The walls were a dull grey; everything in the office was the exact same desolate colour. There was one light in the entire room and there wasn’t a doubt in Riley’s mind that it hadn’t been changed in quite a while. She shifted in her chair noting that even the furniture wasn’t inviting.
“How do you work in this? It’s so depressing,” Riley said as she crossed her legs for the third time.
“Are you here for an interview or to critique my designing style?” The woman who sat across from Riley was known for her dull tastes. She had about an inch on Riley’s five-foot-seven and wasn’t afraid to use her size for power. Her hair was a light blonde and pulled back so tightly in a bun that it gave Riley a headache just looking at it.
“Sorry,” Riley muttered. “Now, Mrs. Norman, what are your thoughts on this upcoming project?”
“Well, I’ve always believed in the well being of our elders. They are always the ones who are targeted first you know. So, after witnessing some elder abuse, I decided to take a stand. My partner, Rodney, and I discussed this topic one time over brunch,” Mrs. Norman smiled politely. “We agreed that the elderly are capable of defending themselves – I mean have you seen them at their bingo?”
Forty-five minutes later, Riley walked out of the building rubbing her temples. She was going to need a tanker-load of Tylenol when she got back home. She tried to smile when she spotted Brett leaning casually against his car but it only came out as a wince.
“How’d it go?” He had an amused look on his pretty face.
“I’ve got the mother of all headaches right now.”
“Oh, come on. It couldn’t have been that bad,” he said with a small laugh.
“It could have and it was,” Riley said as she climbed into the passenger seat of his four door Ford. “First, I had to stare at her face for an hour. I know that sounds mean, but the woman wears her hair so tightly tied back her eyes were practically popping out of her head. Then she made these jokes,” she said, her voice going up an octave, “it was about as funny as watching a cat die.
“The room,” her voice was pleading now. “It just screams boring. Everything is this dull grey, it’s like prison. No, it’s worse than prison.”
“Maybe some lunch will brighten your spirits,” Brett said in a hopeful voice as he pulled into his parking space at his condo.
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