Life With Mr. Malik (ON HOLD)

Chapter 1: Meet The Everleys

© 2012 - Life With Mr. Malik

“Miles, I asked you to do one thing. ONE THING. And you blew it!” My current boss, famous Mr. Zayn Malik screamed as he flung his pink boxers towards me. It landed on my face, causing me to immediately thrash my arms hysterically due to the fact that something that’s touched his you-know-what is on my face.

I took the boxers off my face and threw it at him. “Can you not?” I asked with a groan, making him stare at me with his lips pressed into a hard line. I stuck my tongue out. Just because he’s famous, it doesn’t mean he can go around and treat me like I’m not a human being.

He picked up the boxers from the floor and showed it to me, waving it like it was a red handkerchief you use to get the bull to charge.

Oh, if only I had the bull’s horns . . .

“I told you. Separate the whites from the colored! You see? This is exactly why I never wanted to hire you! You’re the clumsiest person in the history of clumsy persons.” He said.

“I’m sorry. I got told you looked good in pink!” I replied with a stubborn smile on my face. It was fun pissing him off. I stopped scrubbing the floor as his words sunken in. “If you never wanted to hire me, then why did you?”

“Beats me.” He answered, turning his gaze away from me.

I nodded, trying to look as calm as possible although inside, I was laughing like a mad man. It looks to me like Mr. Zayn Malik has a soft spot for Mildred Everley.

Oh my god.

I did NOT just reveal my real name to you guys.

Let me get something straight. I have come up with two theories behind my name. The first is that my mom was still high on anesthesia when the doctor asked for my name after she gave birth. And the second is that they really thought they’d be expecting a boy and so, named the baby Wilfred but after finding out it was a girl, changed the W to an M and the F to a D. If you really knew my parents, both are extremely realistic.

“Miles.” Zayn called my attention.

I shook my head and looked up at him. “What?”

“You’re doing it again!”

“Doing what?”

“Spacing out!” He said with an exasperated expression.

“Was I?” I asked, knowing perfectly well this annoyed him.

“Yes! Geez, Miles. I don’t pay you five bucks an hour to just slack off and not do your job properly.” He approached me, got me on my feet and led me down the stairs and to the laundry room in the first floor of his three-storied mansion here in Bradford. He walked to the washing machine and tapped it before leaning on it, arms folded over his chest. “Do you know how to work this?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course, I do.” Pushing him aside, I clicked a button that got the washing machine going. “See?”

“Do you know how to work it properly?” He asked, emphasizing the last word.

“Yes.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Then, prove it by stop turning my white clothes pink."

Ugh. This guy, I swear.

I plopped on the couch the second I got home and grabbed the remote, flipping from one channel to another. Stopping when I saw One Direction being interviewed on Ellen, I tossed the remote aside and leaned back. I laughed softly to myself. There were only three chairs available and so Niall had to sit on Liam’s lap and Harry on Louis’. Of course, Mr. Full-Of-Himself Zayn Malik doesn’t want to share his seat. You’re probably wondering why Zayn annoys me so much. Well, I’ve got two words for you. Arro gance. I know that’s supposed to be only a single word but let’s get real here. “I’ve got two words for you.” sounds cooler than “I’ve got one word for you.” Yeah, I can sense you nodding your head right now.