"Ms Brown. Are you ready?" He asked seriously. Like what? He did not tell me that we were travelling this early in the morning. I'm not ready at all. Heck, I'm still in bed.
"Uhhh…. We're leaving now? You did not tell me." He did not tell me for real. He never mentioned it, he mentioned a hundred other useless things like how he hated roses (he's quite the romantic isn't he? Facepalms myself) so that I could book an appropriate hotel but never did he mention this.
"Ms Brown, when I say a flight, I thought that the meaning was implied." I wanted to say that I was not an alien like him, but it would do no good. All I can do now is hurry and brush and bathe myself at the same time. Mr Wilson, when a private jet is waiting for you, why do you need to hurry, take your time. But no, he wants to leave at 5 in the morning.
"I'm sorry, Mr Wilson, I did not know it was implied. I'm a normal human being." I said sarcastically while I quickly took the clothes I prepared yesterday for the travel.
"Are you saying I'm abnormal?" He sounded offended but curious at the same time. I sighed before saying, "Mr Wilson. You're perfect, and no human is perfect, so you are above humans." I upped my bootlicking skills, as the heiress to the top jewellery company, I never thought such a day would come.
"Ms Brown, I'm coming up." He said and cut the call.
Wait, he was below my apartment? What did he mean by coming up? My house is in such a mess that I'm not even kidding. I can only have so much energy. And most of it is used when dealing with Mr Wilson, I'm not Cinderella to call the mice to help me clean. Instead, with my house's condition. I won't be surprised if mice mistake it for their home (inwardly cries).
I quickly tried to tidy it up as much as I can. It's not like I can tell Mr Wilson to get out and to not enter my house. He was the one who helped me get it, it would be rude of me. There's only so much I can do. The room looked "presentable" now. I mean, why not? All the filth was under my bed. Mr Wilson won't look under my bed. My hair was in a clean bun but now it became loose, I was almost sweating from all the running. As soon as I heard a knock, I opened the door. Mr Wilson looked perfect, literally. He was in a very stylish suit, his hair slicked back, he looked cool though it was old school. He had a serious look on his face (he always looks like someone ruined his birthday or something), which perfectly matched his clothes. He would have looked like a charming prince, but he looks more like a depressing prince. To get all dressed up, when did he get up? Or did he even sleep in the first place. He looked like he wanted to kill someone. The bad part is that he has a little bit of OCD and he's in my very messy room.
"Good morning, Mr Wilson." I said, forcing a bit of happiness. Was I happy to see him? No, no, I was not.
He scanned my appearance and frowned. Obviously, I was not ready while he looked like he was attending a royal ball. "The prince and the pauper" I thought. I was the pauper, obviously. "Ms Brown. No matter how much lazy you are, you should not keep your house untidy." He commented while he came inside. I resisted the urge to kick him out. Lazy? I'm not lazy, you're lazy!
"Thank you. Your advice is so helpful, I wonder why I haven't thought of that myself." I said sarcastically. Look who's talking, the guy who felt as if he accomplished something when he got himself a glass of water.
"Well, not everyone can think like me." He said as he sat on the sofa. No matter if he sat on a secondhand sofa, he looked like a royal. On hearing his words, I glared at him. How shameless can he be? He looked at me with a smirk, as if whatever he said was the truth. It was a waste to argue with the guy, instead getting ready would be more appropriate. I quickly showered and put on a navy blue blouse with a black formal pant, paired with a black belt. I left my hair open because it would be a waste to tie it. The moment I enter the plane, I'm sleeping. The plane could crash, but I will sleep. Mr Wilson could be throwing another tantrum for all I care, but I will sleep. After I got ready, I dragged my suitcase out of the bedroom, all packed and ready to go! Mr Wilson did not budge from where he was sitting. He still had the same look on his face, making one wonder if he was a statue.
"Okay, Mr Wilson, I'm all set." My awkward self gave him a thumbs up. What was more embarrassing is that he looked at my thumbs up and frowned.
"Ms Brown, I'm hungry," he said with a solemn expression. Oh no, not this again, I shivered at the thought.
"We'll eat at the airport." I suggested. Humph! Does he think I'm a cook? Why should I cook for him? This was not included in the job description at all!
"No," he replied in such a short sentence that it angered me. Oh, I get it! He came to my apartment intending to have me cook for him all along, this damn guy. I will not cook for you with that attitude, you know what, this lady here will personally make you cook. Hee-hee.
"Mr Wilson, I cannot cook for two in such a short time. It would be best if you help me. I insist." While saying the 'I insist,' part, I gave him a psycho smile that definitely made him concerned.
"Ms Brown, how can you expect that a very important and noble person like me cook?" he said with that same serious face. Is he saying that I'm not an important person?! This guy is getting on my nerves.
"I don't give a damn about how important and noble you are. Here take this," I threw an apron at his face and to my joy, it did hit his face. Mr Wilson looked angry because I threw an apron at him, either that or because the apron hit his 'beautiful' face. Did I regret throwing an apron at him? No, I did not. He totally deserved it.
Mr Wilson, luckily, did not complain much. He wore the apron and obediently followed me into the kitchen. I wonder how this guy is going to help me with that suit on.
"What should I do?" He asked me gently. I thought about what I wanted to cook, there's the classic toast or I could make oatmeal. I don't think Mr Wilson ate such kinds of food before. Oh yes, I could make a fruit sauce to go with toasted bread and some oatmeal porridge. Now that's a wholesome breakfast. I tossed two apples at Mr Wilson and asked him to peel and cut them, he looked at me as if I was speaking a different language. I sighed to myself.
I went over to where Mr Wilson was standing. He had a knife in one hand and a peeler in another. He was as confused as me when I got to know landline phones were a thing. By the time I was born, all of those were replaced. You can't blame a girl for saying 'What the hell is that?' when her mom was trying to buy an antique phone in an auction. That did earn me a few dirty glances from the buyers, I must say. That 6 foot tall guy was so intruding, he was like one of those things you refuse to throw out or give away. You randomly place it somewhere and it blocks your path, and you hit your toe against it. I took the peeler in his hands and showed him what to do with it. With his eyes widened in surprise he looked at me, he almost looked like an innocent soul, dear god. He started peeling it with a lot of concentration. I must say he learns fast. After noticing how the peels made a mess, he peeled the second apple in a spiral so that there was only one long peel and not many smaller ones. I proceeded to make applesauce, which could be eaten with toast, while Mr Wilson sat on the sofa with the apron on, checking himself out from time to time.
He seemed to like the feel of it. He kept checking himself out in the mirror. I looked at him and smiled. When he was not troublesome, he was actually cute. As soon as the bread sprung out of the toaster, Mr Wilson got up from the sofa and came to me with anticipation clearly written on his face. Before serving the toast I warned him that it would be hot, but the egoistic person he is, did not listen to me. Instead, he got his mouth burned while he attempted to breathe out to cool the piece in his mouth. Now, that was a funny sight. He glared at me because I laughed. If you don't want me to laugh, don't make a fool out of yourself in front of me. After we ate, it had become 6:30 a.m. I dragged my suitcase out, Mr Wilson did not offer help. That ungrateful guy. I got into his luxurious car and waited for him to drive. He was out attending a call.
Seeing his car reminded of my car back at home, oh how I missed my Lamborghini. Luke probably is using my car right now. (Luke: I am, so what? What can you do, Lia? Me: Screw you)
Soon after, Mr Wilson got in and we drove to the airport. I observed black clouds hovering in the sky, for sure it's going to rain. And it did.
Since it was raining heavily, the runway was closed and so we were stuck at the airport.
The thing about Mr Wilson is that he rarely gets infuriated, but when he is infuriated, he is hella annoying. As if he was not annoying when he was his regular self. Let me explain, Mr Wilson sucks at jokes and when he tries, it's just sad. When Mr Wilson is angry, he becomes sarcastic, it would be fine if he was sarcastic, but he really sucks at it. Terrible sarcasm. His face darkened on hearing that the flight is delayed, you should have seen the look on his face, it was as if black smoke was coming out of him. He sat down and crossed his feet, and the woman who was sitting next to him immediately left because he was THAT gloomy-looking.