Chapter 11: Attention Unwanted (part III)

**Brooke

I pursed my lips and flipped a strand of hair over my shoulder. My buttock was sore from the uncomfortable position and I stretched my leg to ease the numbness.

“I'm sure your intentions were dictated by a polite attempt to drop the hatchet. Therefore, probing and asking unnecessary questions, in addition to being a waste of time, would make you angry, Mr. Farrow. Maybe you didn't tell me I underlined as soon as you entered the office?”

A flash of amusement graced his mouth, but he didn't have time to light up his eyes because, in a single second, they were saturated with anger.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, Mr. Farrow, but you cannot expect to treat me the way you have now without me trying to defend myself in some way.”

For a moment he looked at me silently, deep in thought, then slowly shook his head, as if he had come to an unexpected conclusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but finally closed it, thinking better of it.

The chair returned to the table and his arm dropped from my back.

“Mr. Malloy doesn't ask for unfeasible things,” he replied, concentrating on his work. His ability to move from private to corporate surprised me. Like his look: when he spoke to me he was tense, almost nervous, sometimes even irritated. However, when he dedicated himself to his work, all that remained was concentration and passion. “We will build the entire campaign around the vegetation and biodiversity of our forests downstream of Mount Eagle.”

“We could build the scenario to the east, where Sergeant Malloy's control base is. There the sunlight lasts until late and we can use the base as a warehouse.”

“Yes, that's a good idea.” he praised. “This way, Malloy will be able to check the project procedure step by step.” He took a deep breath and turned to give me a quick look. “So if everything goes as I hope we will have to climb to the top to resume the wolf life. If…” he stopped again. He suddenly looked nervous. “If you feel good, you can accompany me.”

“What will we do with the licenses? This area is off limits.”

“Not for me.” he blurted out and immediately corrected himself. “I mean Malloy won't make a fuss. I've already made deals with him.”

“Okay, then I'll train the creative team.” I jumped.

His hand came down relentlessly on my wrist and grabbed it with a grip that hurt.

“Did I tell you you could leave?”

“I thought…” I looked at his fingers and tried to pull my wrist out of his grip. Despite my efforts, however, it showed no signs of abating. “I thought you were in a hurry to get started.”

“I have,” he confirmed. Then he replaced the irritated tone with a gentler one. “Sit down.”

With a gentle tug, he pulled me back to the chair, and as soon as I sat down he released me. I felt my wrist tingling and I opened and squeezed my fingers a dozen times to get the circulation going again. On the skin, where Farrow's fingers had been, a red trail remained.

I swallowed the tears and put my face into a professional expression. I didn't want him to understand how much he had upset me. Crying over something like that was really out of the question.

“What don't you understand about the fact that you and I will be the ones covering the campaign?” he seemed irritated but tried to remain calm. “You and I will explore the different locations and it will be up to you to choose the best ones. As a director, I will guide you on what is necessary for a good film, so I will never leave you alone in making decisions.”

“Aren't we going to count on the team?” I was surprised, but I had never been on a set.

My work revolved around the table and the PC. It was the longest-tenured creatives and advertisers who went to the various sets and handled the filming. I limited myself to making photocopies and prints.

“I know you have no experience…” he wet his lips and for a moment, foolishly, it almost seemed to me like he meant more than he said.

I blushed and he didn't notice. I could tell by the way his pupils narrowed as he tilted his head to the side to look at me closer. His breathing mixed with mine and for a moment I panicked. He was the one who put distance between us, straightening his back.

When he spoke there was no trace of gentleness, but only an authoritative certainty.

“You will gain experience with me. I will teach you everything.”

“All?” I replied confused. Did he want to promote me?

“Yes, Brooke. All.” he dragged out each syllable, looking at my lips.

Once again I had the impression that he was making two arguments at the same time and I called myself stupid because it was completely irrational.

In total embarrassment, I looked for something to say and luckily, at that exact moment, Mr. Farrow decided to suddenly get up, with his back to me, to reach the window. He opened it and I saw his shoulders go up and take a deep breath. As if he had been holding the air in his throat until now.

I smelled the ends of my hair and didn't detect any unpleasant odors. After the last time I was in his office, I even changed shampoo brands, afraid of encountering Mr. Farrow's disgusted attitude again. Maybe it was my skin…

“Do I still smell bad?” I blurted out and immediately bit my tongue.

Farrow didn't turn around. On the contrary! He leaned forward, seeking fresh air.

“Your scent is the most delicious thing I've ever smelled.”

Consciously, I looked away, even though he was still looking away. So why was he acting like my smell bothered him? Why did he hold his nose every time I moved too fast or touched his hair? Maybe he did it without realizing it, but he still did it…

“How are you doing with your other projects? Are you in a good place?”

I shook my head and mentally patted myself on the forehead. He couldn't see me.

“I have to print the lipstick poster and change the color gradation of the last logo created by the advertising team. So, at the moment, you don't have any other tasks assigned.”

“Excellent!” Finally, he turned around and pinched the bridge of his nose again, squinting his eyes as if he had just been hit by a blast of unpleasant odor. The expression is so serious that it is intimidating.

“What time will I pick you up?”

“Fetch me?” I didn't understand.

“I think we speak the same language. Don't make me repeat it.”

“I... Mr. Farrow…” I swallowed and tried again. “I do not understand.”

He took a few steps forward, flared his nostrils, and stopped suddenly. “What time will I pick you up tomorrow? To go to the Eagles.”

“I was thinking about coming alone.” I was more than surprised.

“You don't have a car, how do you plan to get there?”

“How do you know I don't have a car?”

“Are we falling into the circle of useless questions?” he avoided answering.

“I'll take a taxi.” I interrupted.

“I'll wait for you at Sergeant Malloy's base.” a flash of concern appeared on his forehead, accentuating his wrinkles. “Do you know where it is?”

“Yes of course. Malloy is a great friend of my father's and we visit him often. I know the street very well.”

“I know they are friends.”

“Like you...?”

His gaze looked at me, sternly, and red lit the edges of his irises. If I had more confidence I would have suggested he go to the ophthalmologist.

“I think this is a useless question too,” I muttered, walking irritably towards the door. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Farrow.”

“Okay, Brooke,” he replied cordially.

I hurriedly lowered the handle, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Oh! Brooke!” he exclaimed, calling me back.

I looked at him over my shoulder. An irritating smile lifted his cheek.

“Speaking of granite… I was referring to my chest earlier.”