ELOISE
That guy—what's his name again?
George?
Yeah. George.
He must be clinically insane to think I would ever stoop low enough to give him my number. What does he take me for? A cheap hog? Please. Why is he so obsessed with being friends with me?
I don't like him. I don't want to know him.
Is it now a crime to say you don't feel like sharing your number? Because this guy… this guy is a full-time psychopath. He acts like the world should bend simply because he snapped his fingers. But I, Eloise Ruby Ayomide, will show him I am not — and will never be — his type. Not in this world. Not in the next. Not even in the one after that.
Work today was a bit stressful. Yesterday was worse. My brother had me working like a slave until I went home late, exhausted, and painfully hungry.
Today, I squeezed out a little time to breathe. I didn't feel like eating — very unlike me. I'm a foodie, and somehow still petite. Magic, I guess. I just needed something warm or something liquor-leaning to wash down my mood.
Starbucks isn't far from the office, so I walked down, grabbed a cappuccino, and found a quiet corner to enjoy myself.
I had barely taken two peaceful sips, scrolling through an email, when a voice I had not prayed to hear decided to materialize from thin air.
"Well, well… fate has excellent taste in coffee. Imagine finding you here."
JESUS. Why?
Why does it always happen the exact moment I think I'm finally free?
I didn't look up immediately. I removed my straw slowly.
"You again? Don't tell me you followed me."
God forbid. Because if he did, I'm filing a report.
"Followed you?" He sounded amused — too amused. Then he slid into the only empty seat like he owned the entire place. "No, I wouldn't dare. Though if I had known you'd be here, I'd have arrived sooner."
Somebody please tell him to get lost.
What is he doing here?
What does he want from me?
"That sounds exactly like stalking," I said flatly.
If he thinks he can sweet-talk me into giving him my number, he must be dumb. Double dumb.
"No, no. Stalking is hiding in shadows," he grinned. "I prefer walking straight up and saying hello."
"Whatever you call it, it's irritating."
His ocean eyes dropped to my cup.
"Then let me irritate you over a cappuccino. My treat."
Why is he using my words to form his own?
"Hello? I can pay for my own coffee. Duh."
Who needs his money?
Does he think I'm poor?
My father is top ten on Forbes. If he's curious, he should go ask Google.
He leaned back, studying me like I was a museum piece.
"I've no doubt. But humor me — call it interest on the debt you owe me for rescuing you."
When did I ever owe him?
"I never asked you to rescue me."
He placed a hand dramatically on his chest.
"So I should have left you at the accident scene? Cold. Very cold."
"You're impossible," I muttered, sipping my cappuccino.
"Not impossible," he said lightly. "Just hopelessly interested."
Interested in what?
There is nothing in me he should be interested in. And I certainly didn't come here to spend my alone time talking to… him.
"And still not getting my number." I needed to be clear.
He laughed — the type of laugh that said he could take it from me by force if he wanted to.
"You wound me. At least let me guess it? Seven digits, starts with—"
"Stop."
He chuckled. "Fine. Tomorrow then. Or the next day. You'll give in eventually."
Says who?
This man is delusional.
"Are you crazy? Insane? Or accidentally stupid?" I asked, probably louder than necessary. Like I care. "Do you think I'm just some girl you corner and flirt with until she melts into your bed? You must be sick if you think sweet talk will work on me."
His lips twitched — entertained.
"You amuse me, Eloise. I think this fight you put up creates a bond of deep friendship."
"Oh really?" I almost laughed. "You think I'll get tired of fighting you? The only time I'll resign is when you stop pestering me. Leave me alone. What is your problem, George?"
It was the first time I had ever said his name out loud.
He blinked, surprised.
Honestly, I shocked myself too.
"Nice," he said with a cheeky grin. "I like you already."
Lord, why.
I groaned and rubbed my temple.
"When did it become a crime to say no to a guy who can't stop following me like a fool?"
"Do me the honor and give me your number. I'm a good fellow. Trust me—"
"Well, I don't trust you, George. And I never will. I don't like you, and whatever little contemplation I had has been cut off. All I feel for you now is hatred. Nothing else."
He made a fake wounded face.
"Come on, angel. I'm not a bad person. Just give me a chance. Try me."
Persistent demon.
"Please don't call me sweet names. I'm not a commodity sweet talk can buy."
He leaned closer, elbows on the table — and I instantly leaned back. His presence alone was magnetic and irritating.
"What are you running from that you can't spare me one chance?" he asked quietly.
Why did he switch tone?
"I know what men want. When you people are this persistent, it's always something."
"Yes," he nodded. "And that something is your number."
Still my number.
Always my number.
I smirked.
"Well, George. Keep dreaming. It's something you'll never, ever, ever have."
I grabbed my bag and stood up.
He snorted.
"Running away already? You haven't even finished your cappuccino."
"Just looking at your face made me lose the taste."
Without waiting for whatever nonsense he planned to say next, I pushed the door open and walked out.
I.
Hate.
Nonsense. (Edited)
Chapter 8 — Tapestry of Lives: No Escape for the Uncontrollable Heiress
That guy—what's his name again?
George?
Yeah. George.
He must be clinically insane to think I would ever stoop low enough to give him my number. What does he take me for? A cheap hog? Please. Why is he so obsessed with being friends with me?
I don't like him. I don't want to know him.
Is it now a crime to say you don't feel like sharing your number? Because this guy… this guy is a full-time psychopath. He acts like the world should bend simply because he snapped his fingers. But I, Eloise Ruby Ayomide, will show him I am not — and will never be — his type. Not in this world. Not in the next. Not even in the one after that.
Work today was a bit stressful. Yesterday was worse. My brother had me working like a slave until I went home late, exhausted, and painfully hungry.
Today, I squeezed out a little time to breathe. I didn't feel like eating — very unlike me. I'm a foodie, and somehow still petite. Magic, I guess. I just needed something warm or something liquor-leaning to wash down my mood.
Starbucks isn't far from the office, so I walked down, grabbed a cappuccino, and found a quiet corner to enjoy myself.
I had barely taken two peaceful sips, scrolling through an email, when a voice I had not prayed to hear decided to materialize from thin air.
"Well, well… fate has excellent taste in coffee. Imagine finding you here."
JESUS. Why?
Why does it always happen the exact moment I think I'm finally free?
I didn't look up immediately. I removed my straw slowly.
"You again? Don't tell me you followed me."
God forbid. Because if he did, I'm filing a report.
"Followed you?" He sounded amused — too amused. Then he slid into the only empty seat like he owned the entire place. "No, I wouldn't dare. Though if I had known you'd be here, I'd have arrived sooner."
Somebody please tell him to get lost.
What is he doing here?
What does he want from me?
"That sounds exactly like stalking," I said flatly.
If he thinks he can sweet-talk me into giving him my number, he must be dumb. Double dumb.
"No, no. Stalking is hiding in shadows," he grinned. "I prefer walking straight up and saying hello."
"Whatever you call it, it's irritating."
His ocean eyes dropped to my cup.
"Then let me irritate you over a cappuccino. My treat."
Why is he using my words to form his own?
"Hello? I can pay for my own coffee. Duh."
Who needs his money?
Does he think I'm poor?
My father is top ten on Forbes. If he's curious, he should go ask Google.
He leaned back, studying me like I was a museum piece.
"I've no doubt. But humor me — call it interest on the debt you owe me for rescuing you."
When did I ever owe him?
"I never asked you to rescue me."
He placed a hand dramatically on his chest.
"So I should have left you at the accident scene? Cold. Very cold."
"You're impossible," I muttered, sipping my cappuccino.
"Not impossible," he said lightly. "Just hopelessly interested."
Interested in what?
There is nothing in me he should be interested in. And I certainly didn't come here to spend my alone time talking to… him.
"And still not getting my number." I needed to be clear.
He laughed — the type of laugh that said he could take it from me by force if he wanted to.
"You wound me. At least let me guess it? Seven digits, starts with—"
"Stop."
He chuckled. "Fine. Tomorrow then. Or the next day. You'll give in eventually."
Says who?
This man is delusional.
"Are you crazy? Insane? Or accidentally stupid?" I asked, probably louder than necessary. Like I care. "Do you think I'm just some girl you corner and flirt with until she melts into your bed? You must be sick if you think sweet talk will work on me."
His lips twitched — entertained.
"You amuse me, Eloise. I think this fight you put up creates a bond of deep friendship."
"Oh really?" I almost laughed. "You think I'll get tired of fighting you? The only time I'll resign is when you stop pestering me. Leave me alone. What is your problem, George?"
It was the first time I had ever said his name out loud.
He blinked, surprised.
Honestly, I shocked myself too.
"Nice," he said with a cheeky grin. "I like you already."
Lord, why.
I groaned and rubbed my temple.
"When did it become a crime to say no to a guy who can't stop following me like a fool?"
"Do me the honor and give me your number. I'm a good fellow. Trust me—"
"Well, I don't trust you, George. And I never will. I don't like you, and whatever little contemplation I had has been cut off. All I feel for you now is hatred. Nothing else."
He made a fake wounded face.
"Come on, angel. I'm not a bad person. Just give me a chance. Try me."
Persistent demon.
"Please don't call me sweet names. I'm not a commodity sweet talk can buy."
He leaned closer, elbows on the table — and I instantly leaned back. His presence alone was magnetic and irritating.
"What are you running from that you can't spare me one chance?" he asked quietly.
Why did he switch tone?
"I know what men want. When you people are this persistent, it's always something."
"Yes," he nodded. "And that something is your number."
Still my number.
Always my number.
I smirked.
"Well, George. Keep dreaming. It's something you'll never, ever, ever have."
I grabbed my bag and stood up.
He snorted.
"Running away already? You haven't even finished your cappuccino."
"Just looking at your face made me lose the taste."
Without waiting for whatever nonsense he planned to say next, I pushed the door open and walked out.
I.
Hate.
Nonsense.