His Contract Wife (Zayn Malik)

13; Annoyance and Pizza

~Mira~

"Again, tell me something, I don't know."

Annoyance.

It is dripping from every single cell of mine and it is directed towards only one person. The one person that drives me insane with that stupid smirk of his. The one person who's mere presence is enough to drive me off the edge.

Zayn Malik.

I roll my eyes and ignore him. I walk over to the scanner and scan a few pages for him to use in his next meeting.

"Ignoring me now, are you, Ms. Anderson?"

"If you can't cure something, you must endure it. I can't change you, Zayn. So, I'm enduring you and you're not making it any easy for me. And by enduring you, I mean, ignoring you. It's the only way, I can tolerate you," I say, coolly, not bothering to turn and look at him.

Suddenly, I am being yanked and I wince at the sudden harsh tug on my wrist. I turn to see Zayn's eyes burning with some unknown feeling, but whatever it is I know, it's intense. His eyes were blazing and looked almost black with no hint of the usual gold. It is intimidating but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of scaring me off. I refuse to give him any sort of contentment with himself. I stiffen my position and bore my eyes into his.

"When I speak to you, you look at me," he snarls.

I shove him away and surprisingly he lets go of me. "And when you speak to me, you respect me, Zayn," I spit. "Don't ever use that tone on me and mind you, don't ever call me a slut."

"But aren't you?" He smirks so wide, that I just want to slap him out of it.

"Actually, I am. For even considering to sleep with a bastard like you. Even if it was for a fucking split of a second."

Zayn half-smiles at this and inches close to me. I have this urge to fling my hand at him, but I resist it. "Is that you telling me you wanted to sleep with me?"

"It isn't a secret, Zayn," I say in a 'duh' tone.

"Then why are you resisting me? Just why?" he questions me and I shake my head.

"You don't get it, do you? I just don't need this. I don't want to involve myself with you. Just no. I thought we'd spoken about it yesterday, Zayn," I spit.

"You spoke last night, Mira. Not me. Not we. You spoke and promptly kicked me out of your flat," he argues and I sigh.

"Sounds like borderline desperation," I boldly say. I don't care about the consequences anymore. I don't care if I fucking lose this job anymore because honestly, that can be the best thing that can ever happen to me after all this mess. Zayn was, is and always will be my worst acquaintance and my worst decision ever.

"Don't fucking test me," he roars and I simply roll my eyes, because he should've known by now that I don't give a damn about anything that concerns him.

"Honestly, Zayn. I thought you can take a fucking hint and obviously like always, I'm fucking wrong. Don't you have a company to run rather than negotiate a one night stand with me? Like, for real, leave me alone, Zayn. Just a few more weeks and I'll be gone. Just give me a fucking break, will you? I've been stressed the past month and a half that I have ever been in my entire fucking twenty-seven years of life," I say, not filtering anything. This is straight from the brain, rational talk.

"I'm Zayn Malik, Mira. You should know, I get what I want..." he says, evenly.

His thumb traces his unnaturally, naturally pouty lips and it makes me want to push his hand off and do it myself. I want to bite his lip and draw blood to the surface. I want to kiss him so hard that he will have to gasp for oxygen. I want to suck down his sweet spot and leave a huge ass hickey that it will take him a minimum of thirty minutes to hide it using makeup. I want to unbutton his shirt in the most infuriatingly slow pace and kiss down every tattoo, every ab, every muscle, and even, every nerve cell if I ever get a chance. I want to have him begging for me... and this my friends is straight from the raging hormones, from the lustful part of me that wants to ravish his body, talk.