Ch 1— melt like a butter.

SAMANTHA

I leaned my back against the door frame, watching my Dad hurriedly pack up the files on his study inside a black briefcase. Today was one of the days my Dad would get an urgent call from an unknown source and hurriedly pack a few things from his office and leave; he would definitely come back after a month or two and I was already used to him being away for a couple of weeks, leaving me alone in our not-so-big house.

For the past 18 years of my life, I didn't know the nature of my Dad's job, he only told me he was working as an agent for an exclusive company and I had always seen him working on tons of files whenever he was around.

That was all I knew.

“Dad,” I called out, moved away from the wall and walked up to him. “Can’t you stay for breakfast before leaving?” I whined, hoping Dad would at least slow down on the packing and have breakfast with me.

I was rather disappointed when Dad didn't spare me a glance. He stretched out his hand, glanced down at his wristwatch and shook his head. “I don't think I have time to waste on breakfast, I'm very sorry, Sam.”

I stumped my foot on the floor, trashing my arms as I realized nothing I said would make my Dad eat breakfast with me.

Don't blame me, I hardly have my father around. He was always out of the city, and whenever he was around, he hardly leave his office.

“How long are you going to be away this time?” I asked, carefully pushing some files to the centre of the table in his room—turned—office before sitting down at the edge of the table.

Dad paused what he was doing, he raised his head to stare at me and I could swear I saw a look I had never seen on his face before; a look of terror.

I opened my mouth to ask him what the look was for but closed my mouth back as I assumed it must be work-related, and anything exclusive should be left exclusive.

“I fear I would be away for quite some time.” he shook his head, and glanced at his wristwatch for the fifth time and I wondered if it was still about his travel or if he was expecting someone, but I doubt it was the latter.

I moved the cup in my hand closer to my mouth and took a light sip from my apple juice. “How many months? Three? Four?” I slowly raised an eyebrow as I watched Dad do the zipper of the briefcase before turning his gaze back at me.

He pressed his lips together, and his one-sided dimple appeared in its place before he exhaled deeply and turned away from me. “More than that,” he said, peeping out of the window.

My jaw dropped and I didn't realise when I yelled, “What? More than four months?” I jumped down from the table in shock, and dropped my precious apple juice on the table before rushing to stand before my father who seemed to be anxiously waiting for someone's arrival.

“What do you mean by you'd be away for more than four months?” I snapped, grabbing my Dad's attention by snapping at him. That was one thing I hardly do and whenever I did it, I tend to grab his attention to myself. “I thought I was going to lose my mind the last time you were away. Staying alone in this big house for four months was the worst months I had ever spent alone, now you're telling me that you would be going for more than four months.”

“That’s why you're not going to be alone this time,” Dad groaned, picked up his jacket off the seat and flung it over his shoulder. “Do you think I would be away for more than eight months; closer to a year and I will leave you all by yourself in this big house?” Dad demanded, slightly raised his eyebrows at me.

My mouth dropped open in shock, not because he said he would be going for more than eight months, but because he said he wouldn't be leaving me alone by myself, for the first time. Who did he hire to stay with me? A nanny or a family member?

Dad had never let anyone stay in our house for more than a night before. Not like we always have people around, but whenever people I barely know came over, they would only stay for a couple of hours before leaving. And their visit never passed them discussing about work and stuff that I found uninterested.

“Who did you hire to stay with me?” I asked, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

Dad chuckled and grabbed his briefcase, staring at me like I had lost my darn mind. “Not staying with you,” he cleared his throat and stopped chuckling when he noticed that I wasn't smiling with him. “You’ll be staying with the Cruz until I come back.”

My eyebrows flew up to my forehead as soon as he said that. Wait, what? Staying with the Cruz, as in staying with Matthew Cruz and his parents who barely stayed in the city?

“I know what you're thinking.” Dad inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, “you barely know the Cruz family, I know.” he added, giving me an apologetic smile. “Mr. Cruz is a good friend of mine, you won't have any problem staying with his family, I can trust him with my life.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I realized Dad didn't understand what I was trying to say. I of course knew the Cruz, we had met once and if anything, Dad used to talk about the family once in a while whenever he didn't have crazy files to work on.

I knew that Mr. Cruz was a great man, but not his son. “Dad you know that Mr. Cruz and his wife barely stayed in the city, you told me that yourself,” I sighed, caressing my temples slowly. “That will make me stay with Matthew.” I half-yelled. Like, who the fuck would leave their adult daughter with a boy like Matthew? My school bad boy and a certified man whore.

“Mr. Cruz's son is one of the kids I could entrust you with. Of course, you must already know him, the both of you attend the same college and I've always known him to be a decent guy and the fact that he's a year older than you means he would take good care of you.” Dad explained, placed a palm on my shoulder and squeezed it gently.

My lips parted and I busted into laughter. Surely, Dad didn't know the real Matthew Cruz, the real bad guy behind that silly good-boy shit he was pulling on for his family that made my father believe Matthew fucking Cruz was a good guy. If anything, Matt was far from been called decent.

“I…” I opened my mouth to expose Matthew Cruz and the danger of staying with him when we both heard a car honk coming from outside of our building.

“That must be him, Mr Cruz's son,” Dad smiled, his smile could melt a rock. “Please go get the door for him.”

I stumped my feet on the ground as I walked out of my father's office, heading downstairs to usher the bad boy Matt into my house.

Standing before the door, I did a cross sign and grabbed the doorknob, twisted the door open to reveal Matthew Cruz, leaning against the wall with his hands dipped inside his pant pocket. His unfortunately cute curly brown hair dripping wet made me assumed he had just had a shower.

The guy before me was beautifully new like I didn't just see him yesterday at the cafeteria, kissing the hell out of his monthly favourite girl, Natasha. He was well-manicured, smelled like a freshly baked cake that was just out of the oven, ready to be savour…

“Hello?” Matthew groaned, bringing me out of my disgraceful thoughts. I could hear his voice in my stomach which made my inside melt like butter.

“H—Hi.” I gulped down nothing, my voice shook nervously and I hated how stupid I had just presented myself before my crush.