide eyes and an agape mouth. Perhaps noticing my shrunken demeanor, he takes this as an opportunity to score employee brownie points. He's around 5'3", but without hesitation he places a hand on White's shoulder and looks at him sternly.
"You're obviously making her uncomfortable, so maybe back off a bit," he says without wavering.
Wow, I can see why he's an office favorite. This bright-eyed shrimp is surprisingly upright. To my surprise, White heeds his words. Then, to no one's surprise, White has the man by the neck of his shirt and is strong-arming him off the elevator. This is the shark I'm more familiar with hearing about.
White pushes him back with every step off the elevator, pushing him back more as a group of onlookers in the lobby watch with a mixture of fear and intrigue. White isn't letting go as he pushes Dixon backwards, causing the man to dangle by his shirt as the great white shark towers over him with an intensity strong enough to echo back to primitive instincts.
"The fuck? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" White grits his teeth. His long, thick tail is swaying side to side, like a cat ready to pounce on prey. "You think a fuckin' bottomfeeder like you has any right to speak to me like that?"
Before this can go any further I attempt to assert myself in the situation. I grab Dixon by the shoulders to help him regain his footing, drawing the murderous glare of White in the process.
"Dixon is a good man and just looking out for his coworker," I explain calmly, carefully. "If you make a scene in my building I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
White sizes me up, perhaps willing to start a real fight. He doesn't. Instead, he lets go of the shaken technician and walks off without another word. Allegedly this is a common experience at WHITEOUT. Despite our sometimes pleasant encounters, White has an explosive personality and tends to say and do whatever it is he wants at any given time. It helps when you have the size and physical power to back that up. That's to say nothing of his rumored magick skills.
I heave the heaviest possible sigh to steady my nerves before looking over at Dixon. Though, when I look at him, he seems more worried for me than I am for him.
"Holy moly," he laughs awkwardly. "Do you… need someone to talk to?" He offers in a shaky tone.
I hesitate at first, then give a sheepish smile and nod.
We're seated in the breakroom on the 4th floor. Dixon has fixed me a cup of coffee with enough creamer to make it as orange as his brightly dyed hair. He adds cinnamon, which draws to mind his freckles. I think to myself that I should come up with a signature coffee styling as well.
I'm not certain how to explain the course of events to this man without giving out too much information. If for some reason I do get involved with White's schemes, I wouldn't want information out there that contrasts it.
"We've been dating," I say nervously. It's not a lie, I think? We did go on a date. Two, if you count that time I spilled a lemon sour everywhere.
Dixon's eyes are immediately bulging out of his skull. Is the story that unbelievable?
"Doesn't he have like– Five girlfriends and ten boyfriends?" Dixon gasps.
I stare dumbly for a moment, then quickly text White to confirm whether or not he's already in one or more relationships. Wait– Boyfriends? Why does he have more boyfriends than girlfriends, allegedly? Why does he have any boyfriends at all?! My face glows red and I shake my head free of confusing thoughts. Dixon seems immediately aware of what I'm doing, as he clasps his hands together in prayer.
"Please, please, please tell me you aren't actually involved with that guy! Does your dad know?! Isn't he going to be pissed?!"
After hitting send I don't look up from my phone. When White responds with a thumbs up emoji, I slam my phone down in frustration. "He's the one who STARTED THIS!" I roar in frustration, beating my fists against the table in complete exasperation.
"Your dad set you two up?!" Dixon gasps.
I nod angrily. Dixon seems ready to explode from this strange, exciting knowledge.
"That's insane. Why would he do that?! Seriously?!" Dixon is clawing his eyes out. "I guess that's the life you rich people have to live though," he sighs.
I don't feel particularly rich, so I take some level of offense. Nonetheless, I ask what he means.
"Well," he begins, "contract marriages and stuff. I guess it makes sense to combine that prick's company with ours. It just sucks that your dad is using you to do that. You should be allowed to actually live your life, not be at the mercy of some asshole, pardon my language, that's going to resent you and probably beat you."
For a moment I'm offended on White's behalf. There's plenty of words to describe him, and asshole is certainly one of them, but I wouldn't call him a wifebeater. In my experience thus far he's been a gentleman when it really counted. Even the unlikable parts of him had their own charm.
I'm more offended by his statement of my character, however. Perhaps it's hitting a soft spot, due to my plethora of existing insecurities. But, I feel the need to speak up.
"I will never be at his mercy."