His Pride is Prejudiced

Chapter Thirteen: At Work

Chapter Thirteen

At Work

Since I'm a very nice host, I made my guest a chicken soup.  I brought it to his room and placed it on his nightstand.  I could feel his eyes on me which made me feel awkward that makes me want to leave the room as fast as I could without running.  But, before I could take my fourth step towards the door, he cleared his throat that made all my insides jump.

     I slowly turned and faced him.

     Oh no.  Oh no, no, no, no.  He has got to be kidding me.

     “Well?” he said impatiently.

     “Don’t tell me I have to spoon-feed you,” I said incredibly with an irony of a flat tone.

     He gave me a “what do you think?” look.

     “Don’t you think you’re too old and too—oh, I don’t know,” I mocked in thought.  “Physically okay to have me spoon-feeding you?”  I spun my heels and slammed the door.

     I plopped myself on the couch and joined Haley watch Knight and Day.

     Oh God, Tom Cruise is so hot.

     With her head tilted on the backrest, she looked at me with a teasing smile.  “You’d make a great job at the hotel if you’re thinking of quitting your job at Zing.”

     I looked at her deadpan.

     She tried to hold back her laughter as she went back to the screen and raised her hands in surrender.  “Just saying.”

     After a peaceful moment of me and my best friend, chilling out on the last day of the weekend, Caleb Princely called out from his room.

     “I’m done with the soup!”

     I groaned and forced my butt to get out of the couch.  I barged into his room, walked a few steps closer then placed a hand firmly on my hip.  “Look, just because you’re famous, it doesn’t mean you can treat me like this.”

     He shrugged as he bobbed his head as though considering a thought.  “But you should treat me hospitably ‘cause I'm a guest, right?” he said with a small amount of sarcasm.

     I cringed at the memory of me back at the plane offering him a place to stay.  I still haven’t thought of any descent reason why I took him in.

     “But you should treat me respectfully ‘cause I'm a host, right?” I mimicked his cynicism.

     With palms clutching on the edge of the mattress, he looked up at the ceiling then shot them back to me which almost made me flinch.  “You know, I like the way you stand up for yourself,” he said slyly.  He stood up.  I couldn’t help but notice the way his six-pack flex as he moved.  “And for that,” he took the wooden tray in his hand.  “I’d be glad to do you a favor,” he smiled then, left me alone inside the room.

     “You’re welcome!” his voice rang from outside.

     What?  Is he serious?  Wasn’t that supposed to be my line considering all the things I did for him?

     This guy is officially demented.

     I marched out of the room and found him in the kitchen, swigging a can of Coke.

     “Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” he said.

     I could imagine my face morph into disgust.  “Of course I mind!”