CONTRACTED HEARTS

"We need to talk."

Even with the continuous protests, I was dragged out of the event by the one and only Mr. Bugatti.

Once we got to a very secluded area, he let go of me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He turned to me.

"I just wanted to ask if you were okay with all the stunts I pulled within the week?"

"What are you talking about?"

He crossed his arms and looked at me.

I could not help but notice the very beautiful glint in his eyes.

His chiseled jaw, I'd seriously have to move to math class to calculate THAT angle.

How well his black buttoned up long sleeved shirt had hugged his perfectly muscular body.

"My eyes are up here."

I muttered incoherent words and looked up at him.

"Take a picture, it'd last longer."

I scoffed.

The pride.

"What do you want from me?"

I said.

"I heard you lost your job? My condolences."

"Yes I did."

Processing

Processing

Processing

Wait, how does he know that?

As if reading my mind, he smirked.

What's HIS freaking deal with smirking?

"Maybe, I just bought your workplace and your car from you?"

No he did not.

I stared at him in disbelief.

So clearly,

Mr. Bugatti +Mr. Brandon Bartels= Mr Devil.

"You are so heartless... why would you do that, do you know how many lives depended on that job? I depend on that, that's my only chance to ...."

Relax, Clarissa, relax.

"You should have understood when I told you I do not do bit by bit."

"I HATE YOU!"

I said, tears streaming down my face.