06

LAYLA

DAY 02/60.

THURSDAY.

"Stupid Fucker!"

I cursed, swinging my leg at my car, my bag moving along. It hurt me more than the poor thing, but I have low caffeine coupled with Aiden's presence. Hence, I'm in no mood to care.

My car's breakdown only adds up to this horrific morning.

I had to shower and get clothes from Bella. We aren't the same size. Our hips are almost the same, but I'm a little bustier, so the jeans and T-shirt clung to my skin. They'll have to do for today.

"Glaring at your car won't make it as cool as mine or teleport you to the office. Do I have to shove you again?"

Aiden's BMW roared in front of me and parked beside me. I thought he left ages ago?

"No. No. No. Leave me alone, Aiden! Leave me alone!"

Do I pull my hair like a madwoman? Would that make him go away? Or better; fall into a ditch?

"No. We're partners. You fail; I fail. I do not like failing love, so get in."

"I'll rather ride a horse."

"How about a bunny?"

"What does that even mean? God!"

"It's a song, stupid. Haven't you heard it?"

I arch my brow. That line does sound familiar.

"Fuck off."

"Get in. We're late, thanks to your sleeping around. I'm punctual, and I can't afford to get to the office after nine, so get in."

"Or else what?"

I taunted, stepping away from the car with my arms crossed.

"Or else I'll shove you to the floor. I just told you."

He shrugged, settling both hands on the window.

"Stupid fucker. I'll take a cab."

"Ha! That'll be great for front-page news. The media will eat it up. You should know, aren't you head of marketing?"

"Curse him. He's right. I'm my father's daughter. They will ridicule anything I do, even something as simple as taking a taxi. And father warned me about scandals. He'd love to be right about that one. Fuck my life."

"I'll have Bella drive me. I'm not getting into a car with you. You'd toss me off a cliff."

"Tempting, but no. Get in."

"I already said no. It's a dirty business to dine with the devil."

"You give the worst nicknames. You should take lessons from me. I have; love which everyone knows is top tier, then freckles. You always struggle to find synonyms for the devil or Satan."

I part my lips, forcing them to clip and cover my shock. I wasn't dreaming. He called me freckles.

No. He wasn't being sweet. Not only that, but he's mocking me. As he was yesterday, He's laughing at how weird and crazy they must look. I bottle my fists.

"Get in."

"I already said no!"

I scream, fueled by more anger. Sighing, he stepped out of the car and shut his door.

"Option one, you behave like the mature adult I am and get into the car. Option one is copying me since I'm the embodiment of perfection. Option one is the smart choice, the good one. Option Two is not so great... "

"I'll get in."

I hissed, succumbing to his wishes. Half a mil is on the line, sixty days, Layla, Fifty-Eight more. You'll try not to hire an assassin for him. Try.

"Excellent."

He grinned and stepped back. I marched forward, only to have him circle and open the passenger door, holding it until I got in.

I eyed him and then dusted the Jean from Bella, hoping it wasn't too tight and wouldn't make me uncomfortable later.

"How gentlemanly of you to help me with the door."

"I told you, love, I'm the embodiment of perfection."

He rasps and then ignites the engine, reversing and then speeding off.

Of course, he takes his turn with one hand on the wheel and the other lying idly beside him.

****

"Why are we here?"

I scan the huge sign fixed on the building. "Smith Industries"

"We are here because I work."

"I know Captain obvious, I mean, why are we here? Our duties are supposedly put on hold or reduced until this thing is completed, so why are we here?"

"Who told you that, L?"

"See another nickname?"

"Stop giving me nicknames!"

I release an exasperated sigh.

"Why? It annoys you. You being annoyed makes me happy. Why stop?"

"Just answer my question. I need to leave this car. It reaks of Aiden, so I can barely breathe."

I gag for extra measure. It did smell like him. Aiden had one perfume. He never switches, and I've known him for nearly half a decade. It's Baccarat Rouge. Not like I care, but the fragrance is divine.

"Who told you that? Works stopped because of the project?"

"My father."

I spit out.

"How cute? It must be nice. My work doesn't stop. I have a few papers to file, and while we're inside, we can discuss game plans. Travel and all of that. I'll be done as quickly as I can, and then we can discuss."

"Wait a minute. You came to Bella's at eight am, shoving me off my beauty sleep, yelling about how unprofessional it was, how we needed to get to work, and all this time it was you who had something to do? Why the fuck am I even here?"

He smirks and then unlocks the door.

"You are here because I brought you here. I brought you here because I can do whatever the hell I want."

He clicks his tongue and then hops out of his car, shutting the door behind him and then strolling into the company.

Damn him. Damn him to hell where he was made.

****

"Took you long enough."

He muses, tucking the document into the drawer and closing it.

"What are you doing? You said soon. It's been half an hour."

"It's not my fault you choose to sit in the car like some weirdo."

"No, I choose the safe option of putting distance between us. We function better apart."

"Such a crude conclusion considering you haven't tried working with me."

He locked his gaze on mine for a few seconds and then picked up an A4 paper.

"And what's that?"

"None of your business."

He snaps.

"Another Aiden Smith nerve. I should make it a challenge to strike one every day."

He rolled his eyes and then continued inspecting the paper.

I trailed towards his desk, overwhelmed by curiosity. I should know what's on that paper. It's only right since he sticks his nose into my business.

"What are you doing?"

He furrowed his brows, but I was close enough to peak.

"What's this?"

I snatched it, checking the design. It's a house. Not just a sketch, but it's detailed. One-bedroom. One kitchen. Even the bathroom. It's flawless.

"It's one of the designs for a group presentation. I'm the team leader."

He cleared his throat. Suspicious.

"Give it back before you ruin it. Perfection, remember."

"I doubt it's yours; someone else probably designed it, so following your conclusion, how can it be perfect?"

He bites his lips but says nothing.

"Oh, look, he can shut up."

I rolled mine, holding onto the piece of paper. You've got to love artists. This is beautiful. I doubt he'd even let me take a picture. I'd like to have this framed.

"Aiden."

An older voice boomed, then pushed the door and walked in.

I know him. Grant Smith. CEO. Aiden's father. His net worth is a triple of mine.

"Layla Dean."

He acknowledges my presence. I shift a few spaces from Aiden and then move forward to greet him. Clutching the design in my left hand, I shook his hand with my right.

"I see you and my son are getting a head start on the entire thing. It's good to know he'll take this seriously."

I hear a snort behind me.

"May I see that?"

I turn to Aiden, and his eyes grow twice their normal size. His father is referring to the design. I step back and then hand it over.

"This is good. The internals could use work, but it's good."

Huh? Still looking at Aiden, I searched his features before finally turning to his father. Is he scolding Aiden for someone else's work?

"I'll get on another and have it turned in before the end of the week."

Aiden speaks, but it's not his usual mocking or a taunting tone. It's a mixture of professional yet gruff, maybe even sarcastic. It sounds like me speaking to my father.

I scanned Mr Smith. He's tall, like Aiden. 6 ft 1 Wearing a black suit, they even have the same body built, although he has blonde hair, so I guess Aiden took after his mother. Grant Smith is still springing a clean face and attractive eyes for a man in his late forties.

Wait—

"Great. Make sure the lines are better."

He folded the design and then pressed it onto my palm.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Dean."

This time, he picked up my hand and gently kissed the top before leaving.

Unscrambling the paper, I checked the design again and then noticed the watermark at the bottom.

*A*

A, as in Aiden?

"Did you design this?"

"Yes."

He muttered, strutted towards me, snatched it, and then ripped it to shreds. Then, he tossed the leftovers into the bin.

"Why did you do that? It was perfect."

"No, it wasn't, but the next one will be. Let's go. My work here is done."

He says coldly, grabbing his cell phone and then exiting his office without feedback from me.

Aiden Smith can design. He's good with a pencil. He can draw. How am I just realising this? Why didn't he say so directly when I asked the first time?

I stand there in shock, scan the entirety of the room, and then pick up my bag and exit as well.

****