You opened your mouth,

Arrow. How fitting his name was, with each sentence’s punctuating streaming towards her quickly with a barely dulled tip (enough to puncture, not enough to kill. Yet.). She had not been sure if their first interview was a test, and stuck with a more formal surname greeting in case. She had slipped up, but it wouldn’t happen again. If he wanted to hear her say his name, she would, and with little hesitance. She liked the way it tasted, a little bit sharp, biting, lip-puckering sour but sweet enough to make her want to keep sucking on the syllables. A little bit like a (forbidden) candy. 

He didn’t look at her, but she watched him. Only the second time in his presence, and he was no less grand nor had any less of an affect on her than the first. Even with his face turned away from her, she felt her heart beat stronger against her rib cage in an attempt to push closer, closer, closer. 

“Oh, these are only the copies.” She returned casually, unperturbed by his blunt response. “I gave the originals to the receptionist, who I ensured is properly looking over and filing them now. I made extras in case you preferred to have copies for yourself.” People were often inadequate, even the people at a prestigious a magazine as this – he had made a sliver of that clear even in the initial interview, and so she had carefully catered and trimmed away at her planned entrance in order to properly prepare (and hopefully, surprise) for him. “Temperature, and any preferred additions?” She queried in response to his request for coffee. “Yes, Arrow.” Sloane didn’t need to be told things twice – in fact, she rarely needed to be told once.

When he finally looked up, she already had her eyes on him. Unafraid, cool, unrelenting, but with something behind them. She didn’t want him to see what it was yet. The word wife had registered… But a husband madly in love took all his wife’s calls, not only the “emergencies.” He looked her over, and there was a popping sensation under her skin, but she didn’t back down. Her lips quirked slightly when he tested her. Yes, he remembered. She could see it. Instead of wavering, she took the opportunity to move towards him – not hurried, not afraid of being in his presence. She didn’t bother to stop the swing of her hips that was there so naturally. If he was happily married, he didn’t have to look. Slim, shining arms reached out in front of him to scoop up the unnecessary papers. From this leaned position, her eyes flicked up to his, bold and fearless. “Sloane Macaulay.” She kept eye contact for longer than necessary. His eyes reminded her of a lion’s.

“I noticed the machine in the break room seemed out of date and the grounds were canned. I’ll go down to the artisan shop on the corner, once you tell me the preferences for your coffee. They have the best beans in this burrow of the city.” She gave her opinion without apology, there was no room for that across from him – and she would show him she knew what she was talking about. But she turned at the door frame, looking back at him. “Unless you prefer somewhere else. One Advil, two, or the bottle?” There was a slight edge of humor to her question, the quirk of a brow and lip. With the assurance of a girl that knows she’s played her cards right, she folded her hands in her lap and allowed her chin to pick up. “Is there anything else you need from me before I leave?”

Arrow had seen eleven potential candidates on the day that he met Sloane. Eleven included her, having been the tenth. There had been dozens more, but he hadn't been able to fathom the possibility of sitting through even more. The brunette, however, stood out to him. While the rest of his executive team fell into a hushed confusion, only after a few paused moments could they inquire about how he had come about his decision. 'Her? She won't know anything,' and 'There were candidates with so much schooling, they'd have more experience, they'll bother you less with questions," had been their attempts at arguing with him. They were paid to do so, to differ in opinions and be ready to embrace his not-so-friendly feedback. He saw Sloane as an opportunity, not someone that had enough schooling from a secondhand institution that he viewed as lackluster education. The money to buy tuition, he felt, didn't make a person. He wanted to see if he was right when he observed the young brunette. There might have been a spark, perhaps a drive.

He'd find it. He'd find it or he'd drive her insane in the process.

"I don't need them." Arrow declared, despite the fact that he did. His refusal to take the copies from her only meant that he would likely have to snap at her at a later date when it turns out that he did need them after all. A tiny bit surprised by her appropriate questions, he found that wasn't as daft as his immediate employees had suggested when he had chosen her as his assistant. "I like hot coffee." However, he deadpanned in a lazed murmur. "You'll figure out the rest." Which didn't help, he didn't add how exactly he cared to have his coffee prepared or if he would prefer to prepare it himself. Instead, he looked back down at his work, flipped through two pages and then found himself halted by her presence. She picked up the papers for him, the ones he had concluded he would not need, and then leaned down to inform him of her name. It was nothing he could be angered about, he couldn't find a witty enough comeback despite having attempted.