Chapter 2 Not Racist

Marcel's POV

After Mrs. Giovanni left the office, I stared at the dark-looking lady before me. She dressed pretty well; she has a good fashion sense.

She knows how to merge colors. But I've never worked with blacks before, so who accepted a black's resume? I wonder. I am pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind.

"I am Marcel Reynolds, CEO of Reynolds Clothing. Nice meeting you," I introduced myself to her though she must have heard of the name more than ten times.

That's the advantage of fame. It opens doors for you and introduces you to strangers. This has happened a lot of times. I fake a broad smile as I extend my hand for a brief handshake.

For a brief second, she stares at me before taking my hand in hers. She smiles at me and takes my hand. Even if that sickens me, I still have to do it for formalities.

"I am Jocelyn Gbone Dizon. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marcel Reynolds finally." I motion for her to sit down in front of me. She draws out the chair and takes her seat as I also take mine.

"Can I have your resume?" I inquire. She brings it out from a file of documents and places it in my stretched hand.

I received it and perused it. Her resume is top-notch, and so are her grades. I concede, but I still won't give her the job. I don't accept blacks in my establishment. It has been my rule and will always be.

Call it discrimination or whatever you like, but this is my business and what I do concerns me. I will do as I wish. I wrap off my thoughts and compose myself.

"What can you offer us here at Reynolds clothing?" I ask the following question snapping her out of her reverie.

She was sizing up the office with her eyes. I have to stall the conversation before dealing my fatal blow to her. This has to look like a typical interview, or she will quickly suspect. I rest my back on my chair, watching her gesticulate.

"I'm sorry I was distracted for a bit. Your office is stunning." She says. I smile.

"Thank you." I can't help but agree with her. The money I spent on this establishment is enough to make it glow.

I had to import rare materials to brighten up the mall and differentiate it from other shopping malls. I had to make a mark in the game to beat others. She continues.

"I graduated from NYC with an A- grade in business administration and management, and I interned at Glasgow group of companies. My experience in the field would have a great impact on the company. I assure you that you won't regret giving me this great opportunity." She looks like she can handle the job very well without any issues.

Her resume also speaks volumes. What a catch! I wish she were white, and then I'd given her the job without a rethink. I pose the following question with mischief twinkling in my eyes.

"Have you ever worked in any fashion company before?" Having checked her resume before, I knew that this would be her first experience, but I needed to keep the conversation smooth. I glance at my wristwatch, my latest obsession, while one of my sports cars was my former.

It cost me over a Billion dollars and shipping to get it down here. A bar of 18-karat white gold with diamond stones on it. It was an expensive, limited edition. In this 21st century, Fashion is a trend, and money is like its fuel. You don't have to make a noise when you enter a room. Your fashion does the speaking for you.

All you need to do is to let it announce you. One's mode of fashion can distinctly set them apart from the crowd. Fashion is a voice of its own. This is one of the main reasons I was inspired to delve into the fashion line. In generations to come, fashion will never die.

This line of business will continue to boom as long as humans remain on the surface of the earth, and as long as fashion never dies, money will never cease to enter.

That is why I do not run out of customers. Day in and day out, the mall is always entire. She looks at me with her eyebrows in puzzlement; however, she still replies to my odd question.

"No, I have never worked in a fashion company, sir. This would be my first, but if you would be willing to give me a chance. I will never disappoint you. You have my word for it." She says. I spun in my swiveling chair as her eyes bore into me. Someone knocks on my door. Our attention is both shifted to the door.

"Who is there?"

"It's Mr. Eric, sir," one of my numerous workers replies.

"You may enter," I answer. He strides in with a file in his hand.

Eric stops to stare at her. I know that questions are forming in his head, so I clear my throat. "Are you here for analysis?" He nods in the affirmative.

"Could you come back later, please, as I am occupied now?" He looks back at her and leaves the office.

I'm lost on what next question to ask her. I need a business administrator since the former person left some months ago. I had interviewed so many people, but none had matched up to my expectations.

Tatiana had left after getting married to an Italian man who insisted they live in Italy. She had no choice but to do her husband's bidding. She was an outstanding worker who performed her duties with enthusiasm and zest.

"Your resume is topnotch, and so are your grades too. You will do a good job here at Reynolds..."

I can see the smile creasing on her dark features. I drop the remainder of my speech to her surprise.

"I would have loved to employ your services, but you are not just what I am looking for. I hate to break this to you, but you can't have the job." Her eyes widen in utter shock. She stammers.

"Bu-but, sir, please help me. I need this job. I promise not to let you down in any area."

"I'm sorry I can't give you the job. I'll pass." I remain firm on my decision. Her face frowns in confusion as she asks.

"If I may ask, why can't you give me the job?" There's no reason I can give her, so I say.

"Nothing." Her face sags in frustration. She gets up and fetches her resume from my desk. She puts it back in a folder.

"Thank you!" She said with a cold stare before turning around to leave my office, but then, she stopped and turned back with an entirely different look.

"Is it because I am black?" She inquires with her eyes shooting bullets at me. She's realized I discover. When I don't give her an answer, she walks back to my table and repeats the question in another form

"Did you refuse me the job because I am a black person?" I stand up from my chair.

I must say, I find her intriguing, but she doesn't have the ingredients I need right now; I don't have anything against blacks, but it's just that I don't find them pleasant to work with.

"Miss Dizon-" She doesn't even allow me to complete whatever I say as she raises her hand.

"You can keep the job for your white folks or shove it into your white ass for all I care, you damned racist!"

She curses and storms out of my office in a fury. I hear the sounds of her footsteps receding. She has vital energy around her that I can't decipher. I sat back on my chair and picked up the office telephone.

"Mrs. Giovanni, if there is any other interviewee, could you please bring them to my office?"

"Alright, sir, I'll be up soon with another person." She replies.

I hope the next person isn't another black. I reach out for my iPhone in my pocket. I opened it and saw messages from Lisa, my present girlfriend asking me if I would come for the night. I reply to her. I'm getting bored of her, and I will need a change soon. It's been three months of us dating already.

Maybe it's time for another person. I make a mental note to break it to her over dinner when we go out. I scroll to my Instagram feeds to see my recent number of likes. So fast! I exclaim as it has skyrocketed to a considerable number. My fans never disappointed me in that aspect.

A message on our mutual group pops up. "Hey, guys. What's good?" After replying to the message, I drop my phone on the desk as a knock raps on my door.

Mrs. Giovanni lets herself in after my command. Another lady follows her, and to my happiness, she is a white lady. I hope she is as intelligent as she looks.

"Thank you, Mrs. Giovanni. You may take your leave." She leaves after making an introduction.

"And you are?" I asked.

" Mrs. Smith!" She said.