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011 - Different In A Better Way

**Minutes later**

I stood in front of the rearview mirror at the far corner of my room, my hands pressed to the edge of the dresser. The guy in the reflection looked just as annoyed and just as embarrassed as I felt.

Maybe it wasn’t the way she said it. Maybe it was because I had just fired Marina on the grounds of being unprofessional.

I probably shouldn't have invited her to my home, but the thought of her running over—pissed about the time, yet helpless because she had to freaking do her job was too thrilling to resist.

She had the uncanny ability to slice me down in the most polite manner and it drove me nuts.

I grabbed my cellphone, tapping at some keypads.

No. I shouldn't be doing this.

I flung it back to the bed, groaning before I began to pace about. Soon, a knock sounded at the door. Another followed, louder this time.

I sighed, holding my hair. “For chrissakes... Can't a man get an alone time?”

“Ev.” her soft voice tried to pierce through my irritation.

“I just want to be alone, Diane.” I emphasized.

“Errm...” she paused. I’ll... leave now, I guess. I...”

I squinted, trying to hear her voice. It was unusually inaudible. I walked closer to the door.

“I really appreciate you letting me crash at your place. Five days must have been hectic,” she said, laughing crookedly. “Do take care of yourself. And please stop skipping your meals.”

The sound of a rolling box mixed with fading footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Was Diane really leaving? How could she do so without even giving me a reason?

In a rush, I opened the door, but the only sight I caught was her retreating figure in the shirt she wore on the first day, turning the left end of the hallway, her bag dragging lazily behind her.

I took a few steps forward, saying nothing, and just like that, she was gone. I turned back around, Patricia was standing in front of me, her two hands folded neatly behind her back. Her eyes said a lot, even though her lips did not move.

“Risotto is the plan for dinner. I want to know if you’re fine with that?” she asked.

“No. Not that. Something else,” I said in a hurry.

One of her brows shifted.

“Make pasta and salad instead. Just one knock when you're done.” I demanded, walking towards my door after she gave a slight bow.

My hand was about to twist the handle when my eyes caught a pink sticky note resting on the surface. I peeled it off and scanned the short lines:

“Dear grumpy bear,

I got a mail that my renovation's complete. Your advice earlier on inspired so much, and I hope to see you at the evening gown launch to share what came of it.”

I let it drop to the floor, walking back into my room.

***

• Andrea •

***

“What the heck!” I yelled, stopping dead in my tracks.

The two grocery bags I held dropped with a thud on either side of the floor as my eyes widened in sheer, rude shock.

Only then did the stallion stopped thrusting.

The door was half closed when I walked in. There was no noise whatsoever or had I been too distracted by how terrible today had been to notice?

I masked my face, watching him through the spaces in my fingers as he fumbled with his pants, almost hitting his mouth to the floor as he struggled to get them on. In a minute, he was done and he walked out almost in a run.

Oh. How I dislike this guy! How I wish Tahlia never met him at The Minimalist Plate. My best friend was slipping away, and I didn’t like the person she was becoming.

I clenched my fingers in frustration, turning swiftly toward Tahlia, who was half-sitting, her long hair tangled, her face flushed with exertion. The red lingerie she wore revealed a little too much. I could see everything I didn’t want to.

“You need to end whatever you have going with this guy,” I said, folding my arms. “It’s not 7 p.m. yet, Tahlia. Can you explain why you’re home, indulging in lust instead of being productive in the office?”

She shifted, brushing her fingers along her collarbone. “People walk in on people having s*x. It’s normal. We were just having fun.”

“Fun?” I screeched, trying my best to control my irritation. “You’ve never been this reckless before. You’d never abandon your work! And at least your other guys respected boundaries —our living room isn’t a circus with them!”

“Jeremy is different,” she said, striding up. “Different in a better way.” Her lips twitched, and I saw the gleam of mischief in her eyes.

“This,” she continued, holding a pack of condoms up at our eye level, “is a safe bet. So you don’t have to worry too much, my love.”

“Mm... mmh,” I murmured, shaking my head. “That’s not enough. You should watch his personality too. Jason or whatever he’s called always had some excuse whenever you wanted to visit. What if he is a fraud, an opportunist or a scoundrel?”

“It’s Jeremy, and he is none of those things you just listed,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You should let off some steam too. It’s so boring playing just daughter and worker. Why not try the fun side of life?”

I swallowed, watching her grab the bags, her backside swaying annoyingly as she walked toward the passage leading to the kitchen.

“Did you just call me boring?” I asked, pointing to my chest.

Tahlia only gave two slow waves of her head, like she was too tired or too amused to argue.

I dropped onto the cushion dramatically, utterly exhausted. From my mom mocking my job while still begging me for cash to Kylian calling at the supermarket minutes ago, lecturing that I had to follow Mr. Langston’s instructions and keep him happy or risk trouble for myself.

Now, I’m thinking this job twice. Wondering whether to carry on or not because my temper's too short for their suffocating rules.

There’s no chance to feel better because I can’t even open up to Tahlia about how ridiculously defeated I feel. Not while we’re at loggerheads.

I lay down, crossing my legs and staring up at the ceiling, my mind totally blank. Soon, I drifted off to sleep.

***

Moments later, I stirred, feeling the soft weight of a duvet on my skin. The lights were off, and Tahlia’s soft laughter floated from the inner room as she made a call.

I moved to pick up my cellphone to check the time, but the screen lit up, illuminating the room before I even grabbed it.

A notification slid across the display - Chase Mobile: Credit Alert

I sat upright so fast my head spun, my thumb resting over the screen as I unlocked it, expecting the numbers to rearrange themselves into something sane.

They didn’t. They only glowed at the top of the dashboard.

Eighteen thousand nine hundred and forty nine dollars.

Not monthly. Not biweekly. Just for one week!.

Mr. Bradley wasn't trying to win us over when he said the pay was on weekly basis, dependent on performance.

I slowly lay back down, eyes shut, as I pressed my lips together, waiting impatiently for Tahlia to finish her call.

There was no way—absolutely no way—I was quitting this job.