Page 30 of Overdue I Love You's
He’s asking for it.“I’m going on a dating show.”
“Whatever for?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I raise one brow. “To find love.”
His forehead vein bulges. “What’s the name of the show?”
Tilting my head, “Does it matter?”
“Is there a reason for your change in attitude towards me?”
Other than your ego taking up the space?
“No,sir.”
Dean narrows his eyes. “I need to jot your whereabouts for safety purposes.”
I try to peel away the layers he covers himself in, but they don’t budge. Sighing, “Love? Check!”
The silence carries and quite frankly, I’m getting annoyed.
He calls me in here, makes some dumb excuse to ask me personal questions, then goes quiet.
“I decided from here on out that I should take a more professional stance with my business.” I speak with confidence. “You are my client and requested that I service your employees with personalized flowers every Monday. After reviewing the contract, it doesn’t state anywhere that I’m obligated to do the same for you.”
His face goes blank.
Locked and guarded.
Two can play at that game.
“It’s a contract you worked hard on drawing up and genuinely,” with my other hand, I set it on my chest. “I don’t want tomessanything up for you, Mr. Vuk.”
His left brow twitches.
Before he says anything, I walk towards his desk. “This was meant to be for Michael and Joshua, but they’re not here and these would simply go into the compost so,” I drop the duo of ungroomed daisies on his desk. “It’syoursnow.”
CHAPTER 9
Almost eight hours of holding a crying baby, consoling a sobbing mother, and trying not to cry-while-filling-a-page-in-my-colouring-book later, I end up in Zurich, Switzerland.
Well, now in Lucerne.
“This is… unexpected.”
One jarring, unsolicited throb pulses near my ear.
The other woman and I ended up in front of the picturesque house at the same time. According to the email they sent us, all contestants had different timings but apparently ours overlapped.
She’s stunning. Short, cropped hair that hits right below her ears. Her sharp mono-lids find my eyes and there’s no awkwardness in her smile. We exist in the world around her, not vice versa.
Irene Dolores is exactly as I remember, but with more professionalism.
Beautiful, elegant, and she smellsotherworldly.
“Looks like I’ll need to have a word with my team,” she moves to the side and widens the door of the lovely two-storyhome. “Please come in.”
After taking an extra strength Aleve, putting my headphones on to dark noise and crashing out in the train (moving endlessly and trying to find the perfect spot to try and sleep but failing endlessly), I woke up somewhat okay and scouredPinterlogfor aesthetic houses in Lucerne. Most of them were earthy and majestic, but this is what I talked to imaginary friends about as a five-year-old kid. Modern. Embellished. For the rich.
