MILA MULLER

The pain was bad today.

It was bad every day, but today was particularly notable. The young woman bent over the desk and grunted, feeling as if her muscles were on fire. She pulled the top off her water bottle, greedily sucking down a few gulps as if it would quell the throbbing ache. She stopped to wipe her mouth and listened to see if anyone was coming–if an Umbrella receptionist were seen doing something as undignified as being visibly distressed, she would surely receive a write-up. And when she was here on a visa and desperately needed Umbrella Employee Insurance.

She straightened up a stack of papers and rolled a stamp around her hands, doing anything to ignore today's flareup. Her roommate, a kind older woman named Ella, had helped her braid her brown hair in a single long french braid. She couldn't stand the way it felt when her hair touched her skin or fell over her shoulders–once again, it was like fire. She always figured she'd cut it one day, but she was also attached to the way Ella braided it, and how her soft and easy hands seemed to weave it like–

"Muller!" A voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. She jerked up, ignoring the jolt of agony up her spine, and looked up into the slight-eyed face of her superior, Carl Jenkins, a marines dropout who seemed to want to make his military prowess known to everyone he met.

"Mila." She said, unable to keep the bite out of her voice.

"That's sir to you." Jenkins snorted. "I actually have work for you today instead of you just sitting on your lazy ass. We have some important men coming today. I want you to prepare some quality coffee, try to look pretty, and deliver it. Can you do that for me?"

Mila nodded. "Of course." She bit back her anger, knowing that dealing with other men in the company of Jenkins would be as abhorrent as french kissing an ant.

"Good." He thrust a notepad at her, scrawled with a few different coffee orders. "See to it promptly and come to Meeting Room A13."

Mila startled. That was the top floor. This was serious. As Jenkins stomped away, she stared down at the coffee orders–various distinct measurements or concoctions and then one simple black coffee. She laughed. Since coming to America, she hadn't met someone who simply enjoyed black coffee. Compared to these other orders, he must be thin as a rail. She smiled to herself. She hated all these rich bigwigs that came in and out, but the peoplewatching was supreme. She supposed it was time to start on that plain black coffee.

XXX

Mila pushed a cart towards A13. Now that she was headed there, she felt sweat bead on the back of her neck. She pushed loose strands of hair back into place and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt. She didn't think herself particularly lovely to look at–she was of average height and wide build, plump with brown hair and brown eyes. She could see herself fading into a crowd, which honestly she would prefer. Being an immigrant, she didn't want to stand out–it was why she had worked so hard to perfect her English, and find a good job. She had lost her remaining family a few years ago, and had come to America to pursue treatment for her chronic illness. She had been promised medical miracles, but found instead that they came at a price…

And today's price was pushing a cart full of coffee for rich assholes.

Mila sighed, opening the door and pushing the cart inside. There were seven men, not counting Jenkins, sitting around a long glass table. Her eyes jumped from each one of them, carefully calculating how best to approach them to make a good impression. There was a weaselly looking fellow, blonde hair falling into his eyes, tie loose at his neck. He looked stressed, a little sweaty, and she figured he would be easy to please. The man next to him though… Mila was confused. She had never seen a man wear sunglasses indoors before. She had also never seen a man look as if he were made out of marble. His icy blonde hair was slicked back with not a lock out of place, his skin pale and almost ethereal, his suit looking like something straight out of a store catalog, perfectly fitted and not a wrinkle to it.

Instantly, she knew he was the one who wanted the black coffee. She felt a wry grin come to her face. "Who had the Turska Kafa?" She said. This peculiar man's strange image drew her in, and she was curious if such an odd fellow was just as boring as his counterparts.

"I ordered a simple black coffee and yet I get a treat." The man cocked his head, lips frozen in a tight line. "Interesting. Bring it to me."

Out of the corner of her eye, Mila saw that Jenkins looked as if he were about to explode. She smiled, placing the tiny coffee cup in front of the new man. She was already impressed that he knew what she was talking about, since everyone else looked confounded.

The man next to him laughed. "I hope you enjoy your sip, Albert."

The man in the sunglasses looked down, and everyone went silent. Nobody asked for their coffees. Mila looked him in the eyes the best she could. Her mother used to say she made the best Turska Kafa. She was bored and wanted to confound a bigwig today…had she made a mistake? The pain along her spine throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

The man took the tiniest of sips and smirked. "What is your name?"

"Mila Muller." She said, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

"Very good, Miss Muller." He took another sip. "This is just what I needed this morning. Umbrella needs employees willing to take risks. Well done."

She couldn't keep a smile off her face. She felt lighter knowing that she had pleased him, knowing that she liked something from her personal store. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to take some of her "Homesick Brew" and use it on a stranger… Maybe she was just taking a risk like the man, Albert, had said. "Thank you sir." She nodded. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"Not right now, my lady." He took another delicate sip, the flash of his teeth in a quick smile making her shiver. "Serve the others."

Mila nodded and continued, noting how the other men began praising her beverages–even Jenkins, who began speaking highly of their local secretary, even though she "came from overseas". She huffed at that, but decided to keep her mouth shut. She soon finished dishing out the coffees and made her leave with the empty cart. She rewarded herself upon leaving with a quick sip of half-and-half, smiling to herself. Maybe she'd finally get a pay raise.

XXX

Mila had prepared a bit of serbian style coffee for herself at lunchtime, an odd accompaniment to her sandwich and chips. She had kicked off her heels for the break and popped a few ibuprofen for the inflammation, praying tomorrow wouldn't be a cane day. She leaned back for a moment and closed her eyes, losing herself for just a few seconds. Breaks were never long enough.

"Miss Muller. Are you alright?"

She startled at the voice and shot upright, gasping. She thought she had been the only one in the break room. The man in sunglasses stood before her, stiff as a board. He almost looked unreal.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know anyone was there and I…"

The man looked down at her, shoes off, hair askew, and shirt covered in crumbs and gave an amused smile. "We all need to relax sometime. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"What can I do for you sir?" Mila began brushing the crumbs off her shirt, face flushing.

"No need to be so formal. I came to speak…as a friend." The man said slowly. "You may call me Wesker. It is preferred."

"Of course." She said. "I… I prefer Mila."

"Mila. Beautiful name. Serbian origin?" Wesker asked politely before slipping into the chair across from her.

Mila smiled softly. "Yes. I'm from Edonia. I managed to get a visa a few years ago and have been here ever since."

"I hear Edonia is beautiful." Wesker said. "I have always loved the snow. What brings you to America, much less Umbrella?"

Mila hesitated. This man…he seemed important. If experience meant anything, important men were usually bastards. Should she be honest?

Then. Why not?

"I am ill." She answered calmly. "I have a blood disease that affects both my nervous and muscular tissues. Unnamed and unknown. I am hoping to find medical care here that I could not find or afford in my country. I am also interested in science… Umbrella seemed like a miracle, bringing those two things together." She let out a nervous laugh. "Of course, I'm only a receptionist. Not exactly working in science yet, but it's a start."

Wesker focused intently on her before lowering his glasses. His eyes were an icy blue, reminding her of the skies back home. Her breath caught in her throat. They were beautiful.

"I am a virologist." Wesker said simply. "Perhaps my colleagues and I could assist? Studying an unknown condition is an opportunity for research. Plus, it would be a pleasure to help out a young lady such as yourself."

Mila blushed despite herself. "Thank you, Wesker… I don't know what to say! That would be an incredible opportunity for me and–"

"We can see about getting you a raise as well. I liked the little stunt you pulled at the meeting. I have a penchant for when someone surprises me and the results are…satisfactory. Perhaps more than satisfactory."

Mila was stunned. "It would… It would help me a lot. Both of those things. What do you need in return?" Mila asked, sure that this was the part where things would get hairy.

"Nothing." Wesker smirked, and she swore she could see the mischief in his eyes even behind his sunglasses. "Except, perhaps, for your company. Aside from a lab table of course."

He was forward! Mila looked away from the older man, feeling butterflies in her stomach. She liked this. She liked him. "I wouldn't mind that, Wesker."

Wesker smiled thinly, though he looked pleased. "Good. We'll certainly see each other again soon." He looked down at her heels, discarded on the floor, and then back to her. "Continue enjoying yourself. I will speak to your superiors."

She flushed. "Yes s–Wesker. I'll see you again soon."

"As fate shall have it." Wesker nodded before exiting, leaving Mila alone once more.

She slid her hands over her braid, playing with her hair like a schoolgirl. She smiled softly and took a sip of her coffee, the best she had ever had. "As fate shall have it…"