Fifty Million Reasons To Hate Him

The late afternoon sun painted the massive living room of the penthouse in shades of deep gold and crimson. Five young women, all dressed in immaculate, conservative gray uniforms, stood in a perfectly straight line against the wall. They clutched their portfolios, looking terrified. Harrison sat in the center of the room on a single leather armchair. His legs were crossed, his posture rigid. His dark, predatory eyes scanned the candidates. He looked like a king preparing to execute his subjects. Elias stood nervously to the side, holding his iPad. "Candidate number one, please step forward and state your qualifications." Before the first girl could even open her mouth, the electronic keypad at the front entrance beeped aggressively. The heavy oak door was shoved open with so much force it slammed against the wall, rattling the expensive artwork. Every head in the room snapped toward the foyer. Iris marched into the apartment. She was wearing thigh-high, chunky combat boots that stomped loudly against the hardwood floor. She had on a skin-tight, black sequined slip dress, covered by an oversized leather motorcycle jacket covered in sharp metal studs. To make matters worse, she was aggressively chewing a piece of bright pink bubblegum. She blew a massive bubble and popped it with a loud smack. Harrison's jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. Iris pulled down her oversized black sunglasses. She looked at the line of beautiful, young women in uniforms. A cruel, mocking smirk twisted her lips. Instantly, her face crumpled into an expression of profound, theatrical heartbreak. She pointed a trembling finger at Harrison. "You already replaced me?" she cried out, her voice echoing in the large room. "With a whole harem? I am such a pathetic fool!" While she wailed aloud, her inner voice exploded in Harrison's skull with hysterical laughter. Oh my god, look at this lineup! Is he hosting the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in his living room? What a creep! The words Victoria's Secret Fashion Show made Harrison's blood pressure spike to dangerous levels. His fingers gripped the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles turned stark white. The five candidates exchanged horrified glances. They clearly thought they had walked into a volatile domestic dispute. Harrison took a slow, deep breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to throw her off the balcony. "They are interviewing for the estate manager position," Harrison said, his voice dripping with icy contempt. "Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself." Iris rolled her eyes dramatically. She dragged her heavy boots across the floor, heading toward the pile of cardboard boxes near the hallway. Estate manager? Please, her mind scoffed loudly. Do you need to check their measurements to see if they can clean a toilet? Dirty old man. Harrison grabbed the crystal water glass from the side table and slammed it down onto the glass coffee table. The loud bang made all five candidates jump out of their skin. He pointed a lethal finger at the boxes. "Shut your mouth and pack your trash, Iris. Do not interrupt my interviews." Iris crouched down next to the boxes. She grabbed an orange Hermes box and intentionally kicked it hard against the wall, making a loud thud to show her displeasure. Elias quickly gestured to the first candidate. "Please, begin." Candidate A stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. She started reciting her resume, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris," she stammered, intimidated by the suffocating tension in the room. Iris slowly folded a silk dress, tossing it carelessly into a box. Look at her nose, Iris's voice criticized directly into Harrison's brain. That is definitely a bad nose job. And she sounds like a dying mosquito. How is she going to manage this massive apartment? Harrison squeezed his eyes shut. The mental commentary was relentless. It was impossible to focus on what the candidate was actually saying. Candidate A saw Harrison grimace and panicked. Her voice trailed off, and she started stuttering uncontrollably. Haha! Look at her! She's about to cry! Iris's mind cackled with malicious glee. Nobody can handle this tyrant's temper! Harrison snapped. He whipped his head around and glared at the back of Iris's head. His eyes burned with absolute, murderous intent. Iris felt the heavy, terrifying weight of his stare. She froze mid-fold. What is he glaring at me for? she thought defensively. I didn't even say anything out loud! Harrison ground his teeth together. The fact that she was technically right infuriated him even more. He couldn't yell at her for something she hadn't spoken. He turned back to the trembling candidate. "Get to the point," Harrison snapped impatiently. "What makes you think you can handle my household?" Candidate A took a deep breath, desperately clinging to her prepared speech. "I specialize in high-end French cuisine, sir," she said, her voice gaining a fraction of confidence. "I assure you, I can perfectly replicate the loving, home-cooked dinners the former Mrs. Torres prepared for you every evening."