𝓞𝓷𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰...
❝I want you baby,❞ the deep whisper slipped past my lips, and she closed her eyes when my nose traced the faint pulse against her neck.
Her scent was deliciously sweet: a clean vanilla custard fusion with an opulent, creamy infle...
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☾• 𝐑 𝐀 𝐑 𝐄 𝐒 𝐙 •☽
I was going insane.
Yes, I really was.
It's been two weeks and Kamaria barely responds to text messages and phone calls.
She's clearly not techno savvy, probably inclined to the old generation methods of communication.
Hence why, I spent most of my morning in the office, drafting her a love letter.
Shit, this was actually stupid.
I cancelled the cursive text once again, threading my hands through my hair. I just wasn't good at this shit, and Google wasn't really helping. If she could figure out my typical phrases, what makes me think she wouldn't know a letter plagiarised from the Internet? She seemed very intelligent and I didn't want to risk my chances.
I was in the middle of starting over when I heard a knock on my door, and pressing the Do Not Disturb button on my digital table, the door reflected red to the person behind it.
I immediately received a text from my personal assistant, Mila, telling me that Yves Nicholson was here.
Shit. I completely forgot.
I even forgot that I was up since two am, reviewing his fifty-five page email and writing my own comments and additions on about eight pages in my business diary.
I pressed a button, the door sliding open and she walked in.
"Mila, why didn't you tell me about my schedule?" I asked her without looking up, placing my pen down.
"I did, twice, but you didn't respond Sir." She looked flustered, probably from running.
Checking my phone, I raised my brows in realisation. I had swiped the notification away without thinking twice about what it was.
"Damn, I'm sorry. It's just, do you know how to write a, erh, love letter?" I asked her hesitantly, clearly defeated.
I really was a playboy, and she was really pushing my limits. Making me write a letter in this day and age, it was fascinating, and frustrating.
She was so different it actually bothered me. Something as little as a like on a girl's post normally had them panicking and worshipping me, however, she wasn't like the other girls.
But I wasn't one to give up. I never gave up.
"A love letter? You don't know how to write one?" She looked amused.
"Stop that and come help your boss, please. I'm desperate," I handed her my draft, sighing when she hissed in disapproval.
"You know, a woman's body is not the only thing to compliment, right? It might be her eyes, hair, her fashion style, her hardworking nature, anything. Just appreciate something that doesn't involve her curves or whatever, it's getting old. She's probably heard that before." She smirked, taking my pen and making a list on the back.
