"Goddamn it."

A voice swears as its owner trips over a cardboard box that had come three days back.

He dons an ashen blue sweatshirt and wiping his hair from the shower, he stands before the window that overlooks the garden.

His face, all sharp angles in the sunlight streaming in, glows. His luminous eyes nonchalantly skim over the neatly trimmed garden which was a huge contrast to the unruly bedroom.

He cracks his knuckles together.

'Time for some coffee,' he thinks, as he tosses the damp towel onto the wrinkled bedsheets and jogs out of the room, not before stumbling over the box yet again on his way to the kitchen.

"Fuck!" He curses out loud. The jar containing instant coffee powder was empty. He rubs at the dark circles beneath his eyes and is about to yell for the gardener when he remembers the extra mugs of coffee he chugged down last night while working. He opens the cupboard below the cooktop in hopes of finding a shake or two in his 'emergency stash' but alas, he finds none. Instead, a sealed pack of roasted Jamaican beans mocks him. He closes his eyes and huffs before slamming the door closed in frustration. His eyes drift over to the coffee machine he had ordered six months ago gathering dust next to the cereal rack, that was as of now in need of stocking.

"Damn it!"

For a moment, he contemplates opening the sealed pack of beans and finally inaugurating the coffee machine but the task seems too daunting.

In the meanwhile, his stomach grumbles.

Hissing through clenched teeth, he rakes his fingers through his damp hair and yanks the door of the refrigerator open.

Empty. All the racks are empty. Only a lonely can of tinned sardines, a cube of butter, plump ripe tomatoes and half a loaf of bread beam at him in hope of some company, but he doesn't know what to do with them. He slams the door shut and groans in frustration.

He whips his phone out of the pocket and is about to dial the food delivery service in his neighbourhood when the doorbell at the main gate chimes. Cranky and sleep-deprived, he walks out the door to the main gate without checking the surveillance monitors.

"Who the hell is here now?" He clicks his tongue as he opens the door.

A plump man, who looked like he could be in his early 30s or late 20s, stood there at the gate with a backpack on his shoulder and a pretty smile on his face which made his eyes turn into crescents.

'Pretty?! Since when is a man's smile pretty?! What the fuck... No, it's stupid... Dumb... Idiotic... Too bright... My brain is fried due to a lack of caffeine. That's it... '

"Umm, is this the house of Mr Owen Summers?" The unknown man at the doorstep inquires.

******

I check my phone for the address that the agency had sent me. It hadn't been that difficult for me to find the correct place, considering that it was a posh area.

'Seems like I'm at the correct location.'

My fingers fumble as I thrust the phone back into my pocket. My face burns red at the memory of the picture of the man I am to befriend and deceive. Owen Summers.

'Your twelve-course meal,' my brain supplies unhelpfully. I take deep breaths to calm myself down. I command my brain to shut up since it seemed to be so keen on betraying me.

'Calm down. You're Jon Snow. The sexiest man to walk the realm.' I gulp dryly. 'Fine... Okay, so I am not sexy. But I am charming and loveable. And given a chance, I would make an awesome pillow for someone who needs an eye shut'.

I shake my head to clear my mind. 'You are doing this to keep yourself, Jeff and God know who all the agency might target if you fail, out of harm's way. Pull yourself together, Jon! Pull up your socks and be a man!'

Sucking in a breath, I poke my finger inside the hollow- where the nose should have been- of a formidable-looking tiny skull for a doorbell, hoping fervently that Owen Summers looked like a twelve-course meal due to flattering lighting conditions.

'Come on, he can't be that good looking!'

My treacherous mind stabs me in the back yet again. 'Just admit it. You think he is gorgeous.'

But before I can argue back, the gate swings open a little too violently and a man who looks like he was in his mid-twenties scowls at me.

My jaw almost drops. 'Thank God, I have still retained some muscle control.'

The honey-coloured bangs droop messily on to the man's face, highlighting the sharpness of his features. His eyes which were of the same colour as his hair glare at me as if he wanted to bore holes into my skin.

'Oh my gosh...'

My knees tremble a bit. I can't take my eyes off him.

'Stop looking at him as if you're seeing a guy for the first time in your whole life, you fool!'

Seeing the guy throw a judgemental look, I clear my throat and put on my winning smile. "Umm, is this the house of Mr Owen Summers?"

"Who did you think this house belonged to?"

I am stunned. I hadn't expected Owen to be so rude. But I guess it will be for the best if the man in front of me is a jerk.

"Umm... Well..." I stutter.

"What do you want here?"

"Uh, I -" My smile falters at the harshness in the deep voice. I show my phone to him. "This," I show him the image of the advertisement. "You had put this up, right?"

"Get out."

"W- what?"

"Get the fuck out of here."

"But, Mr Summers, you advertised asking for a cook cum housekeeper! I'm here because of this!"

"I don't see anyone without a prior appointment," Owen barks.

"An appointment?" I repeat and zoom into the advertisement.

'Oh, dear!' I panic internally and bite my lower lip.
"Ah, umm, I'm sorry, Mr Summers, my bad, but please, please see this!" I apologise and shove a few papers into the younger man's hands.

The man who looks like he has walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine seems disgusted as he shakes his head holding the documents I had handed to him.

Well, calling them documents might be a bit of an exaggeration... but in my defence, I didn't have time to prepare before coming here.

Ignoring his fuming expression, I continue to point them out to him.

"Here, Mr Summers, this is the recommendation letter from the HOD of the St. Lazarus Hospital and, see, these are the cafeteria napkins where customers have commented on my work..."

Owen grits his teeth and shoves the papers back into my hands. His eyes blazing, he snaps, "I need someone responsible, who takes his job seriously."

The gate bangs shut, almost on my face.

I let out a squeak as I hop a step back from where he had been standing and adjust the cap on my head. I ring the bell a few times but in vain. The gate doesn't open.

I heave a heavy sigh.

'This man is so rude. It will be a pain in the neck to even live in the same house as him.'

Dread settles like ice in my guts, as I fish out my phone and my eyes land on the last message from 'the agency' as I had come to refer to the senders of the cryptic messages. A shiver runs down my spine.

Unknown: This mission is a top tire. Failure to comply or disclosure will lead to unimaginable consequences.

I dab at the beads of cold sweat along my hairline.

'If I fail to get this job, who will they harm next?'

Images of people whom I had been working with for the past few months flash across my mind. For some unknown reason, the images of Jeff lying deathly still on the hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him keep playing in a loop in my head. I shudder.

"No," I mutter. "I will get this job. I have to. I can't risk anyone else getting assaulted by those maniacs."

I lean myself against the wall and slowly slide down to sit on the floor. I place my bag beside me. Taking the cap off, I run my fingers through my neatly trimmed raven black strands.

"I will stay right here till he relents. I will get this job, come what may."

******

"Dammit!" A pen flies across the room and hits the wall.

"How can someone work without coffee in his system?!" Owen grips at his honey-coloured hair in irritation.

He just couldn't do his work right. Seems like coffee was the only way to save his day. "Now don't tell me that I need to go out and get myself some coffee," he groans. "Oh damn!"

Reluctantly he gets up from the chair and stuffs his wallet into his pocket. He almost stomps out of the room.

While opening the door, he flips out his phone. Half-past noon. He was just on a few slices of cold bread. The entire day had gone to waste. He sighs and looks up only to find the man from earlier sitting with his back propped up against the wall adjacent to the gate, with his arms around himself and dozing.

He hisses through his teeth, steam practically blowing out of his ears.

"Shameless."

******

"Hey, get up! Wake up!"

I jerk awake at the voice shouting in my ears and flail my hands a bit, almost hitting someone in the face.

"Oh, oh, Mr Summers," I yawn. "Hello."

"What the fuck are you still doing here? Didn't I tell you that I'm not hiring you?" Owen bites out, grabbing me by the forearm. "Get up and get moving or I will call the police."

I clench my jaw and force a smile onto my face. Snatching my hand away, I fold my arms across my chest and reply with all the calmness I can muster at that moment, "No, I won't."

"The heck?!"

"You have to give me a chance to prove my worth before you kick me out."

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't want just a cook, but I need a cook cum housekeeper."

"Uh, well..." My smile falters. I had no recommendations for housekeeping.

"Out with you."

"No, wait! Please listen to me, Mr Summers!"

"What the hell do you want now?"

"I agree that I don't have a formal letter of recommendation for that, but Jeff often tells me that since I started staying with him he doesn't miss his mom as much as he used to. I'm good at housekeeping! Please believe me."

The golden eyes narrow at the mention of 'Jeff.' I continue to rant.

"Can you give me a chance to prove my worth? I have nowhere to go. My friend whom I lived with is in a coma."

The blond head tilts slightly probably because it had just become clear who Jeff was.

"I don't need much space. Just a roof over my head and two square meals a day will do. Please, Mr Summers," I give him a doleful look, my eyes shining with hope.

'Please hire me, Owen. I need this to save the lives of people whom I hold dear. Please, God, I'll never ask for anything ever again. Please, I have to get this job, by hook or by crook.'

******

Owen smirks finding the drastic difference between the term 'two square meals' and the man who had demanded them.
He gives the man's plump frame a once over, "You sure it will be enough? It feels like more will be needed to do the trick."

The man laughs gleefully.

'Too bright. His smile is just too bright. Ughh I hate it.'

"If you are worried about that, then I will go on a diet starting from today. But please, Mr Summers, give me a chance to prove myself to you."

His heart flips for no apparenthorrible all, much to his uneasiness.

'What's with that kicked puppy eyes? How... How adorable... NO! I mean abhorrable!'

He could neither believe nor find any reasonable explanation to justify his present actions.

The twelve-course meal once again blames his illogical behaviour on the goddamned coffee.

"Alright, you have one day," he relents, shaking his head inwardly in incredulity.

******

I direct my most charming smile his way, as I haul my backpack on my shoulder and follow Owen back inside.

He leads me to the kitchen. My sharp eyes instantly spot security cameras at the corners of the ceiling.

'Surprising,' I ponder. 'There was a camera at the main entrance too. Who exactly is this guy?'

"Umm, Mr Summers," I begin, but afraid to trigger Owen and squander my golden opportunity to stay and complete the mission, I don't continue.

"What?" Owen looks at me over the shoulder.

I chuckle nervously. "Your house looks lovely. I was wondering about your profession."

Owen spins on his heels to face me, "That's none of your business. Don't bother with things that don't concern you." His honey coloured eyes glared at me.

I gulp and nod quickly. Dabbing at the sweat on my forehead, I find myself unable to hold his gaze and look around, desperately trying to change the subject.

"Uh so, I guess I should get started with making something for you," I bite my bottom lip, thinking.

The pair of honey eyes look both dark and light due to the light coming through the windows. I had already realised at first sight that Owen is a fudging twelve-course meal, but his intent gaze seems to scorch the fact right into my bones.

"Ah yes, Mr Summers, do you have any allergies?"

Owen looks taken aback. I reckon no one else has probably bothered about this detail.
'Good for me. Yay!'

He responds, "Umm, yeah, I am lactose intolerant."

In the meanwhile, I stare in disbelief at the almost empty shelves of the refrigerator.

'Goodness gracious, what does he live on?!'

Hearing the answer, I turn and mask my shock with a grin.

"Mr Summers, this is just so I know how much to make," I start cautiously, "At what time did you have your breakfast and-"

A hand appears in front of my face, a little too close for my comfort and stops me mid-sentence.

"I was on my way out to grab lunch when I saw you. I am hungry as hell. I could eat you!"

My heart somersaults inside my rib cage.

'Wh-what?'

Both the pair of eyes, my dark ones behind the thick-rimmed glasses and his luminous eyes widen and meet for a second before he looks away and clears his throat.

A pained look crosses his features; he pinches the bridge of his nose, "I meant that I could eat a cow." He sighs and looks up. "I am not a cannibal... Mr...?"

"Snow. I am Jon Snow. Well, that's what Jeff...."

"Jon Snow," Owen interjects and huffs. "I am sure there is a very riveting story there, but I don't want to know."

"Thank you for shutting me up. Give me a few minutes, Mr Summers."

"For what?" Owen scowls at my retort.

"To make magic, Mr Summers." I chirp and busy myself, opening and closing cupboards and pull-outs, frantically trying to suppress the blush heating my cheeks.

Even with my back turned towards him, I can feel his eyes on me. My heart stirs and to get away from unacceptable thoughts I occupy myself with exploring the kitchen that could give the one at Lazarus a run for their money. I must look like a kid in the candy store. I must have been a secret agent with a secret love for feeding people.

Moments later, I hear the door slam shut.

I sigh and look at my watch.
"Time to impress."

{Chapter Word Count: 2701 words
Total Word Count:  6627 words}