Madeline Collins, a graduate from Harvard and now one of the best publishers in New York has been given the task to interview and analyse the life of Carson Blake, a a multi-billionaire with a cold-heart, terrified of his past to be able to fall in...
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Friday 2nd May
She called me yesterday.
Like an idiot I sound, I kind of stared at my own phone for too long to the point I basically manifested for her to call me. Overall, it worked. I think.
It caught me a bit off guard too. She seemed like the type of hard to get, which I knew would be a challenge.
I had sent her a text of when and where we'll be meeting, obviously a similar cafe to the one we met at, hopefully her memory would come back.
It's currently 2pm and we're meeting at 3pm. I'm, as usual, sitting at my desk but this time waiting until the clock strikes 2:30 so I could leave.
This is getting frustrating.
You think? Great, now I'm talking to myself.
What the hell is happening to me?
I smack my face with both my palms, rubbing my face in the process. I'm taking time for a girl. I never do that. The last time I ever had to take time off work was because I was forced to meet up with my mother. Forced.
Lets just say the time I had given my mother didn't come out so great which caused me to get a slap on the back of the head and many beatings with a wooden spoon. Never again.
I check the time once again. 2:20.
"Screw it",
I voice, before standing up and slinging on my blazer. Today I had gone with a white button up shirt with a navy tie along with matching black suit pants and blazer. My usual attire.
I walk around my desk and over to the door, swinging it open as everyone who had been chatting away near it, rushes to their office. I mentally smirk as they panic as I walk through the halls and over to the reception on my floor.
"Hey Miranda, make sure no one goes in my office, I won't be there", I explain and a smirk arises on her face.
"A date?" she tilts her head playfully.
"Something like that", I chuckle and she chuckles back.
We say our goodbyes as I enter the elevator, alone, seeming as if everyone's scared of staying in one small tight space with me.
The ride down is silent, seeming as there are no speakers in the elevator, no music playing. Not even that irrational tune that always plays in most elevators.
The elevator stops and the doors open and I make my way through the lobby, the straight face that's always plastered on my face hiding the excitement of seeing my angel.
