“I’m here for the drug test,” Delilah mumbled to the man behind the glass partition, waving a sheaf of crumpled paperwork to indicate her mission.
The man raised his dark head, glaring at her with angry indigo eyes. His sharp, pale features were handsome in a cold way that instantly put Delilah on edge.
He reluctantly pulled back the glass that protected him from unnecessary human contact, and snatched the papers from her hand. Scanning them briefly he returned his glance to her, his eyes skimming her hopeful face without a trace of a smile. Sneering, he pointed to the door. “Over here, take a seat.”
Delilah pushed the door open and looked from side to side. She couldn’t see him or where she was supposed to sit.
“Over here, I said.” His voice crackled with impatience and Delilah sidled over to the left, peering into a small, dismal beige office. He sat behind a battered metal desk and pointed to an uncomfortable-looking chair on the other side.
Delilah lowered herself to the seat, afraid to sit down too quickly for fear she might make the wrong move. He didn’t look the type to tolerate mistakes – his bristling attitude made that abundantly clear. He was younger than his demeanor would suggest; maybe thirty if Delilah had been a betting woman.
“So, does this take very long?” She smiled as she asked the question, aiming for a cheerful, professional tone. After all, she was here only as a formality. She’d been offered a job, and the only remaining obstacle between her and a regular paycheck was this silly little test.
He did not return the expression, but merely raised an eyebrow. Reviewing the paperwork, his nostrils flared with distaste for the task ahead of him.
Or at least that’s what Delilah imagined. She wanted to clear things up; to say, “No; it’s okay. I don’t do drugs, this is just a test. For a job. I’m a good citizen, a good girl. Really.”
But his face didn’t invite chatter and she remained silent. Finally he put the forms down on his desk and sighing, he opened a drawer. Carefully he placed three objects on the surface between them. A long cardboard envelope. A shiny new pair of scissors, encased in a blue plastic sleeve. A long silver comb.
“What kind of a test is this?” Delilah eyed the scissors nervously. She hadn’t known what to expect, but a long, gleaming pair of shears certainly hadn’t been on her radar.
He raised an eyebrow and answered in a mocking tone, “It’s a hair test. I’ll cut a sample of your hair and send it to another lab. Any more questions?”
“No,” Delilah answered quickly. A hair test? He was going to cut her hair? She ran her fingers self-consciously through the strands that fell past her breasts, twisting a piece around her little finger as if worried he might yank it suddenly from her head.
Silently, he watched her nervous movement. If he felt a hint of compassion or empathy, he gave nothing away. Opening another drawer, he removed a pair of latex gloves. Sliding his fingers inside, he snapped the thin rubbery edge around his wrist until the gloves fit tightly over his large, knotty hands. Lifting the scissors, he stood and approached Delilah.
“Lean back,” he commanded.
She obliged, smoothing her skirt over her knees as she scooted backward. She could feel his eyes on her, watching and waiting with impatience . . . or maybe something else. A wicked impulse prompted her to slowly twist her hips, wiggling her bottom back and forth until her shoulders were flush with the stiff, fabric-covered seat back.
He said nothing, but his flashing eyes told Delilah he was interested. She returned his stare and licked her lips, restraining herself from an over-the-top gesture; merely letting the tip of her tongue slip across the gloss-slicked surface of her mouth.
“Is this how you want me?” Her eyes never left his as she asked, and the tightening of his jaw muscles was the only answer she needed.
He moved behind her chair. A thrill shot through her as he disappeared from her view. Logically, she knew he must be getting ready to cut her hair, but a darker urge made her thighs tremble as she waited for him to make the first move.
She could hear the dull rushing noise of the furnace in the silence of the room. He was right behind her chair, yet he wasn’t moving. The anticipation made her nipples harden and she cast her eyes down into her lap, willing herself not to get quite so turned on.
After all, she could be completely misreading the situation. He might genuinely be oblivious to her desire, might be intent on nothing more than the successful completion of another dull task in his daily routine.
Or he might want to rip off her panties and take her right across the desk.
It was the not knowing that drove Delilah a tiny bit crazy as she sat in the chair, waiting. Seconds, then minutes ticked by and she could hear the slightest noise of his breathing as he stood behind her. She could smell a faint musky scent of cologne and she was aware of her breath quickening as she tried to stay perfectly still.
She felt the comb tugging softly through her hair, and the metal teeth grazed her neck. Slowly and carefully he combed with one hand, while the other held the shank of her hair firmly between her shoulder blades. Of course, he didn’t speak; merely continued with this oddly gentle rhythm of metal against hair against skin that was almost hypnotic. Delilah closed her eyes.
“Don’t fall asleep on me.” His voice had lost some of its sharpness, and he sounded – if not amused – then unsurprised. Maybe he was used to lulling unsuspecting hair test takers to sleep. Maybe, if she wasn’t careful she’d wake up in Thailand, bald and missing a kidney.
She hoped not. She was fairly sure she could make it with only one kidney, but bald? Not with these hips.