#Chapter5

Dysfunctional Body Parts

I smiled politely at Captain Carter as I sat on the chair, "Yes, please." I answered as I looked up to his towering figure, "And I'm sorry. I think I ruined it for you and—"

"You didn't," he interjected, his eyes held sincerity and something else I can't decipher, "You made it perfect."

I raised one of my foot to show him, "The secret is all in the footwear."

"Both my feet could testify to that," he says, looking down his shoes. I think he was trying to wiggle his toes underneath his footwear to feel if one is dysfunctional.

We chatted for a moment, before he excused himself to get our drinks. The moment he turned around and left, I let out a sigh as I slumped on my chair. I didn't even care about the nagging voice of Aunt Brank at the back of my head, lecturing me about proper posture. Captain Carter and I's favorite music just ended, and another just started. I watched as some people walked away from the dance floor.

And that includes my blasted employer.

I glared at him as he parted ways with the awestruck woman he just danced with. Just then, our eyes met. He had a stone cold look in his eyes that froze me on the spot. I didn't move as he advanced towards me in a straight line. He didn't stop, nor he didn't turn to another direction. It was as if people were making way for him like Moses in the bible.

Except Mr Ambrose isn't as holy.

When he reached me, he let out his hand. I stared at it, still not moving. He stared at me, and with an emotionless face, he asked, "May I have this dance?"

I was about to reject the offer, but then his face told me quite a horror story. A story that has something to do with unpaid private secretaries. Immediately, I took his hand and stood up. My feet was still aching, so I was trying to walk slowly. But then, the moment I stood up, Mr Ambrose practically dragged me all the way to the dance floor. His grip on my hand was so tight, it was turning pale.

I winced and as much as I want to kick him where his family jewels are, I didn't. He didn't seem to notice that he was hurting me, because his posture didn't change, nor did his grip. Or maybe he did notice, except he plans on making my life miserable and painful.

When we reached the dance floor, he faced me. He took my left hand and placed it on his neck before he placed his right hand on my waist. After that, my right hand met his left one. His jaw was taut as we moved. Or rather, as he moved. Like what he did to the other woman he danced with, he puts pressure on my hands as he moves me in the direction he wants me to go.

No one talked as we danced, which was expected. Mr Ambrose treats his saliva like gold. As for me, I was busy frowning and glaring at him with my every turn and step. He was staring straight in my eyes as we moved, with the same expressionless face. He moved me yet again, and my inner feminist is screaming at me. I was trying so hard to behave, but then at least I tried.

For at least five minutes.

I gave Mr Ambrose a loving kick in his shins, and the chauvinistic tyrant didn't even wince. He didn't even look like noticing anything. That fact angered me more, so I kicked him yet again. But still, his face was as emotionless as ever! I bet I could break his shins in pieces, and I still won't get a reaction from him! Blast him!

"If you can't control being a nuisance," Mr Ambrose muttered, barely moving his lips, "At least control your feet, Mr Linton."

I rolled my eyes at him as he continued to move me, "It's Miss Linton to you, Mr Ambrose."

"I'll take note of that, Mr Linton," Mr Ambrose answers back. I rolled my eyes once again, so he added, "What's with you and your dysfunctional body parts?"

I frowned. I've had enough. He was about to move me to another direction once again, so I resisted. But I forgot he was stronger than I, so it was no use. I even accidentally stepped on his feet as I resisted every time he moves me. I was practically helpless without my parasol by my side. There are so many things I could do with it right now. But all I can do at that moment was to mutter profanities.

If Aunt Brank heard my string of colorful words, she'd be proud that I made a rainbow. And Uncle Bufford will be proud of the golden pot at the end of the rainbow.

"You don't seem to be good at dancing," Mr Ambrose says as his grip on me tightens, probably because he knows I'll resist his next move.

"You don't seem to be good at it yourself as well," I snapped as he moved me. I didn't resist anymore, for it was only a waste of effort.

"I'm doing an impeccable job at it, if I say so myself," he says, "I've never stepped on your foot."

"Would you rather have me stepping on your face, then?"

Mr Ambrose abruptly moved me to the left, almost making me stumble to my death.

"We are supposed to dance, not you ordering me around for the next dance step!" I exclaimed as I stepped on his foot once again for added emphasis.

"Indeed?" He asks, still not having an expression about his foot getting squished. I doubt he even feels anything.

"Yes, indeed!" I exclaimed, "You should learn a thing or two from Captain Carter."

One of his finger twitched. "I believe I already know a lot of things, Mr Linton. Unfortunately, I can't speak for your part."

I gasped, "I know a lot of things, thank you very much!"

"No need to thank me, Mr Linton."

"Oh, I insist," I answered back with a sickly sweet smile. After that, I expressed my utter gratitude by stepping on his right foot. I did it for the second time, making sure he wouldn't be able to walk anymore.

Mr Ambrose didn't answer, his grip on my hand getting tighter. For the first time, I actually saw an expression in his eyes. I saw fire flickering for a moment, before it died down. We swerved away from the dancing couple of Lieutenant Grey and Maria, to avoid clashing with them. Maria, of course, didn't forget to send a glare on my way which I gladly paid back with a sweet smile.

"Pray tell, who is this Captain Carter you speak of?" Mr Ambrose demands after a couple of seconds.

"A true gentleman, he is!" I answered almost immediately.

He narrowed his eyes at me, "Is he pursuing you?"

"No," I answered just as I saw Aunt Brank looking at me. I think her eyeballs just rolled on the floor. "But he's a good friend."

"Indeed?"

"Yes."

"And you prefer dancing with him instead?" He asks, and I swear his hands on my waist tightened its grip. His touch was surprisingly on fire, I could almost feel his skin against mine even with all our clothes.

"Yes!" I answered, without thinking.

"Maybe you also prefer him signing your pay cheque?" He looked in my eyes, and this time the fire in them weren't just a flicker. It stayed there, burning wildly as it stared directly in my soul.

I gulped the sudden lump in my throat, "Are you firing me?"

In an instant, he pulled away. But he didn't move his eyes away from mine. He took two steps backward before he gave a short nod, "Have a nice day, Miss Linton."