Blaine Sousa:
A man who doesn't care about others opinions.
Cassandra Harper:
A woman who cares a little too much about what people think of her.
When a turn of events brings two strangers together once more it could be lethal, especially in his lin...
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Half-asleep I hear someone shout my name in an unwelcoming tone.
Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.
"What?" I shout so I don't further piss them off by not answering.
"What the fuck?" I hear Blaine say before the door handle is rattles because trying to open it. "What are you doing in there?" He asks, shocked.
"Sleeping." I say turning over and trying to get comfortable again.
"Why are you sleeping in the closet when there's a perfectly good bed in your room?"
I get up and unlock the door, pissed off that he's woken me up and I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep.
He's dressed in a suit, his hair nicely done and he looks very well put together. I, on the other hand, look the complete opposite. He looks like he's been awake for hours and spent ages getting ready, I've just woken up and you can tell. My eyes that are still adjusting to the light are only half open, my body is still half asleep, my hair is knotty and I can't imagine I look good in these ruffled clothes.
I look at him annoyed. "This door has a lock, the bedroom door doesn't."
"So?"
"So I like to sleep peacefully knowing I'm not going to get murdered in my sleep."
He rolls his eyes. "You're being dramatic."
"You've killed people before, you're in a mafia, it's not that far of a stretch." He gives me a bored look.
"I came to check on you and all I get is attitude, I have half a mind to teach you just how far that attitude will get you."
"You woke me up." I say in defence.
"Good afternoon to you too."
"It's not that late." I say in disbelief.
"It might aswell be." He mubles as he walks back out of my room.
He shuts the door behind him. Of course he does, he clearly wasn't raised in a barn he was probably raised in a mansion.
I take the duvet over my shoulder and clutch the pillow tightly in my hand and carry them from the walk in wadrobe back onto the bed.
I literally have nothing better to do so have to resort to making my bed as entertainment. It takes me all of 10 minutes to get it looking perfect and then I have nothing to do.
A short while later and the bedroom door clicks open, see no lock and anyone can enter.
"Hi puttana, how are you doing?" Fransisco says walking into the room (Bitch)
"What does puttana mean?"
"It's a compliment." Francisco says. I'm not that gullible, it's clearly an insult.
