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“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.”
Nicole is not the dirt beneath my shoes. She’s the rock in it. Always has been since the first time I saw her and thought she was a snobbish little princess.
She still is.
It doesn’t matter if she wears cheap clothes from a department store. Being a princess is an aura and she exudes it from a mile away.
“You mean to tell me you didn’t like the attention?” After enough procrastination to trick my stomach into accepting the devil’s fruit, I take the first bite of the pasta and pause.
