Melissa admired the first half of his sentence and was irritated by the rest which felt rather pompous of him to say.
"Who the fuck does he think he is?" Melissa thought to herself and without much intention, she let out a scoff which she'd have rather kept to herself.
Bruce was back to the e-magazine on his phone and anything Melissa could have said was not his concern. He was scrolling through the pictures of the most recent Paris Fashion Week and he saw this catalogue as nothing more than Tinder where he swiped in search of some models he had not seen before, or some he found intriguing enough to pursue with lust being his driving force.
Half an hour passed and their orders had arrived, so he locked his phone and picked up his cutlery to bask in his meal. He looked up to Melissa's face who was clearly bored and looked hopelessly at the food before her.
"You know that salad won't eat itself.. nothing ever eats themselves, people do." Bruce said to her with a flirty expression and an even hotter pitch. For Melissa, this experience was all in slow motion as she watched his lusciously carved lips and his stubbles and envied how well they fit on his face.
"Don't you ever feel a little weird about eating it naked?" Melissa asked as she looked at his face.
"Did she just flirt right back?" Bruce thought to himself as he let out a flirty brief laugh and stared more deeply into her eyes.
"I'd like to think there's no better way to eat it than naked."
Melissa had not caught up on the whole conversation being flirty, dirty and wild until she saw his face lighting up and his tongue dancing around his lips while he spoke.
"Oh, no! Melissa, what have you done?" She thought to herself as she searched for a way to end this before it escalated any further. She picked up her fork, gathered a huge load of salad and pushed it into her mouth till she couldn't speak.
Bruce took this as a cue to get back to his food as a smile was still on his cheeks while he chewed.
"Ei menino. I looked around the room for you." Georgina said as she touched Bruce's shoulders and looked right at his face with a smile.
"What is happening?" Melissa thought to herself. "This girl had the body of a model and the voice of an angel and now she is throwing herself at him, too?" She thought to herself, reminding herself about why she didn't stand a chance.
"Hi. Mind if I sit there?" Georgina said to Melissa with an irresistible smile that Melissa cowardly gave into without protesting.
"Sure..I was just leaving." Melissa said as she got up from the chair and held her bag tightly with a disappointed countenance as she was about to walk away.
"You don't have to leave, Melissa." Bruce said to Melissa who courteously waved at him.
"Thank you for dinner. See you at the office tomorrow." Melissa said with all politeness as she left.
"You know you didn't have to do that." Bruce said with a rigid face towards Georgina.
"Hello? You invited me here, darling." Georgina replied sassily as she picked up a salad from Melissa's plate with the fork.
Bruce was irritated by her and he was doing just a decent job at hiding that.
"So, your place or my place?" Georgina asked with her brows raised and her hands sliding under the table, towards the middle of his slightly opened legs.
"Zzrrr, zrrrrr!" The antique alarm clock next to Imelda buzzed repeatedly as she struggled to open her eyes fully, while improvising her fingers towards the clock to shut its mouth.
Imelda lived in a one room apartment which was decorated scantily with vases containing beautiful flowers that hadn't been looked after in a while. The most part of her room was scattered, with paper sheets, clothes and junk food cartons littering the floor and part of the bed she was in.
"Dddddd!" Imelda uttered with her upper teeth gnashing against the ones below. With a grumbling posture, she found her way out of her bedsheets and yawned, running her fingers into her scattered and tangled blonde hair.
She sat down on the chair by the other end of the room and opened her laptop. Imelda was an author, not one of the popular ones, but she considered herself a good writer despite her inability to persuade any editor to give her books a worthy chance.
She unlocked her laptop and with her fingers manoeuvring the cursor, she opened her Gmail address hoping to get the response of the most recent editor she'd submitted her manuscript to.