I spent ten minutes in the bathroom and realized I grabbed wrong clothes for today. Ending up back in my closet, I changed into jeans and a designer blouse when I realized I wasn 't the only one in the closet.
"I should sleep in here more often," Ashar said, laying on the floor, hardly three feet away from me.
"What the hell?!" I yelled at Ashar. Did I really just change in front of him? "You--you--pervert!" I began grabbing my shoes and hitting him with it. "Why didn 't you say something or get out?!"
A sleepy but amused expression stretched across his face.
"Why would I?"
First, my head was killing me. Second, my husband was a pervert who got on my nerves even more. I threw the last of my high heels at him, hearing his laughter in return. How could be so cheerful?
What was so happy about running late?
Finalizing to deal with the moron later, I hurried out of my closet, kicking my shoes and heels his way. Quickly, I gathered all my papers and ran to my car. The driver was already set, waiting for me.
We reached the set in twenty minutes and I could hear the director asking about me.
Roshan had sent plenty of voicemails, texts, etc, but my phone was on silent.
I was in so much trouble.
"Look who 's here," the director said.
"I 'm so sorry--"
He snatched the folder out of my hand, surveying its contents. Roshan gave me pitiful look. Understanding this could be my last day, I waited for the verdict. Fortunately, I did have all the work done, so the director could let this one go.
"Where are the call sheets?" Mr. Osborne asked
"It 's in the folder--" He handed it to me, impatiently. I frowned, taking the file from him and flipping through it. I had redo the call sheets yesterday because of Rosie, so I kne...
... middle of paper ...
...s that supposed to mean?
"Yeah," I muttered and munched on an eclair.
He faced me sidways, turning the TV off.
"Cecily told me about what happened during dinner, today. Don 't worry, Aara and Rosie will behave better in the future."
"I don 't care." Why would I?
He narrowed his eyes at me. "I really want to like you, but you make it difficult."
"Why do you want to like me?" I questioned.
"Because you 're alone."
He didn 't further reason or explain or even bother to. Me being alone was my problem not his. No matter how much he tried, he could never take an important place in my life. He didn 't have to like me. He was a waiter and I was out of his league. I left my unfinished dessert in the plate and stood up. His eyes watched my movements, though they were laced with drowsiness.
"Nothing good about it."
Finally, something to agree on
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