Life With Mr. Malik (ON HOLD)

Prologue

The day was cool and crisp, the sky without a cloud in sight. Little kids were on their bicycles, heading for the park to fly their kites. The ice cream truck circled the neighbourhood, ringing its bell to lure the hungry tummies. Moms were pinning ribbons on their daughters' hair. 

 It was the perfect day . . .

To give my mom a hint of what I wanted for my birthday.

"So, my birthday . . ." I told my mom while I curled my hair around my finger to look like the truest essence of the word 'innocent.'

She shut her laptop and looked at me, her fingers folded on the coffee table. "Where are you going with this?"

Look at this woman!

Can't a girl mention her own birthday without her motives being questioned?!

Feigning shock, I clapped a hand to my cheek and let my mouth hang agape. "Mother! I was just trying to remind you that the eighteenth anniversary of your bloody and painful delivery is in a few months!" I smoothened out my jeans and went to sit opposite her. "But since you asked and it would be terribly rude of me"— I placed a hand on my chest —“not to answer, I will gladly tell you where this conversation is going." I cleared my throat. "Mom, I want a car."

After a millisecond (I swear to God, it was that fast!), she said no.

"But it's going to be my eighteenth birthday and almost everyone at the University is going to have their own car and I do not want to be the social outcast." I defended, putting on my best puppy face which I think my mom has grown immune to because it isn't as effective as it was back when I was five or something. 

"You wouldn't have to worry about the University yet." She replied indifferently. 

Oh, right.

I'm taking a gap year. 

It's like a really long vacation before I enter University. At first, mom didn't think it would be a good idea but I told her that I'd spend my gap year wisely by doing saintly activities like visiting orphanages and volunteering to build houses for the homeless but so far, the most saintly thing I've done was probably say "Thank you." when the McDonald's delivery guy gave me extra packets of ketchup. 

"Honey, if you want a car so badly, why don't you go find a job?" My mom asked to cut me off my thoughts. 

"You mean, like, work for it?"

She nodded as if the entire idea was actually good. 

"Are you saying I have to do stuff . . . to get stuff?" I asked, disgusted.

She nodded once more.

I gulped.

Well, okay then . . .

+ + +

"Okay, you're hired. Report back on Monday." He said as he eyed me from head to toe. "Of course, those sneakers definitely have to go." He said with a smirk. "Other than that, you look rather picturesque."

"Thank you, Mr. Zayn." I replied, trying my best to ignore his comment about my sneakers. It's only been about ten minutes since we met and I already found him annoying and despicable and most of all, rude.

You know what the worst part is?

I'm going to work for him.