Anyone who looked at Belle could see how beautiful she was, despite the plain clothes she tended to wear.
On this particular Tuesday in late spring she had dressed herself in a solid blue frock that reached below her knees, overlaid on top with a well-loved beige cardigan that had succumbed to a massive amount of pilling over the years. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a simple low ponytail, and on her makeup-less face she wore a scowl as she squinted at the words splayed across her screen.
where is gym colum? do thurssday
Belle rolled her eyes so hard she thought they'd roll right out of her head. How could a man with such poor spelling and grammatical skills have been given an upper management position at a reputable publishing company in New York? It was anybody's guess.
Of course he had meant that the column titled, "Benchpress THIS: How To Drop The Weights And Pick Up Chicks," about what girls look for in a guy at the gym, was due Thursday– not that she should do it on Thursday.
Her fingers tapped quickly across the keyboard as she punched out a reply.
Already done and sent to proofing. Should receive first run on your desk by tomorrow morning.
Of course after proofing was done with the piece, it would be sent on to the design department, and then on to final approval from the editor before ending up in his hands. She clicked the send button.
Within moments, her email pinged again.
C me
Scrunching her nose and forcing down a groan, Belle pushed her chair back from her desk and rose to leave her cubicle, resigning herself to her fate.
–
Passing the break room on her way to his office, Belle tried to tune out the snickers and whispers from her co-workers that were obviously directed at her. One of them, a curvy woman with bottle-blonde hair and an incredibly bright shade of red lipstick, turned the corners of her mouth downward as the younger woman walked by. Her hot pink acrylic nails clicked impatiently on the side of the ceramic coffee mug she was holding.
When she reached the suites of offices at the other end of the floor, Belle grasped the door handle and turned it without knocking, steeling herself as she entered the room.
The decor of his office was tacky, and not at all fitting for such a modern space with floor-to-ceiling views of the harbor. Taxidermied animal heads littered the walls, which lacked a single piece of art, and the bookshelves were devoid of books; instead, they were cluttered with various trophies and awards, both for accolades won by the company for achievements in the publishing industry, and Gaston's own personal hunting accomplishments.
His office was so unlike those of colleagues, but it was most different in one very important aspect: this office lacked a framed diploma anywhere.
His shoulder-length dark hair was slicked back, combed with pomenade behind his ears, and he was wearing a burgundy suit with a white collared shirt with the top few buttons undone. Belle thought the color was a bit too bold for the corporate culture, but then again, everything about Gaston was bold and boisterous. His body was burly and muscular, with wide shoulders and a broad chest. He almost never wore a tie. Belle wondered if it was because he had no taste, or if it was because his neck was too thick. She had been working for him for a little over a year now and she still had yet to figure it out.
"You asked to see me?"
The large man behind the desk glanced up, a sickly sweet grin spreading across his face immediately upon recognizing Belle.
"Ah, Belle!' he crooned in his deep voice, dropping his pen on the desk with a quiet clack. He waved her over, but Belle didn't move, eager to keep her distance. Still smiling grotesquely, he narrowed his eyes and interlocked his fingers together underneath his chin.
"Do you know why I've asked you to come here?"
Belle shook her head. She kept her gaze downward, focusing on a hole that was forming on the side of one of the old black ballet flats she was wearing. If she looked up, she was afraid he would notice the abject hatred she held for him in her eyes. Her nerves skittered from the anticipation of their impending discourse.
"You know, if you cleaned up a little then you wouldn't be too hard on the eyes," Gaston purred, diverting from the original point of the conversation– as he usually did.
"Thank you for the backhanded compliment," Belle mumbled. Her body urged her to run far, far away, but she willed her feet to remain glued to the spot. She made a mental note of the location of the nearest trash basket in case she had to vomit.
"It's true," Gaston continued, folding his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his oversized armchair, which was still almost too small for his extra-large frame. The expression on his face indicated that he was exceptionally pleased with himself for what he was saying to her. He liked to think of himself as a never ending spigot of helpful information– even though nobody ever asked him for it. "You're the hottest girl in this office. If only you dressed like it. Showed a little skin every once in awhile."
Belle visibly flinched at his words. She turned her chin up, doing her best to hide the absolute disgust she felt by giving him a look of indifference.
"Gaston, did only you call me here to discuss my appearance?"
Shaking his head, Gaston leaned forward, still smiling. He put his folded hands on the desktop in front of him as if to imply the seriousness of what he was about to say.
"You've made an ingracious error, Belle."
The woman knotted her brows in confusion. "Do you mean… egregious?"
Gaston waved her question away with his hand. Reaching down, he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a copy of the latest issue of MEN'S DAY magazine, dropping it on his desk with a plop for emphasis. Belle raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.
Gaston flipped through the pages, going back and forth a few times to find the correct one, muttering page numbers aloud to himself as he attempted to count them, before finally landing on Belle's article. He jabbed a finger onto the page. With his other hand, he motioned for Belle to come closer. She inched forward one step.
"Right here," Gaston insisted, motioning her forward once more. Biting her lip to mask her annoyance, Belle moved as close to the desk as she dared, leaning down slightly to look at the word he was pointing out on the page.
"Right here," he repeated, smushing the tip of his finger onto the glossy surface of the paper. "In your article about the best meals to cook for a woman to impress her. You wrote, 'The nuances of a woman's appetite can be hard to distinguish.'"
Belle blinked. "I'm not sure I understand. What's the problem?"
Gaston blew out a breath and smoothed his hair back with a hand. "Even though we all know it's true, you can't just outright call women annoying in an article."
"Excuse me?"
"The word 'nuances.' It means that someone is annoying. You have to be more subtle, Belle." He gave her a false sympathetic pout. "We all make mistakes. I'll cover for you this time, but make sure it doesn't happen again."
Frustrated, Belle waved her hands. "Wait, wait. I'm not sure I'm following. Are you trying to tell me that you think the word 'nuances' means that someone is 'bothersome'?"
Then the lightbulb clicked on inside her mind and Belle let out a laugh.
"Oh! You're thinking of 'nuisance.' Nuisances. Not nuances."
Gaston shook his head and sighed dramatically. He gave her a look of pity. "No, Belle, that's not what I mean. Look, you have a very lucrative position here. Writing the advice column for MEN'S DAY is a real honor, and a privilege. You know how many girls would die to be in your shoes? To help millions of men– and women, by proxy– by writing dating tips and tricks for men from a woman's perspective? You gotta do better than this."
When he finished his little speech, he grinned once more at her, his smugness practically radiating off of him in tangible waves. If Belle's jaw fell open any further, it would hit the ground. She was at a loss for words to say.
"Maybe I can overlook this little… misstep… if you agree to dinner with me," Gaston wiggled his eyebrows, and Belle noticed the not-so-subtle way his perverse gaze traced lazily down her body. He licked his lips. "Let's say tonight at eight? And if things go well– which they will– we can have dessert at my place."
Anger bubbled in Belle's stomach at his proposition. She wanted to scream "no" until her throat burst from the exertion. Her heart palpitated from the stress of holding it in. Her hands shook.
Gaston only smirked as he watched her face flush with scarlet. Getting her riled up was one of his favorite pastimes. She was so sexy when she got all hot and bothered by him.
"I have plans," Belle spit out quickly, turning on her heel and exiting the room as briskly as she could.
