An introduction to Ella Evans, the (willing and totally consenting) sacrificial lamb to my #getmarcusmorenolaidchallenge (see my Set It Up drabble)
Summary: Seeking an experienced teacher to lead an exciting new classroom! Grades K-8, all core subjects, experience with gifted students a must. Ella Evans just wants this interview to go well. Fate had other plans.
(Eventual) Pairing: Marcus Moreno x OFC (I am categorically terrible at 1st person writing, thus the creation of this character)
Rating: PG-13 lite.
Warnings: light swearing, OFC checks out Marcus because duh. Second-hand embarrassment from foot in mouth. Eventual fluff and smut, but slow burn here.
Ella Evans checks herself over in the bathroom mirror of her modest apartment for the umpteenth time. She had managed to sweep her unruly thick hair into a low bun, though a few waves have already escaped, and her makeup is simple; a little bit of blush and mascara to frame her green-grey eyes. Dressing for an interview always resulted in her agonizing for hours, trying to land on what struck a balance between professional without being overdone. After trying on every combination of skirt, blouse, dress, and dress pant she owned (which was admittedly a small selection but enough to make problematic combinations), she landed on a knee length navy pencil skirt with a crisp red blouse. The only thing that Ella didn’t struggle to narrow down was a pair of sleek black flats; tripping over her own two feet because she attempted to strut in heels was not how she wanted this interview to go. And Ella would be the first to admit that she is far from graceful and with a profession that required hours on her feet, there was no sense in suffering unnecessarily.
The job itself was exciting enough, assuming of course she made it past the first interview. A one class, all subjects K-8 position with highly competitive pay. Given the range of ages and the discretely advertised “excellent teacher to student ratio,” Ella knew it likely meant some intense behaviors or needs amongst the kids. But then again, those had always been the kids that Ella loved most: the ones other teachers “couldn’t handle.” It was hokey, but those were her babies. The fact that the position would also be another 10 grand a year was huge, and would be the push Ella needed to go back to school for another masters. Maybe she could even save up to travel. No getting ahead of myself, she chides herself gently.
Casting one last nervous glance in the mirror, Ella steels herself with a reminder: I’m a good teacher, and I can do this. On the way out, she grabs her work bag, a worn leather tote with lesson samples, extra copies of her resume and a few other essentials. The details that the school head, a Ms. Granada, has sent her were vague at best, enough so that Ella had briefly entertained the idea of this being a scam. A quick google search though had yielded enough information though to explain that it was a newer program for tweens and the application process posted was impressive. Worst case scenario? She would bolt for doors. Considering her current work environment, more specifically the human slug of boss she had endured for over 5 years now since moving to the area, anything would be an improvement. Hell, I’d work for an alien at this point, she thinks sullenly.
It only takes a half hour for her to arrive at the coffee shop where the interview was taking place. “Due to massive renovations to our campus taking place this summer, we are unable to hold interviews at our site. We will be holding all interviews off-site and appreciate your understanding.” That’s what the follow up email had said when Ella learned she had an interview. Truthfully, Ella is almost relieved for a more informal environment, especially considering how nervous she is. So when Ella strolls into the small cafe a solid 15 minutes before her scheduled time, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm her nerves.
Glancing around, Ella can’t see anyone she imagines to be the interview team. She spots a handful of children perched in a booth with mugs of chocolate milk and stacks of coloring books spread out; the booth to the left hosts five women, slowly sipping their drinks and laughing lightly as they glance over every once in a while. The sight makes Ella smile. Several teens or possibly even college students are scattered around, headphones on all of them as they stare mutely at their variety of devices. Beyond that, there are only a few other strays in the small shop, none dressed so formally as to make her assume they’re here to hire. It’s enough time to order a drink and try and calm her nerves.
As she winds her way up to the counter to order, she is a mere four feet away the bar when she manages to trip on, well, nothing really. A hot flash of adrenaline spikes through her chest as she sails forward, but the panic settles slightly when she inexplicably doesn’t fall. The shock of the near miss reels back, just in time for her to notice what saved her. Or more specifically, who. Two hands are sealed to her arms, and slowly, she is pulled backwards and righted to her feet. It takes Ella a minute to calm her racing heart enough to turn and meet her savior, but the face she finds really does nothing ground her. No one should look that damn good on a Wednesday morning in a freaking coffee shop. And have lightning fast reflexes to boot.
Rich, warm brown eyes study her carefully, dark brows knit in worry. Even behind the glasses he wears, his gaze traps her on the spot as he looks her over carefully. And Ella, almost involuntarily, returns the favor. Dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a pale blue button up, and a leather jacket, he’s the picture of confidence, though the gentleness in his eyes puts her at ease. His skin is golden, and his strong jaw and full lips are dappled with a line of dark hair. He’s distractingly handsome, and it takes longer than is decent for Ella to realize that he’s speaking to her.
“Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Ugh, even his voice is nice, she thinks ruefully, but then the bell hanging by the front door of the shop chimes and Ella snaps back to reality. Her head snaps up suddenly and she cranes around the Adonis of a man in front of her to see a gorgeous woman stroll in. She’s dressed impeccably in a white skirt suit, complete with terrifying black stilettos and an impossibly nice leather attaché in tow.
“Oh shit,” Ella mutters, much to the confusion of the man who is still very much so holding onto her arms. “I am so sorry!” She finally manages to say, looking frantically at the clock on the wall. Her interview is in 3 minutes. “I’m so— I mean, I mean thank you,” words spill from her lips as she watches the elegant woman take a seat at a large table near the window and immediately take out a stylus and tablet. Double shit. She looks back to her rescuer, whose eyes are crinkling in a mixture of confusion and mirth. “Seriously, thank you, and I’m sorry, for the, for swearing,” two minutes until her interview, “it wasn’t at you, or anything, it’s just...I just have this big interview in a few minutes and now my nerves are completely shot all to hell.” The confession falls off her tongue before she can stop herself, but she’s silenced when the man suddenly drops her arms. Those dark brows suddenly crease in the middle and the pouty mouth grimaces a little. A look of pity, she thinks, as she has succeeded in making a fool of herself in more ways than one. Before Ella can wedge her foot even more firmly in her mouth, the stunning woman in white appears beside them quite suddenly.
“Ah, Marcus,” she speaks, her voice sultry and sure. The man, Marcus, returns a tight smile and then glances back at Ella with sympathetic eyes. “I see you have already met our candidate, Ms. Evans.” All of the blood drains from Ella’s face then, and the pit that settles in her stomach is a heavy thing. Suddenly, she wishes she had just knocked herself out cold on the coffee shop floor. In absence of reasonable injury, Ella settles for closing her eyes for a quick moment and saying a prayer to be struck down by lightning. The woman, Ms. Granada, waves a manicured hand to the small table she procured across the shop. “Shall we?”
