8. DON'T START SMILING

BASH

My secretary stared at me as if she was seeing a ghost. "What?" I questioned her. "It is a simple question."

"Sorry. Can you repeat it?" She asked me again. Impatience started to make its way inside

me. Why no one in the world don't understand that I don't have enough time?

I repeated my question to her. "On a scale of one to ten, how likely is a twenty-three-year-old woman like a nineteen-year-old boy who is shorter than her?" This time, I told her slowly so that she would not ask me to repeat it.

"How does the boy look?" She asked me.

I thought of Matteo. He looked like a kid to me. But his skin is flawless. "He has a glass skin," I tell her.

She nodded her head, writing in her notepad.

She writes everything in her notepad.

"Is he muscular?" She asked.

"He is thin."

"What about the hair?"

"Golden," I tell her, already getting annoyed by her questions.

"Does he have ba