Dyatlov needed someone to help him with paper work, which took him too much time and distracted from solving really important tasks.
He was sitting in his office, tired and annoyed. He spent the whole day interviewing applicants, but no one seemed to meet his requirements.
Dyatlov stabbed out another cigarette, leaving it smolder in a heavy glass ashtray, already full of butts, and watched a thin thread of smoke swirling up in the air.
Leaning over the table, Dyatlov closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down a bit and pull himself together. He was short-tempered, and everyone knew that. His subordinates were afraid of him and tried to avoid even accidental encounters with him in the corridors.
Dyatlov was demanding and appreciated order in everything. He could understand mistakes, made by the staff, if they were justified, but he hated sloppiness and neglect of one’s duties. Yes, he was tough, but he wasn’t evil, as everyone assumed. But Dyatlov wouldn’t bother proving them wrong. He didn’t give a fuck about what his coworkers thought of him, pushing people away with his rough demeanor.
The knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. He sighed hopelessly, feeling a tight knot of irritation growing in his chest again.
The door opened, and you appeared before his eyes. Making a step forward, you stopped and lowered your head under Dyatlov’s stern gaze.
Dyatlov couldn’t explain it, but you attracted his attention at once. He stared at you, trying to understand why exactly. He noticed, that you looked a little worried, but something betrayed your brave temper.
“Good afternoon,” you broke the silence, yet your voice sounded confident.
“Afternoon,” Dyatlov answered sternly, pointing at the chair. “Take a seat.”
You sat opposite him and boldly looked in his face, expressing your readiness for conversation.
He started asking you questions. Many questions. You answered all of them, proving you were suitable for the position. Dyatlov was pleasantly surprised, although he didn’t show it.
You liked the way he talked to you. Something in his demeanor seemed so catching. He was a strong man, no doubt. He disposed to himself, despite his severe appearance.
“Responsible?” he asked, looking through your resume, and you felt his voice soften slightly.
“Sometimes even too much,” you smiled timidly.
“Come on time?” he didn’t respond to your smile, but something changed in his gaze.
“Yes,” you nodded.
Dyatlov took a pen and twisted it in his hands, thinking.
“And leave?” he raised a challenging look at you. “Also on time?”
“I can linger when necessary, if that’s what you mean,” you answered without hesitation.
“So, breaking labor laws?” Dyatlov concluded with a frown.
“I would call it voluntary assistance.”
Your witty answer disarmed Dyatlov, and corners of his lips raised in a contented smirk. Relieved, you felt it was rather likely you could get along with this man.
He shook his head, admiring your courage. Finally, he found exactly that person.
“You get to work tomorrow,” he returned to his official tone. “You’re subordinate directly to me. If someone’s trying to give you extra tasks, you tell me. If there’s a conflict, you tell me. If you’re unhappy with something…”
“I tell you,” you finished his sentence.
Usually, the one who dared to interrupt Dyatlov, got his wrath, but not this time.
“Good,” he approved. His gaze wandered your face and locked on your eyes. He studied you, but not your appearance, which he had to admit was rather appealing. He was trying to understand what was there in your head. You intrigued him with your vivid mind and lively temper. You were different, and it attracted him.
When the door closed behind you, Dyatlov re-read your resume again, focusing on your personal data. Why would he even be interested? He shut the folder with a heavy slap and shove it aside.
Dyatlov lit another cigarette, picked up the phone and dialed a short number, informing personnel department of your appointment.