Page 37 of Infamous Heart

“Button your shirt.”Damien’s words held a tinge of annoyance. “This isn’t a frat house.”

With Lydia’s words guiding me, I had stepped into the lion’s den, ready to fight. But today, something had irritated the creature, and he was more than happy to direct his anger toward me.

“With a little time at the gym, you’d be a powerhouse. It might be something to consider.”

Two fast jabs at my appearance and I hadn’t even pulled the portfolio from my bag. I had been prepared to roll in like a storm and sell my design, to explain how it would be the perfect addition to his magazine. He quickly knocked the wind from my sail. Damien Vex had come across as sly before, but now, he had slipped into sadistic.

I needed his attention to shift from my person to my work. There were only so many attacks I could handle in the first two minutes of our meeting before I started a gym membership and burned my entire wardrobe.

“I have the design package you wanted.”

Damien held out his hand without another word. Something about his attitude rubbed me the wrong way. If he wasn’t my last opportunity for a job designing for a superhero publication, I might have taken my efforts elsewhere. This domineering attitude reminded me of the man who threatened Bossman in his own office. I had to remind myself that I was playing with dynamite, and it came with a short fuse.

I pulled the portfolio from my bag, opened it to the design, and set it in his hands. He eyed the pages as he walked around his desk, sitting in his chair while I awkwardly stood in the middle of his office. Closing the top button of my shirt, I took a step forward until I was hovering over his desk.

It only required a few seconds to inspect the design, but he studied it like a work of art. Minutes passed as he scanned the pages. His hand moved to his face, pointer finger hovering just above his lip. I counted his blinks, looking for any sign of approval from his perfectly manufactured body language.

When we hit the ten-minute mark, I convinced myself that Damien dragged out the process as a form of torture. Even the most astute designer would have picked apart the work by now. My muscles twitched, forcing me to shift my weight from one leg to the other. I was only sixty seconds from grabbing the portfolio and storming out of his office.

“It has potential.”

I let out a long sigh. “I appreciate—“

“I didn’t say it was good.”

I had professors like him. They lured you in with a compliment to drop the hammer. Damien thought he was playing a skillful game, but he hadn’t gone to design school. This was par for the course, and now that we were focused on my work and not on me, I was in my element. When it comes to our work, designers have skin far thicker than the average person.

“Your concept is complete garbage. I’m not entirely sure you understand what we do here.” He closed the book, taking his time as he leaned back in his chair. “Your puff piece about a hero discovering their abilities is tired and, frankly, a laughable cliché. But I understand, you’re not a journalist.”

He understood, but he didn’t miss the opportunity to sink the blade into my chest.

“I understand the Beacon publishes articles like this. Their determination to make heroes into idols for mankind to worship is cute, but it’s dangerous. Our readers want to see the secrets behind these supposed Gods.”

“I understand.”

“I’m not sure you do. I can guess that you’re a guy who grew up reading about these people in comics. They were a bit of escapism from a rough childhood. It lets you turn a blind eye to the reality, but Revelations is about discovering the truth. Just because they have powers, it doesn’t make them heroes.”

I stared at my shoes, digesting his words. The tips of my toes were resting on a black line in his carpet, a giant geometric print that maintained the dark modern theme of his office. My left shoelace had come undone, and I was surprised Damien hadn’t managed to spot the imperfection. I debated dropping to a knee to tie it, just to break the tension.

He might have been speaking about the magazine and their mission statement, but his words poked at a growing concern. Had I been wrong about Sebastian? When I discovered he had powers, I rushed to the image of him being a hero protecting the city from villains. I thought I could help mold him into this pinnacle of righteousness, but since we started training, my faith had wavered. Now, Damien preached as if he read my mind and if he were right, Sebastian’s powers meant nothing. He had been willing to save me… that should count for something, right? I tried to ignore Damien’s cryptic monologue.

“The design is adequate. I think it gets a bit sloppy at times. Just because you know a particular technique, it doesn’t mean you have to use it. There is power in minimalism.”

Damien gestured to his office, a reminder that with the correct lighting, appropriate colors, and carefully placed items, you could set a stage. I was used to Bossman’s inability to understand how visuals improved the magazine, a completely right-brained individual. I had assumed Damien was the same, but if he was the one who designed his office, perhaps he was more skilled than I gave him credit.

“The question is,” he laced his fingers together, pointers pushed against the bottom of his chin, “does it warrant a second chance?”

His eyes turned from the portfolio to me. There were no beams of red light shooting from them, but it still felt as if he were burrowing through my chest. Damien held all the cards. I couldn’t go crawling back to the Beacon and expect Vincent to show me mercy, even if I had saved his life. Right now, a second chance to impress this overly critical tyrant was all I had.

“Do you understand what I’m looking for?” he asked.

The reality of superpowers, and how having them didn’t mean they were the heroes we painted them. Part of my childhood shattered as I nodded my head.

“I do.”

Damien pushed my portfolio across his desk. “One more chance. Put aside these childish expectations. Comic books are for kids and men unable to get laid.”

I wanted to growl that I had gotten laid and read comics yesterday. I wanted to ensure that he understood being a geek was providing me with plenty of sex. But I bit my tongue, and I felt myself sink into a hole, burying pieces of my identity.

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