11 Temperamental Boss (1/2)

”I'm Sebastian Butler. Come inside.” He moved aside, giving way for me to step in. As I did, I got a glance of a shoe rack behind the door. I had already removed my shoes and was prepared to ask him where to put them when he noticed and chuckled.

He showed me the spot and asked me to follow him.

Different sizes, I observed. Placing the shoes in, I cautiously followed him inside.

”Take a seat. I will hand you a file with a document that you have to translate so that I can evaluate you.” I nodded and waited patiently for him to retrieve the file.

I looked around the room and tried to evaluate the personality of the person who lived here.

Likes to brew tea.

Stores no fictional texts in shelves.

Style of furnishing matches the person that opened the door.

Particularly neat.

Lives with someone else as confirmed by the presence of shoes in different sizes and stray magazine on the countertop.

Then who am I talking to?

.

I couldn't hear the sound of his footsteps so I knew he would not be back so soon. Probably talking to Mr. Butler.

What I then needed to figure out was why they are acting so strangely.

I had not seen Mr. Butler before, even during the interview with Jameson and I was sure that he probably didn't know that I was the same girl… if he remembered me at all.

Then, why the suspense?

A couple of minutes later I saw him come down the stairs with a black folder in his hands. Handing it to me, he diverted towards the countertop to take the magazine before finding seating on the farthest end of the sofa. I assumed that he was trying not to distract me.

Satisfied with my observation and the sound of the turning of the magazine paper, I looked down at the folder and opened it. To my surprise pictures that he been kept unattached inside the file spilled out and fell to the floor.

”Oops. I forgot to take those out,” he said with an apologetic smile on his face, but he seemed surprised.

Another little trick to test me.

Why?

I gave him a polite smile before fetching out the sheets of blank paper kept inside the file and a pen from my bag.

”You just have to translate the first two pages,” he informed me belatedly. I nodded and immediately went to work.

While I had no problems understanding most of the content of the lecture, I was having difficulty with the technical terms used. The curious thing about translation is that it must uphold the essence of the text and instill in it the very soul that the author of the original text had produced. With lectures like these, finding the right terms for criminal activities and analysis took a lot away from the emotion behind the speech, and moreover, it was hard for a layman to be able to put those words in context.

Perplexed, I looked up and cleared my throat to catch his attention.

”Do you have a dictionary around here?” I asked. He looked at the shelf for a bit before nodding and getting up to fetch it for me.

”Here you go,” he said handing it over. ”Are you finding it difficult?” He asked, peering at the still blank page.

”Nothing I can't handle,” I stated before regaining silence and locating the words that I needed.

”You're fast,” he suddenly spoke up as I was revising the translation. Unsure of how to react I gave an awkward bow and closed the file.

”There you go,” I said, handing it over.

”Done already?” I nodded.