THE GET-RICH-OR-LITERALLY-DIE-TRYING-PLAN, like most things in my life, falls short.

     Nat had patiently reassured me that, to her knowledge at least, Noel is not planning on suing me. Although I'm pretty sure she only said that because I was two seconds away from throwing myself in front of a flashy Mercedes Benz. And that would probably look bad in front of Mark's family.

     Which means to say, I've been left with all my limbs still attached, but also still dreadfully poor.

     I haven't heard from the frowning man since. The grapevine- Mark- tells me Noel's busy and that's why I haven't seen him around. Extrapolating from the tone of voice Mark used, I'm not under the impression that Noel particularly cares about my totally sincere apology.

     But none of that means anything now. Judging by the terrifying noises coming from outside my door, I'm pretty sure I'm going to die.

     "Vika, it's one in the morning, I swear if this is about your book, I'm going to punch you in the face," Natalya groans through the receiver, sleep thick in her voice in a way that softens the threatening edge.

     I don't have time for unimaginative insults about my novel. This is a matter of life or death.

     "Is Mark with you right now?" I ask, eyes wide and trained on the door. "Yes or no, I need to know."

     "Hmm? Yeah, why? Can I sleep now?" she mumbles, and from what I hear, buries her face into a pillow.

     Ignoring the chill that sparks down my spine, I slowly lift the covers off of my body, goosebumps rising over my skin. I gulp when my bare feet touch the wooden floorboards and the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen. When I gingerly step closer towards the door, the voice from the television gets sharper

     My pulse quickens.

     "There's someone in the house," I whisper harshly into the phone. "Or something."

     "You're overreacting, I'm sure it's just the cat."

     I narrow my eyes, warily grasping the doorknob. Flickers of masked murderers and vengeful spirits cross my mind. "I'm sorry, last time I checked, cats can't turn on televisions, so there is clearly an intruder who wants to murder me and they're inside the house."

     Nat yawns. "Cool, can I hang up now?"

     "No!" I gasp, horrified. "Does my death mean nothing to you?"

     "At one in the morning, no, not really."

     My face drops. "All right, fine, just stay on the phone with me while I check it out. And make sure you're ready to call 911 if anything happens, okay? I'm serious. Promise."

     I roll my eyes as she makes another noncommittal hum of confirmation, and my ears adjust back to the voices on the other side of the door. I'm not sure what kind of murderer would go through the trouble of turning on the television, but I'm not in the mood to psychoanalyze some homicidal maniac.

     When I finally push the door open with bated breath, nothing immediately jumps out to murder me. With a hard swallow, I poke my head out into the darkness.

     Shadows touch everything I can see, and from my angle, the living room is just out of view. Other than the distant voices from the television, there's quiet distilled in the air. When I take a cautious step forward, there's still nothing.

     Suspiciously nothing.

      With quick and light steps, I make a detour to the kitchen, hoping not to announce my presence to any would-be murderers. Unfortunately, when I pull open the drawer to arm myself, all that stares back at me are an abundance of blunt spoons. My eyes slide over to the dishwasher that, to my demise, is filled with all the sharp objects in the near vicinity.

     I grab the closest thing to me that has any swinging power whatsoever- a ladle- and courageously trek to the living room.

     When I stick my head around the corner, I'm met with the sight of the television, on, and silhouetting a figure on the couch. As my wide eyes land on the back of the perpetrator's head, my heartbeat trips, and my breath sharpens in a quiet gasp.

     I almost say I told you so to Nat, but then I realize I told you so also means certain death for me, and I quickly shut up.

     I nestle the cellphone between my shoulder and ear, gaining a better, two-handed grip on the ladle. My stomach knots tight, and as I take a few slow steps forward, my pulse thuds in my ears.

     Just as the muted light of the television glints against the metal ladle positioned high in the air, the assailant turns.

     "Christ, what the fuck are you doing?"

     I scream.

      My cellphone tumbles to the ground with a sharp crack, and I jump back, heart leaping up into my throat. Eyes the size of saucers, I look to the familiar man in front of me, dark hair, thick-frames, and all.

     Chest heaving, I slowly lower my weapon. "What are you doing? It's one in the morning!"

     His eyes narrow on the ladle. "Were you about to attack me? With that? That was your plan?"

     He's donned in the usual pressed dress shirt and pants getup that I literally can't imagine him without, Cleo resting peacefully in his lap. The cat barely acknowledges my presence, and Noel continues threading his fingers through her spotted fur as he arches an eyebrow at me.

     "You can't come into people's houses in the middle of the night!" My brows furrow, and I press a hand across my uneven heartbeat. "That's not a normal thing to do! I'm not sure why I have to explain this to you!"

     He fixes me with a sober stare, and a sense of realization seems to cross over his features. "I wanted to come to see Cleopatra after work. Did I wake you? Sorry about that."

     Somehow I'm being engulfed by his painfully earnest face and then I'm the one giving a half-hearted grumble of reassurance that no, it's fine, so, whatever. My eyes fall everywhere but his, and then a thick silence settles over us.

     I slowly reach down to retrieve my abandoned phone, which is thankfully intact. My thumb slides over the glass screen with relief. When I bring it back to my ear and call Nat's name, purposefully turning my body away from Noel, all I receive are quite snores in response.

     "I could have died, Nat. I want you to know that. I could have died."

     She, of course, says nothing back.

     With a tired sigh and a roll of my eyes, I click the phone off and slip it into the pocket of my pink pajama shorts. When I turn back to Noel, he's no longer concerned with my existence.

     His eyes are trained on the television screen and he's still lacing deft fingers through Cleo's fur. With him being painfully overdressed and me being painfully underdressed in a soft blue tank top, I almost feel a pinprick of embarrassment.

      Then I remember I can't worry about any respect being lost when he literally had none for me in the first place.

      And so I collapse on the couch, dropping the ladle beside me. "So, what are we watching?"

     He shoots me a confused glance. "What? You can go to sleep. I said sorry about waking you up. Don't mind me."

     I flash him a bright smile. "I was awake, so you're fine. I usually write in the night anyways," I admit, eyes falling onto the screen and somehow not being surprised at all to find an Australian accent narrating about the depths of the Amazon rain forest, because of course even his TV is educational.

     He blinks, head tilting ever so slightly. "You write?"

     A warmth blossoms in the pit of my stomach at the surprising lack of judgement in his tone. "And you thought I was some lazy freeloader," I say, jabbing an elbow in his direction.

     "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves."

     "Noel!" I gasp, shifting closer to him, which he notes with a narrow of his eyes. "And I thought we were getting to be good friends. After everything we've been through?"

     The dry look he pins me with communicates exactly what he's thinking.

     "Okay, before with the drink- I'll admit, my body may have overreacted slightly, and I'm sorry. But this time, you broke into my house at midnight, so almost attacking you I think is a little justified."

     I cross my arms over my chest, and try to return the same amount of pretension back at him, but it hardly works. His eyebrows alone are on a whole other level.

     "I have a key, I told you," he murmurs under his breath, eyes focusing on the screen.

     "And I have a ladle."

     His gaze drags over to me. "Are you threatening me?"

     "All I'm saying is a heads up would've been nice. I take my self defence very seriously." I shrug.

     "I'm aware."

     A snicker escapes my lips, which I clamp my hands over too late. His eyes are saturated in contempt.

     "Oh come on!" I blurt out through my laughter. "It wasn't even that bad, plus, I was just giving you a reason to take off your shirt and look awfully cool in front of everyone. I actually did you a service."

     He frowns. "I'm not some exhibitionist."

     "Listen, if not for you than for Mark's fifteen-year-old cousin. She'd been eyeing you all morning with hearts in her eyes. I'm giving the people what they want, Noel."

     His lips thin. "I'm also not a sixteen-year-old child."

     "Really? Damn, that's just my type."

     A moment of horror passes over his face.

     "That was a joke!" I reassure him quickly, waving my hands in front of me. "A joke! I promise, I am only into mature, adult men. I'm talking ancient. About as old as your sense of humour."

     He bristles, turning back towards the screen. "I thought Nat said you had to make nice with me."

     I beam at him. "Oh trust me, I'll break you down one way or another. If you haven't noticed, I can be quite charming. And if that doesn't work, I'll bring in the big guns- Thelma and Louise."

     He arches his brow in question.

     A grab my chest, one boob in each hand, and I see his eyes widen.

     "Thelma," I say, shaking my left hand, "and Louise."

     His dark eyes drop to my hands, lingering on the skin under my soft blue tank top, leaving a scorching trail in their path. Something deep in my belly warms at the first sign of Noel being an actual, functioning human being, and not just a meticulously created android. Within the shadows, there's something intense smouldering in those cappuccino eyes.

    "Wanna take a picture, it'll last longer," I say with a smirk digging into my cheek, to which he immediately averts his eyes.

    "I don't care for what you're implying."

    "So you're a boob guy, eh?" I say, delight lacing through my words as I lean in closer to him. "I know, I'm pretty surprised too."

     "There's nothing to be surprised about." His lips press into a thin, exasperated line, face returning to its usual stony countenance.

    Instantly the charged air evaporates, and he's running his fingers over Cleo again, as if it never happened at all.

    I give a shrug. "I just call 'em as I see 'em, Tit Boy."

    "Don't call me that," he snaps, a thorny edge to his voice. "Could you leave?"

     "Got enough material for your spank bank?"

     "I'm going to tell Mark that you're harassing me," he threatens, still refusing to look me in the eye.

    I snort. "Tattle-tale."

    "Can I spend some time with Cleopatra now? I'm trying to relax. Some of us have jobs, if you hadn't realized," he says, nose tilting upwards and shooting me a sharp, sideways glance.

     "Some of us have jobs," I mock him in a bitter soprano, climbing to my feet. There's a subtle complacency written across his face, and I have to patiently remind myself that I am a twenty-four-year-old woman, and not a six-year-old child, and sticking my tongue out is not an appropriate way to communicate with people.

     "You do know what a job is, right?" he asks, an infuriating smugness dripping from his tone.

     I stick my tongue out at him.

     "Cute," he deadpans.

     I pivot on my heel, facing into the darkness with knitted brows and a burning irritation in my gut. "I'm bringing out my lowest-cut tops now, Noel. And my best push-up bras. So good job. You've made me do this. You've started a war, and this is your fault."

     Then I'm stalking back to my room, arms swinging and lips pouting.

     "You're not achieving anything!" he calls out after my retreating figure.

     "What was that? Less clothes? Noel, I mean, if you insist!"

      Despite the whirlwind of racing thoughts that have set up residence in my mind, when I crawl under my comforter, I finally manage to fall into a light sleep. It isn't until an hour later that a restlessness grips me, and with dreary realization, my parched throat calls for water. Still half-asleep, a river of yawns spilling from my lips, I trek towards the kitchen. My eyes unconsciously drift towards the living room.

     The television is still playing, but when I take a curious step inside, Noel's figure is no longer there. I lean over the couch to see him succumbed to sleep, lying peacefully on his side.

     Embracing the opportunity, I lean in to get a better look at the tall man. The usual crease in his forehead has softened, along with the tired shadows of his face. His glasses have been left on the ground. He looks younger without them. The frown has disappeared. It's the calmest I've ever seen him, and I can't help the small smile that finds my face.

     When I grab a blanket to throw over him, I surrender to the temptation to crouch next to the couch. It's the closest we've ever been, and my eyes sweep over his face, drinking in his sharp jawline and thick, dark lashes. Without the furrowed brows, I can't deny that his face is nice to peek at. Unconsciously, my fingers twitch.

     When as I reach out, movement catches the corner of my eye, and I see Cleopatra perched a few feet away. Her green eyes scrutinize me, and I grin, bringing a finger to my lips. As I turn my head, Noel mumbles something in his sleep, and I take it as a sign that I should retreat back to my bed.

     "Cleo, this is our little secret, okay?" I wink.