Tothpicks [Broos]

"I have another call from the--"

"No."

"But Mr. Van Der Haven--"

"Busy." And so he unplugged the intercom system and continued his work. Making a miniature Guggenheim out of toothpicks he'd nicked from the break room. A much better Guggenheim than the actual one. He thought so, anyway. He was already planning future additions. Maybe a "Van Der Haven" wing. "Yeah..."

Of course he made miniatures of every building the company built, as well. To exact specifications. All... except the newest one. The one everyone was complaining about. The one he kept getting called about. He built it fine... it just needed more support from the inside, but no one had to see that, no one could, unless they tore the model up. And he wasn't about to admit he was wrong about the real thing. Nope. He was never wrong, and wasn't about to lose his winning streak, because he won at everything. If he couldn't win at being right, wasn't everything questionable?

He shook off the deep philosophy and added a few more small sticks to the base-- without more the top would never stay up. But... he was all out of toothpicks. Sighing, he reluctantly plugged in the intercom and buzzed the receptionist. "Can you go out and buy me some toothpicks?"

"What...?"

"Toothpicks."

"Oh... kay." It was an odd request.

"Maybe ten boxes of toothpicks. And a few gluesticks... the good kind."

"...."

"Thanks!"

He sat back in his chair and looked around at his office... there was no work to do while the building project was on hold. It was uncomfortable. He hoped she got back quickly. Did she remember to write down gluesticks?

When her call had been returned with an apologetic, "He's busy, right now," Darya decided that she would have to confront this man directly. He wasn't too busy for her. At least, he wouldn't be for much longer. Having found that his receptionist was out, she was forced to wait around to demand an immediate appointment with him--she paced the floor, arms crossed. Mirza had popped into her office only a few moments earlier, informing her that someone down at the company's current construction site had been complaining about the architect/head of franchising making everyone's jobs harder, and could she please put in the good word for the little people? Her half-brother was enough of a habitual time-waster (not only of his own, but everyone else's, too) that she shooed him out, but his nugget of info hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

One of the buildings associated with her own department had been scheduled for construction months ago, and yet had gone nowhere, thus far, which was causing her massive problems (and stress). To her extreme agitation, no one would or could tell her what was going on, and why everything was so backed up. Now she knew.

After all of five minutes had passed, she decided that she wasn't about to wait any longer. Barely bothering to knock first, she let herself in, slamming the door behind her with a resounding bang. Striding over to the surprisingly young man's desk (What the hell was he doing, playing with crafts? She was tempted to smash whatever he was working on to pieces--), she slapped her hands down on it and confronted him, "Excuse me, Mr. Van der Haven, but I need to speak with you immediately." She didn't look or sound happy; there were practically waves of aggression rolling off of her, "I have been put through the wringer, trying to understand why my building--which should have been done by now--has yet to see the light of day. And I was just told that all construction is backed up because you refuse to revise your faulty building design. This is absolutely outrageous; my entire department is at a standstill because of this, and all the while, you are sitting here playing with bloody toothpicks! I demand that something be done right this instant, or I will see to it that you lose your job--which you clearly are incompetent at, anyways!"

No holds barred. She wasn't afraid of him, or much of anyone else, for that matter--which was what made her so good in her particular field. The oil biz wasn't for pushovers.

Not even looking up at first, he just nodded. "Okay." She needed to speak with him? "You are." He didn't look up, that is, until she mentioned the building. The supposedly "faulty" building.

"Miss..." He didn't know her name. "Miss-- I promise you, your building would be done by now, had the company allotted a larger workforce i construction. That isn't my fault, you have to take that upstairs. As for the building..." He stood and gestured to the model he'd made. "I made it myself, yes, out of toothpicks, but adhering to every regulation and standard." He felt confident, surrounded by all his awards and credentials, in his lie-- a lie he would not have used had he not been overzealous with the design. He usually wasn't a fibber. It didn't fly in his family. "If I can do it here, they can do it there. It's not my fault if they don't understand the complexities of modern design. If anything, they are the ones who should be canned for not keeping up with their trade, but I don't have that power."

He smiled at her as widely as he could. "Like I said-- take it upstairs. Thanks for stopping by."

She wasn't impressed. At all. So he was going to turn her out, just like that, so he could keep playing Martha Stewart? Fine.

Lips pursed, without taking her eyes off of him, she swept the model-in-progress off of the desk and onto the floor, effectively smashing it to pieces. Payback for the grief he'd been causing not only her, but what seemed like a lot of people, over his precious design. "I don't care," she hissed, "who you want to point fingers at, Mr. Van der Haven. You're the head of this department, so as far as I'm concerned, it's your fault for using a design that is beyond the capabilities of your team. That is poor managerial work, and that makes you incompetent."

Planting her palm back firmly on his desktop, she stood her ground resolutely, "But I know you have the power to fix it, so I want something to be done right here, right now. If not...I can do this all day." Nothing short of security could force her to leave when she decided to hassle someone to get something she wanted. And even then, she'd be back later.

He burst out of his chair in shock. "Aw, come on--!"" The models he made were more than just models-- they were practically dollhouses of famous buildings-- doors, windows, walls, wings... and she had just tossed the Guggenheim onto the floor. Normally he would have rushed to pick it up before anymore could fall off-- some of the glue was still new, after all.

But no, she was staring him down. And he had to reciprocate-- or else he would lose. "I guess you just don't care about this company, if you're suggesting it lower its standards for a reason like that. And I won't have you dragging down the future of this company--"

He placed his palms on the table just as she did, and leaned closer-- he wasn't above intimidation. "And I hope you have the power to think above mediocrity, but if you don't, come back and as me to teach you." He smiled a bit patronizingly, and repeated her, "Until then...I'll be here all day."

Destroying his toothpick masterpiece had been more than just satisfying, it had secured his attention. Raising an eyebrow, she admonished, "A realistic assessment of a working force's skill level is hardly the same as lowering one's standards. It's effective management, and  pardon me sir, but anyone possessing a teaspoon of common sense could figure that out."

She leaned in closer, as if she were the one who was over six feet tall. As if she thought herself the intimidator--and usually, she was. "Likewise, I hope you have the brainpower to learn about proper leadership, because if you don't, don't ask me to teach you. I haven't enough patience or time to waste on dunces." Knowing that she may have been pushing it too far (perhaps she already had), she stepped back and helped herself to a seat across from his desk, crossing one leg over the other comfortably.

"As promised, I can do this all day, if necessary. And I can come back tomorrow, and the next day, and so on. I've directed my department efficiently, you see, so it operates smoothly even in my absence. But even if that weren't the case, the delay on this building has caused business to move so sluggishly, that I can afford to be here, to hassle you as much as I need to."

"No common sense?" He grinned.  "They often say that about visionaries." It was a compliment.  It was extremely difficult to shake his pride. 

While she was talking, he made a point to not listen by working on a new design (something purely for fun) and deciding he didn't need the lamp above the paper, and turned it, accidentally (but not) turning it away to shine in her face.  Once he had made her wait in silence for a suitable amount of time, he looked up.  

"Right," He nodded as if he'd heard it all and dismissed it.  "Let's put a pin in that, because I have to take my lunch." He stood up, leaving everything where it was.  And walked towards the door with a distinctly limped gait.  "You can wait here if you want, miss...." He didn't know her name.  "Anyway you can wait if you want but I think it would be awfully boring." He smiled as if he'd won, winked, and left the room.

"The fact that you couldn't tell it's an insult only proves it even more," she snapped back, feeling herself growing ever more disgusted. As far as she could see, he was smug and didn't deserve to be--a total loser, regardless of what position he held, or what great work he may have done before. What she saw now was what she made her judgment on. Especially when he shined a light in her face, which may very well have been one of the most ungentlemanly things a man had ever done to her. By the time he stood up again she was practically fuming.

"Ohhh, I think not; you're not going anywhere without me!" She declared shrilly, storming out right after him, and slamming the door behind her with both hands, as hard as she could. Hopefully the vibrations would knock everything off of his shelves.

Oh sure, she'd dealt with people that had caused her bigger problems, had lead revolts against much stronger-willed enemies, and had kept her cool against much more arrogant businessmen. But she was unaccustomed to being ignored. For this, it was possible that she'd never felt such an immediate loathing for anyone before, as she did for this man. And she made it very, very clear as she walked right next to him. "Irresponsible, narcissistic, inept--you, sir, are absolutely appalling! I may not be able to eat for the rest of the day, I feel so sickened! And you are completely deluded if you think I will simply sit there and wait for you to do something--" And so on. If she couldn't persuade him through aggression, then she'd hassle him until he couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't ignore her indefinitely; everyone had their limit, and going unacknowledged only fueled her desire to find his.

For all the ways he was different than his older brother, he was alike in one: He could spend an eternity silent, as long as she was just griping at him. So he continued on, confident that she wouldn't keep trailing him for long. His lunch break wasn't really a lunch break. It was a protein and vitamin shake followed by a run. And if she could keep up, good for her. He certainly wouldn't warn her.

He headed to the break room and from the fridge, dropped a number of things into the blender, and turned it on. Vitamins, minerals, whey protein... and an added benefit-- it drowned her out for a few seconds. He downed it quickly, having only a half hour for lunch, and turned back on his heel to go back to his office.

Finally speaking up, he told her, "I don't think you want to come back in here, I'll be out in a second, if you want to keep doing what you're doing." So he went in his office, and at her caution she would go in. He didn't have any qualms about being seen in his underwear, but it might cause an HR problem. He changed into running gear, and in the final switch, fished around in a closet and brought out something that looked like a bent piece of metal-- perfect as a springboard on the asphalt. Broos sat and pulled the suctioned fasteners off of his false leg, giving himself a minute of relief before adding the other.

"Alright." He exited again. "I'll be back in a while. Like I said, feel free to wait."

Whatever he was eating, it looked disgusting. By that point, she was picking out anything she could to dislike about him--obviously, his opinion of what counted as 'lunch' was one thing. Folding her arms as she waited for him to finish, she tapped her foot against the floor loudly. Granted, he was quick about it...just not quick enough for her.

Following him back to his office, she gave him a cross look when he told her to wait outside, but she obliged, albeit with a fair amount of suspicion. Was this just a lie to get her to stay out? What could he possibly be doing in there that would necessitate her not seeing? She got her answer when he emerged again--or, well...she sort of did. He emerged looking ready to run a marathon, catching her totally by surprise, "What--!?" Stunned, she just stood there for a moment, watching him walk out, wondering for a second if maybe she was seeing things, when she realized he was leaving. "Excuse me, where do you think you're--" But the door had already shut behind him. Rushing to it, she opened it just in time to see him running off. Great. Even if she was fit to keep up, there was no way she could while wearing heels (no matter how short) and a skirt. She would just have to wait for him to return.

Slamming the door (much to the alarm of a passing corseted secretary), she went back to her own office to check and see if there was anything she could get done while he was off wasting time. But...nothing. Still nothing. In an even worse mood, she stormed past his receptionist and went to wait in his office, pacing the floor and wondering how long he was going to take. She was not a patient person when it came to waiting on others, and even after only a few minutes, she found herself feeling agitated.

Collapsing with huff in a chair, she stared at his desk, half-tempted to go through his computer while he was gone (and she might have, if the screen didn't clearly show a password lock on it). Checking the clock, she tapped her knee, causing her bracelets to jangle, wondering what to do. Maybe...if nothing else... She glanced at the clock again--did she have time for a power nap? Surely if he was going to be out running, then she had time. She could wake up before he came back. Propping her elbow up on the armrest and holding her head in her hand, she shifted uncomfortably and closed her eyes, wondering if it was possible to even sleep in that position. Used to, in the dusty alleyways of her childhood, she could sleep easily while sitting up, but only in a certain position: while hugging her knees to herself. Obviously not an option, as an adult businesswoman. Once she began to drift off, however, she unconsciously assumed the position anyways, not noticing even when one of her shoes slipped off and tumbled to the floor.

((Dunno if he's wearing shorts or not, so I chose just to not mention her noticing his leg-- XD))

((A prosthetic for running looks like this B) ...Ijustthinktheyaresocool--/sob XD))

Nearly five minutes for every one mile. He wasn't pleased. But of course, runner's high had taken over, and he couldn't be as hard on himself as he would be after it wore off.

No one was outside his office, and his assistant was giving him an apologetic look. He could only roll his eyes. Opening the door quietly, he took a step in and waited to see what she would do-- probably make a snide comment about his leg, or something. But he got nothing-- she wasn't even moving. He walked even quieter, even further, until he could see her face: she was asleep! In his office! He had already counted it as a victory. She wasn't wearing shoes, even-- how unprofessional (said the man in jogging shorts and sweat-covered clothes). Shaking his head, he dug through his closet again for his regular prosthetic, satisfied with having the element of surprise on her, but unsure how deep of a sleeper she was.

He tried to unfasten the running prosthetic as quietly as he could, but it wasn't really complying. Nevertheless, it didn't really matter-- she would wake up anyways, and he would already be there. So he moved the light on his desk to face his leg, and began re-fastening the one he'd left behind. Should have charged it, it was low. Oh, well. He was in an office, how much walking was he going to do?

((I just wasn't sure if she could see it with the kind of pants he had on or not-- XD))

She was not the deepest of sleepers. Besides that one had to be alert when growing up on the streets, the threat of being made an unsuspecting victim of a surprise bombing during the siege had guaranteed that she did not sleep through just anything. So while she didn't wake immediately upon his reentering the room, the sound of him reattaching his leg certainly did it for her.

Jolting upright into a sitting position, and without missing a beat, she demanded, "What took you so long!? My God, you're slow!" Time was money. That was her excuse, anyways, for not having any patience with others.

The accusation came first, the disappointment in herself for not waking up before his return came second--disappointment in the fact that she'd shown a hint of weakness. Of course, she was still going to blame it on him for keeping her waiting, but she regularly spent a good deal of energy on making sure that no one ever glimpsed a lack of fortitude in her to exploit. Because as soon as she did, they would try to walk all over her. And she was absolutely certain that this man would try to do the same, now--not that he'd been taking her very seriously to begin with. Asshole. She wondered if it was partly because she was a woman; she wouldn't be surprised. She dealt with plenty of his types back home, but she'd been under the impression thus far that this country was somewhat better than that. Obviously there were exceptions.

Remembering to glower at him as she slipped her shoes back on (another faux pas), she seemed to not even notice the fact that he was attaching a mechanical leg to himself. She did, but it didn't particularly strike her; it didn't take very long to run into someone in an Iranian city with a horrific scar (like herself) or a missing limb. And his replacement was an obviously very fancy one, so there was even less to feel moved one way or the other about. So he'd lost a leg and could afford a nice prosthesis, good for him. It wasn't going to change how she felt towards him: unfavorably.

"Is this always how you waste time at work, doing children's crafts and taking leisurely runs around town?" She clicked her tongue scathingly, "And hurry up, I've seen old men put their legs on faster than you."

As much as he put on an appearance of aloofness, she had begun to wear on him-- which added to the fatigue he already felt. Besides, seeing her asleep had softened his view of her somewhat. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hard on her-- but that wouldn't stop him from teasing her. "I should have been gone longer, it looks like you need more beauty sleep--" He glanced up at her quickly before turning his attention back to making sure his prosthesis fit correctly, and laughed boyishly to himself. "--Alot more." Which was hardly true, and because of that he was already formulating a plan that would keep his mistake from being noticed and possibly catch her out of work, where maybe she would be more amiable.

The fact that she said nothing pitying or disparaging about the fact that he had barely a stub for one of his legs only cemented his resolve to know her outside of being a pestering office mate. He genuinely smiled at her for a brief moment before putting the finishing touches on the appendage and testing his balance. "Old men have probably had more practice."

Satisfied, he rubbed his hands together as if wiping away the previous tension, he informed her, "Here's the deal: I thought about it, and I'm going to give you a break." He sat back down in his desk chair and swiveled a bit in it. "I'll change the design, on one condition, and one only. Which means you have to stop taking naps in here." Stretching his legs out, he crossed them and flashed her a winning smile. "I'll fix everything tomorrow if you come have dinner with me tonight, off-the-clock-- I'll buy." If there was something he had too much of (because he hardly ever spent anything), it was money. "Then straight to work tomorrow morning, and all the way into overtime, if that's what it takes."

He raised an eyebrow at her, to see if she had any conditions of her own. "Agreed?"

If not for the fact that they were in a business setting (though this whole situation was rapidly becoming something decidedly non-businesslike), she would almost certainly have slapped him at that point. Clearly affronted, she retorted indignantly, "I'm glad that you think that, because you are the last person on Earth I want looking at me, you disgusting pig." At this rate, he was very much out of luck if he was looking to uncover a more amiable side to her. Presently, she loathed him so much that she was nearly shaking with anger.

And she felt like knocking his teeth out with a blunt metal object when he smiled (as it was, she responded a look that could have curdled milk)--it did not occur to her that he could possibly be legitimately pleased about anything. So far as she could tell, it was all just more arrogance to either try and take the piss out of her, or rile her up. Both of which he had succeeded in doing.

Which was why she was completely taken aback when he proposed a solution. What was he playing at? Her immediate reaction was to decline. Passionately. "I would never--" But she caught herself. Personal pride and feelings aside, business was what was most important. And if there was no other way to deal with this insufferable man, then she would take one for the team, and then find something about it to report him for later. Surely using business matters to solicit dates was against some sort of ethical code. "...under any other circumstances even consider this. I don't know if you're trying to embarrass or degrade me, Mr. Van der Haven, but know that I'm only agreeing because I want to be done with you," she hissed, standing up, "Meet me outside of the company at six 'o clock pm tonight, and if you are not exactly on time, then you can and will eat alone. But I will still expect you to hold up your end of the bargain, as promised; I won't be held responsible for your tardiness. Understood?" Without waiting for his agreement, she marched out and slammed the door behind her, refusing to spend any more time in his presence than was absolutely necessary.

His smile disappeared when she didn't look like she was taking the teasing anymore. "Come on--" He laughed awkwardly. "It's a joke!" Unless he was in a club, he didn't talk to women much. He'd grown up in a family where deprecating comments were the highest show of affection one could ever get. Granted, if she hadn't been along with the jokes, he had certainly been a jerk... but 'disgusting pig' was a little overkill, he thought.

And she was thinking it all wrong. "I'm not--" But he didn't get to finish, and he doubted she would appreciate him telling her he was asking her to dinner because she was his equal-- something he'd never seen in much of anyone-- and that it wasn't a 'date', per se. But of course, it could turn into one. Probably not, with the way it seemed like smoke could have come out of her ears at any moment, but if she was still that angry by the dinner, it would be extremely amusing to him. And even though it wasn't a 'real' date, he intended on pulling out all the stops as far as restaurants went.

"See you there--!" But she had already gone. Loudly.

-------------------------------------

He had accepted her challenge of being there at six-o-clock sharp... by getting there at five. Just in case her clock was wrong. Maybe she suspected he would be late, just because of how much she seemed to hate him... but even his brother, who could not care any less about anyone else, was always punctual when he needed to be.

Taking it one step further, he was always prepared. Because he always changed halfway through the day, he always continued working in his sweats, took a shower in one of the small shower stalls meant for those who worked too much to go home to attend to their hygiene, and switched into his more formal (but fit for a night out) white blazer and red pants.

He just hoped she would like where he was taking her. Otherwise, he had no chance other than to be glared at all night. If anyone could win over a woman, it was him. He won everything, after all.

Rocking on his heels, waiting just inside the door, he looked at his watch. Six, on the dot.

((http://www.bluevelvetvintage.com/vintage_style_files/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/205.jpg The dress B) Except olive green, naturally-- XD))

With nothing else to do but go home after that, she found herself with plenty of time to get ready. At first, she was sorely tempted to wear full-length chador, just to spite him. But...she couldn't take the comment about needing beauty sleep lying down (no pun intended). She was too proud. So, against her better judgment, she pulled down one of her old dresses--still kept in good shape--from long before the revolution. The material hid most of her back, but nevertheless allowed a bit of her burns to peek through, like the withered tendrils of a creeping vine. It was no matter, though, because for once she let her hair down, falling nearly to her hips in thick waves, effectively covering everything. She didn't wear gloves, as she would have in the past, but as per usual, she didn't hold back on the gold. Hopefully the sounds of her bangles clinking constantly throughout the evening would drive him insane.

She put on her makeup with the air of a warrior going into battle. Show no weakness. Show no weakness.

The last time she'd been on any kind of non-strictly-business dinner date with a man was when she was married. Practically a child. And she practically still was, considering--but she felt like a woman hardened beyond her years. She expected that she would never pursue a relationship again, unless, as with the last time, it was for some kind of mutual financial or status gain. Otherwise, her expectations were too high, her personality too demanding.

No man could live up to it.

--

She pulled up not a moment after him, in a taxi. Getting out of the driver's side, she shut the door and told the driver, who was stumbling out of the passenger's side, looking ill (no one in her family was a good driver, but she had aggression and impatience, on top of that legacy), "Wait here, I may need a ride back home." It would be a lie to say that she wasn't counting on him to not show up on time. Where she was from, she would have been scoffed at for expecting anyone to show up exactly at six, especially for socializing. And at first glance, she felt victorious, until she realized he was standing inside. Looking anything but pleased at the sight of his pants, she opened the door and greeted him curtly, "Mr. Van der Haven."

Wanting to get the whole thing over with, she gestured outside, "If wherever we're going--" (and it had better be somewhere good) "--isn't within walking distance, I have a cab. But I'm driving; he's far too slow." She waved dismissively at the driver, who was doubled over a nearby trash can.

When she walked in the door, he might have said something about how it looked like she had gotten her beauty sleep, or something along those lines. He might have, if he weren't just struck dumb by her looks... and her hair... and the dress.. and well, everything. Though... she was a bit overdressed for something he assumed she thought was a business deal. He supposed now it was a date after all.

...He was glad he was prepared.

"Miss Nankali," She had never told him her name... but he had found a way to get it, and other information about her, too. To reiterate: prepared. "You... look very nice." Jaw-dropping. He would have given her a peck on the cheek as a greeting, but although her gold jewelry glittered warmly... all that radiated from her eyes was icy cold.

He scoffed at her offer of a taxi. "What kind of coworker would I be if I let such a well-dressed acquaintance get in a plain taxi?" He put his arm around her shoulder, but didn't touch her, to walk her outside and guide her to a towncar. "It's not too far away, but far enough for a car." Far enough to pull out all the stops to make this the best damn date she's ever had.... whether it was a real date or not. He opened the door for her, and once she was inside, got in on the other side, knocking on the screen that kept them from the driver to indicate they were ready to go. "I hope you like Molecular Gastronomy," He grinned. The most progressive type of dining, of course. "Sixteen courses, and I hope you don't mind... but I took the liberty of calling the chef and cutting pork out of the dinner." Too bad, but hopefully sacrifices would pay off.

Looking out the window and watching the city pass by above him, he tried not to make it obvious that every once in a while he was looking back at her, to see how she was reacting. If she managed to stay stoneyfaced through the whole night, he would consider her not even human-- who couldn't enjoy it?