Agreements With Mr Rich Boy | ✓

4 | The Walking Building

IT HAD BEEN SEVERAL WEEKS since the whole fitting fiasco. The memory of it still haunted me, and I couldn't exactly forget it anytime soon as the ill-fitted uniform hung from my wardrobe, a dismal reminder that I just didn't fit in with the upper class.

Mum was still in bed, probably sleeping. So, when I heard two heavy raps on the door, I was the one to immediately walk past the damaged furniture and towards it. I could see the vague outline of someone quite large, but the image was too distorted to see who they actually were.

I eased the door open carefully, and tried to contain my surprise and fear as I was greeted with the bulk figure of a man. He had a bald head and skin so dark it was almost ebony. I couldn't see his eyes, as they were covered with sunglasses. It wasn't even that sunny.

"Ms Dubois?" He asked in an incredibly deep voice.

"That's me," I responded, not at all sure what was going on. How did he know my name? No, as a matter of fact, how did he know where I lived? "Who are you?"

"You need to come with me."

"Yeah, right," I said, sarcastically. "I'm sure it's completely safe to get in a car with a complete stranger." I looked around him, having to lean very far out to see past his body, clad in a black suit, to see a matte black Bentley. The windows were too dark to see if anyone else was in the car or if he was alone. Either way, it didn't comfort me.

He sighed and reached for something in his inside breast pocket. I went to close the door, thinking it could be a gun. I knew it was unlikely, considering we were in Britain, but then he could easily have been someone from MI5 with his athletic build and masked manner.

Before the door could close, he'd put a perfectly polished foot out, subsequently obstructing my shutting off it. I looked upward, terrified, at the stairs. Would it even be worth calling for Mum? Maybe if I died, she could get the insurance money? Did I even have life insurance?

"I'm a driver for Attwood Academy," he said at last, holding his licence in front of him— it read William Clive, Certified Driver for Attwood Academy. I still couldn't be sure he wouldn't murder me, so kept behind the door.

"I'm not meant to be starting until September."

"You need to have a fitting," he said in a monotone voice.

"I've got my uniform," I tried not to cringe at the thought of the ghastly thing, but it may have slipped through. "I don't have any money for another."

"Expenses have been covered," he said. He gestured towards the car. "Now, will you please come out from behind the door and follow me. I am obligated to keep the doors unlocked in the car at all times, unless you prefer otherwise, and there are cameras that report the footage to the school. I've been trained and have been working in this area of work for fifteen years. You are in safe hands."

Still with hesitation, I stepped out from the protection of my door.

"Hang on," I said at last. I closed the door, and grabbed a piece of paper. I scribbled a short note for Mum, just in case she got up and didn't know where I was, though the chances of that were slim. I reopened the door to see him already waiting in the car.

I walked down the few steps that led to my front door, after locking it carefully. It had always been temperamental, sometimes locking when you wanted it to and sometimes (most of the time) refusing like a stubborn child.

I went to open the door to the passenger seat, but I could just about see William pointing to the back. Oh, I thought. Sit in the back.

Instead, I opened the door behind the one I'd previously tried and eased myself into the seat. My eyes must have been wide as saucers as I adjusted my position in the black leather seats, and breathed in the new car smell. He'd said he'd been working fifteen years, but this car couldn't have been more than a few months, maybe even weeks, old.

From the back, I could see a small, discrete camera pointed towards me and another pointed towards him. I supposed he hadn't been lying. Even so, I held my phone extra tightly.

"Where did you say we were going?"

"Michaleson & Co."

Realising he wasn't much of a talker, I watched the small houses transition into larger, more elegant ones out the window. Even the plants seemed neater, more cared about— what with the bushes being so finely cut and the trees being encased in metal.

It took about an hour for us to breach the distance between my house and into London.

Something struck me then. "Won't you have to pay the toll for driving in the city?"

"We're in a Bentley," he said, gruffly. "Do you really think £12 is worthy of a sweat?"

Guess not. I returned to looking out of the window for the remainder of the journey. Several heads were turned, watching the sleek car we were in pass, but the windows were too dark to see me staring meekly out at them.

I hardly realised we had stopped, until William had come to my side of the car and opened the door for me.

"Thank you."

I hurried my footsteps along so that I could keep up with him. I didn't think he'd think it was appropriate or particularly like me walking beside him, so I stayed a few paces behind.

We arrived at the shop swiftly, far faster than I had on my own previously. We avoided the main roads and stuck to the quieter ones, where less people bumped into me. But, that may also have been due to the building of a man walking in front of me, pretty much protecting me by deterring everyone.

The door to the shop opened immediately this time.

The woman at the desk didn't look particularly happy to see me, but far more alert and willing to help than she had before. I wondered if she was afraid of William.

"Are you not coming in, too?"

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He drew in a breath and let out a puff of smoke, and without turning towards me, said: "I'll wait out here."

"We might be a long time. Won't you be bored?"

"That's what I'm paid for, love."

I nodded silently and stepped back into the glamorous shop, letting its light glow surround me completely.