He's a gallery curator with a fetish for perfection. No one's ever gotten close to him; how could they? They're never as perfect as the portraits, the sculptures, the art that never changes. Trust did not come easy for him.
Then one day, an intern...
He thought has he turned from his window to look at her face. He looked down at the paper she held out to him, then his eyes snapped right back to her face with a frown as he took the notes.
"Ms. Walters?" He said as he noticed some marks on the notes.
"Yes sir?"
"The paper is basically crushed and smeared with...what exactly is this brown spot?"
He tensed as she walked around his desk and brushed against him as she leaned over to look at the notes he held. He watch her touched her finger to the smudge and with a delicate flick of her tongue she swiped it from her finger.
"Chocolate!" She announced as if she had discovered a secret.
"And what if it had been something other than chocolate?"
"Then I'd be seriously grossed out right now"
"Ms. Walters!"
"Yes?"
Her tone was teasing which caused him to narrow his eyes as he stared back at her.
Up close her delicate fragrance teased his nose, lavender. He took a step back from her.
Thiswomanisgoingtobetrouble.
"Next time I ask you to do something please do not present it in such a disorderly manner"
"I'll do my best not to"
"Good" he said with a quick nod meant to dismiss her. She however didn't seem to get the hint.
"But disorderly and I do go together like spaghetti and meatball"
"As perfection and I go together like toothpaste and a toothbrush"
