Chapter Six: Chaos Girl
1072 Words
By the third day of working for Ethan Blackwood, I realized something important.
The man enjoyed being difficult recreationally.
Not accidentally.
Not emotionally.
Professionally.
“Absolutely not.”
I stared at him from across the penthouse living room. “You haven’t even heard the idea yet.”
“I could hear disaster in your voice.”
Rude.
Honestly accurate, but still rude.
Morning light spilled through the massive windows behind him while snow covered Manhattan in soft white silence. Ethan sat near the fireplace wearing a dark sweater that unfairly emphasized how attractive he was.
Meanwhile, I stood there holding two coffees and unresolved emotional tension.
“You need fresh air,” I announced.
“I need peace.”
“You’ve been staring at the same window for three hours.”
“It’s an excellent window.”
I rolled my eyes dramatically and handed him his coffee.
Our fingers brushed accidentally.
Tiny contact.
Barely anything.
Still—
Heat rushed unexpectedly up my arm.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
Ethan noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
His blue eyes lifted slowly toward mine, calm and observant.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m cold.”
“You’re indoors.”
“I’m suffering emotionally.”
“That seems constant.”
I glared at him while he smirked slightly into his coffee cup.
God.
That smirk was becoming dangerous.
Small progress had happened over the last few days.
Tiny things.
Ethan talked more now.
Not much.
But enough.
He asked questions occasionally.
Mocked me regularly.
And yesterday—
Yesterday he actually laughed when I almost fell over one of the ridiculously expensive rugs.
Personal growth.
Still, most of the time he kept himself hidden behind sarcasm and sharp comments.
Like if he stopped joking for too long, something painful might catch up to him.
“You’re thinking loudly again,” he observed.
I blinked. “Do I ever get privacy around you?”
“No.”
“That’s honestly concerning.”
“I’m a concerned person.”
“You are literally the least emotionally stable person I know.”
That earned a real laugh.
Low.
Warm.
And devastating enough to destroy brain cells.
The sound hit me unexpectedly hard.
Because every time Ethan laughed, it felt earned.
Rare.
Like sunlight during winter.
And maybe that was the dangerous part.
I was beginning to care whether he smiled or not.
Very bad.
Extremely bad.
I sat carefully on the couch across from him and studied him openly.
Dark hair slightly messy today.
Sharp jawline.
Eyes that looked cold until he laughed.
Beautiful hands resting loosely against the coffee cup.
Honestly unfair.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured.
“You’re annoyingly attractive.”
The words escaped before my brain approved them.
Silence.
My eyes widened immediately.
Oh no.
Abort mission.
Abort immediately.
Ethan blinked once.
Then slowly—
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Well,” he said calmly, “that’s honest.”
I buried my face in my hands instantly. “Forget I said that.”
“Impossible unfortunately.”
“This is why I don’t express emotions.”
“Because people hear them?”
“Exactly.”
His quiet laughter filled the room again.
And suddenly the penthouse didn’t feel so cold anymore.
That realization scared me a little.
Because warmth was dangerous.
Especially when it came from lonely men with sad eyes and devastating smiles.
Ethan watched me carefully over the rim of his coffee cup.
“You flirt strangely.”
“I panic strangely.”
“I noticed.”
I pointed at him accusingly. “This is your fault somehow.”
“How?”
“You keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Like he could see straight through me.
Like he noticed things I didn’t say out loud.
Like maybe he understood loneliness too well.
But I definitely wasn’t saying any of that.
So instead:
“Like a villain in a romance movie.”
That actually made him grin properly.
God help me.
That smile could genuinely ruin lives.
“You think I’m the villain?” he asked softly.
“I think you enjoy acting like one.”
“And if I do?”
The question landed differently.
Lower.
Heavier.
The atmosphere shifted slightly.
Again.
It kept happening around him.
One second we were joking.
The next second the air felt charged with something neither of us fully understood yet.
I swallowed carefully.
“Well,” I said lightly, “every good romance needs emotional damage.”
Something unreadable crossed his expression.
Then quietly:
“You assume this is a romance?”
My heartbeat stumbled.
Dangerous question.
Very dangerous question.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
Because suddenly he was looking at me too intensely.
Like he actually cared about my answer.
The room felt smaller somehow.
Warmer.
The city disappearing behind us.
And for one terrifying second—
I imagined what it would feel like if he kissed me.
Immediate panic.
Absolutely not.
I stood up too quickly.
“We’re leaving.”
Ethan blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You need sunlight.”
“I literally live above windows.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I absolutely do not.”
I grabbed my coat before I could overthink the situation.
“Come on.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Lily.”
“Ethan.”
We stared at each other stubbornly.
Then suddenly—
To my complete shock—
He smiled again.
Slowly.
Like he was losing a fight with himself.
“You are unbelievably persistent.”
“And you’re unbelievably dramatic.”
“That’s fair.”
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then Ethan sighed softly.
“Fine.”
I froze.
“Wait seriously?”
“You look too emotionally committed now.”
Excitement exploded through me instantly.
“Oh my God.”
“Relax. You make everything sound dangerous.”
“It IS dangerous. We’re going outside.”
“You say that like we’re entering war.”
“Have you seen New York traffic?”
He laughed under his breath while I hurried to help him prepare.
And somewhere between the teasing and the tension and his quiet smiles—
Something changed again.
Not fully love.
Not yet.
But no longer strangers either.
Something softer.
Closer.
More terrifying.
Because Ethan Blackwood was slowly becoming important to me.
And deep down—
I had the horrible feeling he knew it already.
- Writer
