(Rooh's point of view)
It's been half an hour and Mr. Lazyass has still not showed up. No wonder artists are considered brats. I clearly mentioned the time and place for our meeting in the mail I sent him this morning. First, he takes 2 hours to reply to that mail and now this. I'm seriously giving up on these two. Both the author and the cover guy are impossible to deal with. Sorry to burst your bubble but a book will not publish itself and neither will the editor alone be able to do everything. I internally roll my eyes at his tardiness. If he is waiting for a written invitation then I should remind him that he is not getting one. Oh wait! I've already given him a written invitation in the form of a mail. That prick.
Mr. Hastings,
I believe you have the necessary drafts for the cover of the story I sent you last week, for our meeting tomorrow. I had a chat with Miss Heather earlier this morning and she insisted we meet at a café named 'The Sweet Palace' located on 4th Avenue, Green Street at 11 this morning. I just wanted to make sure, if that's okay with you.
I am sorry for such short notice for the meeting. Miss Heather has other engagements late in the evening and she wanted to see the covers for herself too. She will be joining us for a while.
When you arrive there, you can just go to the reception and ask for a Miss Kashyap. I'll be there five minutes before, just for good measures.
Do let me know about your availability.
Regards,
R. Kashyap,
Editor,
Constance Publishing.
Just when I'm contemplating to e-mail Miss Heather about the missing cover guy case, I see the guy from Saturday approach the reception. He is rocking a black t-shirt with a pair of black jeans and brown doc martens, looking as delicious as ever. And I think I stop breathing for a second. How can one look this good? Stop drooling, Rooh.
I try to hide my face from the book in my hand, before he notices me ogling his behind. I don't know why, but the sight of him, here, in all his glory, excites and terrifies me at the same time. When I see him turning in my direction, I freeze.
He comes and stands near the chair opposite to mine, clears his throat and speaks in that American accent of his, "Umm…. Miss Kashyap?"
This cannot be it. No, God can't be this cruel to me. This universe has a very ugly way of dealing with me. Why? He can't be the lazy painter. Can he? Any chance the ground can swallow me now. No? Ok. I curse a long string of cuss to whoever is listening to me and remove the book from my face.
I don't think even he expected to see me here as "Holy fuck!" is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. "Yeah that too." I mumble, more to myself than him.
"Miss Kashyap", I push my hands towards him introducing myself with a shake of hands. No, this was not an excuse to feel his calloused palms again. Ok, maybe it was, but only partially. I was being professional too. Don't look at me with those eyes, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I shrug internally.
"Don't you think we are way past formal greetings 'drunk-birthday-girl-who-left-me-on-my-bed-alone'?" he narrows those silver eyes at me.
"I think we should try and maintain some kind of professionalism Mr. Hastings, for the sake of this project. Miss Kashyap.", I say again, this time with gritted teeth and forcefully take his hand when he thinks it's cool to pull me into his arms. Smells and feels the same.
"Hmmm….. Smells and feels the same. And, can I call you cupcake instead? I happen to love those too."
I pull myself out of his grasp and stop the blush that's threatening to crawl up my neck. What's wrong with me? He just hugged you Rooh, no biggie. Are we forgetting the fact that he called you cupcake and he loves cupcakes, too? Shut up conscience. Not again.
"So, let's see what you've got and we shall go from there? Okay with you Mr. Hastings? And can you please try to be on time from next time?"
"Yes, sure. And since, you completely ignored my question I'll take that as a yes. Right, cupcake? And please call me Luke. Although I'd prefer Mr. Hastings later in the night, if you know what I mean." he wiggles his eyebrows at me. Not a bad idea, if you ask me. But I don't tell that to him, instead I glare at him.
"Now, if you don't mind cupcake, I would like to order something. As I mention in my mail, I missed my alarm and I'm starving." And maybe in was just a figment of my imagination, but I see some kind of animalistic hunger in his eyes at the word 'starving'.
Does he remember how things happened that night? How we ended up at his place? How I ended up in his clothes? Can I ask him the details? Did he search for me when he woke up? Maybe after the meeting he can clear my.... queries. I've been having not so innocent dreams about him. And although I know it's highly
inappropriate, now that we are working on the same my project, I can't help it. His mouth watering abs. That warm body pressed against mine. It's just too much for poor innocent me. Ugh.
"Yes. So Luke, have you got the sketches with you?" "Yeah. Here." He hands me a pile of papers and motions for somebody to come and take our orders. The waitress introduces herself as Tasha and asks for our orders. He throws a questioning glance towards me and I tell her to bring me a hot chococlate. Then, she turns to him with googly eyes and I avert my eyes from the scene in front of me before I get lost in those mesmerizing eyes of his because he is not returning Tasha's look. He is looking at me. The intensity of his gaze is burning a hole through me but I refuse to acknowledge it. Refuse to let him know what I am thinking from the look in my eyes. No matter how amazing those thoughts are.
"A black coffee with the sweetest thing that you have on your menu." I hear his voice. The same voice that calls me cupcake. And a stupid part of me hopes that it's only me, he gives those silly nicknames to. And I know fatal it is.
When she goes away after taking our orders, I look at him, raising my eyebrows with a smile on my face. "I have a massive sweet tooth and I desperately need my first sugar rush. Unless of course you are offering. In which case, I would choose you over anything sweet. So, are you offering?", he smirks. I shake my head and look down at the sketches in my hand.
I start going through them. And I must say he is amazing. These paintings and sketching are so great. I don't even have enough words to describe these. There are many, like the first one has a little girl on a hospital bed, looking at her leg. You can see the pain lingering in the eyes of that little kid, terrified, whether or not she'll be able to ever walk again. There's this another one which has a girl sitting at a wheelchair, looking at all the kids playing in front of her, unable to stand, helpless, but not hopeless.
Although, a specific one caught my attention the most, it's simple, a single huge eye towards the edge of the paper, the background is all black, almost seems like it's hollow. The iris is a rich brown colour. There's a fire burning in the that iris that feel like, I've seen them somewhere. It has something in it, I can't point out what, but it is calling out to me.
"Don't you, like, use some kind of electronic device to create these graphics?" I ask, looking up from the paintings in my hands and see him munching on his chocolate pastry. "Trust a machine with something I love so much? Please. No. I love creating things. And, I have a thing with my hands, or so I've heard. So, I put my talented hands into use and create beautiful things that get me amazing reaction from people." he winks after his little speech.
"Which one do you suggest we go with?", I ask gesturing to the sketches and take a sip from my hot chocolate.
"The eye with fire in it is my personal choice. It tells you so much about the story without actually telling you anything about it. The story is about a girl who makes her way through the world after everything life throws at her, right?" I nod in reply.
"Then, yes, that's the one. It shows that the story is about some girl. But what girl, is still a mystery. The fire shows that the character is passionate about things, but to know those things, the reader has to go through the book and find out. And the last and the most important point, it's intriguing as fuck. You know, personally, I would definitely like to associate myself with someone who is passionate about their goals, about what things they have to achieve, even if the character is only associated with me in my dreams. Passion is a very intense emotion cupcake, and trust me when I say, it's sexy as fuck." He has that look in his eyes, that passionate look that he is talking so much about. Oh, trust me sweetheart, I have already associated myself to someone like that, though only in my dreams.
Our eyes meet, and I swear I feel like there is some kind of electricity running through my spine. I feel his smouldering gaze at me, and this, certainly, is not enough reason for my stupid brain to look somewhere else. Anywhere but his eyes. They hold me captive, at their mercy. He looks at me like, he knows all the dirty thoughts that I've had about him. Like, he knows exactly what I think about him, how I feel when he looks at me like that. Like, he is certain about how desperate I am for his touch. Like, he is undressing me in his mind, sitting here in front of me, in the presence of all these people, with no shame, whatsoever. I feel myself blushing again, and I close my eyes before he consumes me.
"No. I mean, yes. I mean, yeah, so the eye with a fire in it is confirmed, right? I'll just e-mail Miss Heather and ask her of her arrival." I get a husky "Yeah, whatever" in return.
When I open my e-mail, there is already a mail from Miss Heather waiting for me. I open and it and curse under my breath. She cancelled. Of course she'd do that.
"Well, Miss Heather is unavailable. Something about her surprise trip with her boyfriend. Seriously, too much information." I deadpan.
"Does talking about boyfriends make you flustered, Miss Kashyap?" he raises his left eyebrow and continues, "Do you have any?" on seeing my confused face he explains further, "Boyfriend? Do you have any boyfriend cupcake?"
"The fact that whether or not I'm with somebody is none of your business, Mr. Hastings."
"Oh, but the way you were wrapped with me on Saturday night says otherwise cupcake."
"Well, can we forget that night and move past it? Please?" I give him my best puppy eyes.
"No chance in hell." he retorts and gives me a huge grin. I scowl in return and mumble something along the lines of "Yeah, figured that much, I guess." The chortle that I hear after that is music to my ears. I've never heard that rich of a laughter. The tilt of his head, the crinkle in his eyes, the lines that appear at the side of his eyes, it's hypnotising. I tear my eyes away from him and shake my head, sporting a smile of my own.
I call the waitress for the bill and he narrows his eyes and gives me an unimpressed look. "What?" I ask. "You are ending our date." he pouts.
"It's not a date Luke. It was a meeting"
"See, now you are even using past tense. And I would definitely consider having breakfast with a beautiful girl, a date. But for your sake we'll call it whatever you want."
He stops me when I try to open my bag and get my wallet, "Oh, no, you're not paying for our date. My momma taught me better than that."
"It was not a date, Luke."
"Yeah, meeting. Whatever. I don't care. You are just not paying. And before you go all feminist on me, I have all faith in you that you'd be able to buy yourself a cup of hot chocolate but I just want to. Please, let me. I insist. Please." He says sincerely.
"God, fine. Relax. And I was not going to go all feminist on you", I chuckle.
He throws some cash in and we stand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Luke. And you have unreal talent." I give him my hand for a shake. "Likewise. Although, I'd say, our last encounter was rather interesting but I'll take what I get. Beggars can't be choosers, you see." He brings my hands to his lips and kisses it. This guy will be the death of me.
"So, will there be a next time? You mentioned to be on time for the next time. Are you going to mail me the details the next time too or do I get a number? And I promise I'll be there five minutes before, just for good measures. If only I knew what company I had today, I'd be here at the crack of the dawn." He is using my words against me. Asshole.
"There won't be any next time, I'm afraid. And, what would you do with my number? So, no number either." I shrug.
He hands me his card just as we reach the outside of the cafe. "Well, here's my card, in case you change your mind. Until next time cupcake," And with that I see him striding away, sitting on a motorbike, putting on a helmet and driving away. Away from me. And this time I'm the one who is left behind.