[Editing]
He's the grumpy CEO of the company she works for. The very boss, no one gets enough words with before he pushes them far away. And then Sierra Bloom happens. She's the complete opposite of him, and he hates it. But something about her is w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Storm parks his car in his usual spot at the building's underground parking lot.
With a package of six donuts in my hands, I feel strong enough to get through this day. And it helps to know that Storm wants me to take it easy. That means less work for the same amount of money.
"Do you want one?" I ask, holding the package of donuts out for Storm.
"I don't like donuts." His harsh tone makes a comeback. Not that it ever left. But he sounds a little softer at home than he does on work-property.
"Perfect, more for me." I grin, jumping like a happy little girl towards the elevator that leads up to the entrance floor of the building.
"Are you always this... giggly?" Storm asks, grunting.
I nod enthusiastically. Work makes me happy. I know office jobs are mostly boring, but I love it.
Generally, I love going outside. I haven't gotten to do that a lot when I was younger, so being able to do it now brings me joy.
And work is a safe place. There are cameras everywhere, and someone is constantly walking through every floor. I'm never alone. Never being alone makes me feel safer. More protected.
He gently slides my purse down my shoulder, along my arm. And before I can comment on it, he swings it over his own shoulder. Then Storm reaches out to take my package of donuts, holding it himself.
"What are you doing?" I ask, but my question stays unanswered.
He looks a little funny with my purse swung over his shoulder. He's in all black, except for his dress shirt. And then there's the light pink purse, just hanging down his side. It makes him look less intimidating. Like he actually has feelings and cares. Though, the stupid frown begs to differ.
As we step into the elevator, I try another question. "What's your favourite colour, sir?" Once again, no response. "I like that one, too." Apparently I'm becoming Dora the Explorer now.
I can live with that.
"Do you have a favourite animal?" I try again. But he doesn't answer, again. "I love monkeys. They're adorable. But I love your choice as well."
He grunts. At least I know he's listening.
How does he do this? He is somewhat talkative when he's not at work. He spoke to me all morning, even days before that he tried to speak to me a lot. But now that we're at work, he doesn't open his mouth.
"What's your favourite food?" I ask. I know I won't get an answer, but that only means I get to order my favourite this evening and tell him I thought he named it as his favourite.
"Can I touch you?" he speaks quietly.
"What?"
Before I could press more, his hand comes in contact with my back. Ever so softly, he is holding his hand to my lower back. Storm barely touches me, yet I can feel his hand burning my skin. I'm pretty sure Storm can feel my body tense under his palm
