We barely speak. Actually, change that to never.
I haven’t visited England since I left it.
Not even once.
If Astrid misses me, she makes a trip here, but those trips have become few and far between ever since she had three spawns.
I swear that fucker Levi keeps knocking her up for sport.
Point is, I might have subtly cut myself off from the family tree, but I’ve done well for myself and got everything I strived for.
The only thing that’s not easy, convenient, or boring is the woman standing in front of me, her blonde strands about to catch fire from the flames in her eyes.
They’re so light and green and fake.
She is fake.
Or was.
Either way, I want to fucking strangle her for it.
The feeling is mutual apparently, because she looks about ready to transform into a hulk and smash me into the nearest wall.
“You’re here,” I drawl the words nonchalantly with boredom in my voice.
“Obviously.” She throws a dirty look at the girls who are still clinging to me as if they’re extensions of my body. “I thought there was a contract to review.”
“There is. Over there, on the table.”
“You clearly have company.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t work.”
“If you’re too preoccupied with other things, surely this can wait until tomorrow.”
“It can, but you’ll work on it tonight. Now, sit your arse on that chair and proofread the contracts.”
She purses her lips, which is her way to stop from spouting nonsense, then whirls around in a cloud of metaphorical smoke and forcefully sits down.
I expect to see ashes surrounding her, but none appear.
Yet.
The girls giggle, smelling of strong perfume that nearly bleed my nostrils. One of them kissing me on the cheek. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”
“We’ll make you feel good,” the other says.
Apparently, it’s not quiet enough, because even though Nicole is focused on the documents and the tablet, her leg bounces under the table and her lips are set in a thin line.
I know because I’m watching her like a hawk. My attention isn’t on the girls, it’s on her.
The ice in my whiskey clinks as I swirl it and take a sip. “You can start right here.”
They giggle again, and the sound is annoying. What are they, preschoolers?
Nicole never giggled. Not even as a child. She always had elegance and was the walking form of proper manners. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing her laugh either.
And probably never will, considering my status as the warden of her hell.
One of the girls lowers herself between my legs and I lazily open them wide, letting her settle in the middle.
She looks like a malnourished pubescent, which I know she’s not, but the fact that she reminds me of a minor is a major turn-off.
Or maybe the whole fucking scene is.
I keep comparing them to Nicole’s voluptuous body that’s become sexier than a porn star’s. Not that she wasn’t hot back in school, but she’s all grown up now.
All woman.
The girl brings my attention back to her when her fingers latch onto my belt and she meets my eyes with a seductive look. “I’ll start. Remember when you told me I’m good at giving head?”
No, I don’t, but I nod absentmindedly anyway. “You’re a doll.”
Nicole jerks up to a standing position, taking the documents with her. “I’ll finish these in the kitchen.”
I resist a smirk by taking a sip of my drink. “You’ll finish them right there.”
“It’s distracting.”
“I pay you to tune that out. Sit down.”
She glares at me, but there’s something else in there, hatred and a feeling I can’t identify.
When she doesn’t make a move to comply, I jerk my head to the chair. “Sit the fuck down if you want to keep your job.”
“My job doesn’t entail witnessing my boss receiving sexual favors.”
“Sexual favors? What the fuck is this, a detective show? It’s called a blowjob, and if I say your job requires that, then it does.”
“Are you trying to prove a point?” she asks, her face red, whether with anger or something else, I’m not sure. “If that’s the case, then I already know you get more pussy than Casanova during his prime and you love it. I get it, congratulations on the meaningless record. Now, can I please go home?”
“No.” I slowly push the one kneeling in front of me. “Both of you, out.”
“W-what?”
“Do you have hearing problems? I said get out.”
They pale, but not more than Nicole as they grab their flimsy bags, give her a dirty look, and saunter out of my flat, huffing and puffing as if they have breathing issues.
I stand and Nicole watches my every move, closely, without blinking.
“Are you going to sit or should I throw you out as well?”
She flops down on the chair, her gaze glued to the paper.
“Where’s my food?”
She fumbles in her bag and produces a container.
“Doesn’t look like Katerina’s.”
“The restaurant didn’t accept orders when I called so…I brought food from another place.”
“Always going against orders.”
“I couldn’t exactly force open the restaurant or make her fix you something. You know, with the thirty-minute time limit and interrupting my quiet night.”
I stare at her, but it’s not because of the attitude. I’m starting to think she’ll never lose that mouthy side, no matter how much I threaten to fire her. And for some reason, I don’t want the fire to disappear either.
The reason behind my pause is the way she’s speaking while reading from the document. Multitasking at its finest.
I slide across from her, abandon my glass of whiskey and open the container. Even I know drinking on an empty stomach is bad, and since food is the work of the devil, I wouldn’t have come near it with a ten-foot pole if it weren’t out of necessity.
I grab a fork and glare at the pasta as if it’s my next battle. There’s neither parmesan nor pesto, because for some phantom reason, Nicole knows I don’t like them.
Fact is, I don’t like all food, but those two were what made me vomit the first time.
Still can’t figure out how she knows about my preferences, but that doesn’t deny the sense of satisfaction that fills me at the fact. “Since when do you like quiet nights?”
She slowly lifts her head, appearing taken aback by the question. “I’ve always liked quiet nights.”
“Could’ve fooled me with all the parties you made sure to become the center of attention at.”
Her eyes glitter, turning a molten green, almost too bright to look at.
Too real.
Too…uncomfortable.
She’s every obscure emotion that religions ordered humans to stay away from.
She lowers her head, allowing a stray strand to play hide-and-seek with her face. “Back then, I was chasing an unreachable dream.”
“And now?”
She tucks the blasphemous piece of hair behind her ear and sighs. “Now, I’m just surviving, Daniel. I wouldn’t have worked for you and allowed you to treat me like the dirt beneath your expensive Prada shoes if that weren’t the case.”