Page 11 of Hale's Pawn
There’s a strange look on his face and he opens his mouth to say something, but he changes his mind and walks away. I sigh and I realize that I didn’t stop recording. I’ll just edit that out. I lift the camera and do my signature goodbye with a kiss and a wink. I walk over to my desk area and fire up the desktop. I sit down and begin loading the video to my computer. Not even 10 minutes later, the door is opened. I look up from my video, pausing it. Oran walks in with his laptop and other shit. He walks over to the coffee table area and sits on the couch. I stare at him as he sets his shit up and he continues to work like he didn’t just walk into my space. Oran looks up at me. “Yes?”
I can feel my brows creasing. “Why are you in here?”
“I live here,” he answers nonchalantly.
I roll my eyes. “In this room. You have a study, no?”
“I do, but doesn’t mean I can’t work from somewhere else.”
“But I wanted to be alone,” I say. “I always do this alone,” I emphasize.
“Good to know. Now, continue what you were doing. I’m busy,” he replies. I let out a frustrated noise. I get up to walk out of the room. “Where are you going?” he asks.
“To the kitchen. I need a drink.”
“Ah. Bring me some water, thanks.”
“I’m not your maid.”
He looks at me smirking and licks his lips. “No, no you are not. You’re my wife who is a businesswoman just like me, so you value time. Hop to it, bun.”
“Bun?” I repeat.
“Yeah. You remind me of Lola Bunny from Looney Tunes and she always called Bugs, Bun-Bun. It was annoying as fuck, but cute.”
Did Oran Hale just insult me and pay me a compliment all in the same breath?
7
Ainslee
Today is my lazy day.So waking up early is not the move. I yawn my way through the quiet house with my EarPods in. I hum along with Snoh Aalegra as she sings her song Dying 4 Your Love to perfection. Oran is most likely already at work, so it gives me some more time to adjust to being here. It’s new and not new for me, only because after my dad instilled in me that this was it, I came to terms with it. Sort of. I can’t call Oran my roommate because that would be a lie since roommates do not have sex. I contemplate what his title would be as I decide which K-Cup I want and check my business email. After doing so, I look around for my favorite to-go mug, but it’s not here. I could’ve sworn I packed it. I made sure I—err, Mikonos packed it. I switch over from my emails to text, but the ever-present nosy man, Mikonos, texts me first.
Mikos: I packed it and it should be in there. Don’t even harass me this morning.
Me: But did you pack it, though?
Mikos: Did you?
I lift up my middle finger, flipping Mikos the bird because I know there are private cameras around. I roll my eyes and switch back to the important things as I grab the next mug in the cupboard. I make a bagel with cream cheese while my coffee is brewing. After my coffee is done brewing, I grab almond creamer and then head towards my office. Because I’m not filming and just editing, I didn’t bother to pick out an outfit. Instead, my dark green lounge shorts and a tanktop with no bra works for me. My hair is braided into two flat braids just so that they stay out of my way.
My husband-roommate is the first thing I see when I step into my studio. I take a good look around and narrow my eyes at his set up. He has added a fucking desk to work on, opposite of mine. This man is never out of his office, why is he here again?“So, you’re not working at your office because...?”
“Because my wife has an attitude and the desk space that I need, so there’s that.” He shrugs without looking up.
I throw up a middle finger and march towards my desk. I set everything down and pretend like he doesn’t exist. “For me? You shouldn’t have,” Oran says as he reaches for my bagel. He grabs it and practically devours it before I can speak. He lifts up his coffee and my eyes widen at my favorite to-go mug.
“You have got to be shitting me. Oran, there are so many cups in your cupboard, why do you have to take my favorite?”
His brows crease. “You said I could.”
“When?”
“This morning. You specifically said it’s your good luck charm,” he answers.
“I don’t believe you,” I retort.
“You also called me Zach Morris.” He glares at me.
