"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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Today is Monday.
And I don't like Mondays.
But today is a different kind of Monday.
Because today, Pegasus Publications is going to upload my interview with Dakota Black. The teflon of tech-world.
Not that it matters to me, but the feeling of tingling tightness in my stomach tells me it's not diarrhea. It's butterflies. Excited butterflies, eagerly waiting to read the article.
Right at 9:01 AM, the post gets live on their cosmopolitan site.
My ass buzzes with nervousness that I never felt during exams as I open the article at the speed of light with the title..
Dakota Black, a man with the touch of Midas.
Below his picture in attached in a slick black suit that hugs him possessively. The man staring back at me has a chiseled jaw, with a nose as straight as an arrow that a perfect line can be drawn with. His broad shoulders appear broader and his green eyes, they look a bit darker as if they edited it.
Because I clearly remember his eyes staring at me, a shade of green that can be only found in the deep mines of emerald beds. A gaze so toxic that can cut through a bullet-proof glass with just a glance.
And I spent an hour with this man in his office. All alone. With his penetrative eyes going to the places I think I only imagined.
I scroll down and begin to read about him with an attention that I have never given to my textbooks. 'Dakota Black, who stole headlines since 2020 and still stealing front pages of Forbes and Times, is now deemed to be the most wanted man in tech-hubs and ladies hub.'
Fucking nerve of this woman to write any duck-shit!
I skip the cheesy introduction and scroll to the question and answers. Surprisingly, she has written the exact word-to-word replies for what he said to me. It's funny how I can hear his deep voice in my head as I read his answers.
A smile so unwanted and senseless conquers my lips. Every breath, frown, his gaze, even his smell, I can feel it all through the words.
But my smile instantly disappears like the smoke in thin air as I reach to the end of the column and see the name of the interviewer. Carina Martin, my editor.
My mood instantly messes up as if I licked a ripped banana. I throw my phone aside and lie on the bed half-heartedly. At least she could have been honest and given me a bit credit to scoop out answers for her. Sly fox!
The article already got a hundred above likes in just five minutes of its arouse. But then again, these were her questions and she paid me two hundred dollars, which I needed badly for my project. Oh, the project!
I stand up as my mind gets back to my assignment, which I have to submit today. It's strange how serious I got for my studies since that event in my life.
