"I hate you." My voice cracks as I tell him.
His feet stop at the door.
I clutch the bedsheet tightly around my chest as he turns around with an emotionless face.
"Then there will be a lot of hate fucking between us." A smirk curve his lips as his g...
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"Dakota Black, a high achiever, millionaire in his 20s and a hot shot bachelor who got girls drooling for him.. Is your heart surrendering to settle down?"
I look up at him in Italics and he stares back at me in Bold.
His thick, roughly trimmed eyebrow inches up in amusement and I instantly double check if I read it right. Errh! Why do they have to write such cheesy blushing-till-my-ass questions and not ask directly?
I hear him intake a deep breath of frustration and I find myself sinking more into his expensive couch. He looks irritated and most of all, ignited.
"Didn't meet any eye-catching woman yet." He says, directly looking into my eyes.
It's hard.
Like fighting six fully grown fire-breathing dragons. It is that hard to stare at his toxic green eyes that penetrate into me unapologetically. And like an amateur princess, I crawl my gaze to the notebook and write his answer with his elegant pen.
Didn't-meet-any-ass-catching-woman-ye
"What about you?"
My head jerks up in surprise as his deadly quiet voice echoes in my ears. "What about me?" I ask him with a stupefying face. What about me? My anxiety asks as well.
Dakota looks relaxed, his one hand rests on his thigh and another on the arm of couch. His long finger trails the dark stubble of chin as he studies me with his deep stare, like I am some low-budget startup he should invest in.
"How did you end up here?" My skin pricks as the deep sound of his voice reaches me again. Curiosity draws on his full lips, something that I would call edible.
"I was at the publication house and somehow stumbled here." I push a loose lock behind my ear and try to pull my confident face. But I am not brave enough to compete with his beastly gaze, and out-stare him is a topic of different dimension.
"You are into journalism? I thought you were a student of Engineering and Computer Science." He says without any inflection.
"Yeah. I mean no." Something flutters in my heart and my cheeks tickle with rush of blood, knowing he still remembers my major even after three long years. Why?
Why such a good memory?
I wet my lips. His eyes burn into me and I feel compelled to tell him the truth.
"I wanted money for my final semester project, so I was at the Pegasus Publications to publish my book that I have been writing for some time. But their interviewer had diarrhea, so the editor asked me to take this interview and later sign me as an author so I can get my book published."
Heat licks my skin the way his gaze peer down at me with a curiosity I have never seen before. "You write books?" His eyes flare momentarily in surprise. "What kind of?" And asks with interest as if he will order it the next second. No, no, NO!
