[WILLIAM]

⑅

SHE DOESN'T THINK I NOTICE, BUT I DO.

I've been trained to notice everything. Even things her own mind can't comprehend. She does little things after every interaction I have with her, and at first it was fine—people react how they react—but now it's just pissing me off.

When I argue with her, her hand unconsciously flitters up to her neck, where she starts to play with that horrid daisy necklace Percy Kent bought for her. Perhaps it's to remind her that she's got another man in her life, and that I'm not the only one who happens to be 'bothering her'. Maybe it's something different.

Either way, it's pissing me off, because Percy Kent is the reason why I have to stick around her for so long. I'd rather not be reminded of that.

"Wake up," I said, leaning over the sleeping girl.

She'd fallen asleep an hour ago, exhausted from nearly getting shot. I was hesitating on showing any sympathy, but I did anyway. Her fragile being wasn't like mine. I let her nap for a while, but other business was of more importance than self-wallowing.

"No," she mumbled into her pillow groggily.

I frowned. "We're getting you new clothes."

"Why can't we get the ones I already own?"

"It's not safe for you to go back to the hotel. I'm also not leaving you alone."

She yawned, slowly curling up from the mattress as she rubbed her eyes. Her hair was unruly and tangled, falling over her eyes like a bird's nest. Note to self: buy the girl a hairbrush. It's getting pathetic.

"I don't have any money for new clothes," she stated bluntly, blinking up at me. The bottoms of her lids were watering with tired tears, and I pursed my lips at the thought. I don't like it when she cries. It's bloody annoying.

I narrowed my eyes. "I know you don't."

"I'm not asking Percy for money, if that's what you're implying."

"You should know me better than that."

"I don't know you at all."

"Good," I said sharply. It was better that she was oblivious to my own traits, unlike how I was to hers. "My employers provide me with funds. I don't need your boyfriend's stolen money."

I bowed my head, waiting for her to retort to my insult. She tended to be defensive of Percy Kent. To my surprise, she only stood, blinking her eyes at me innocently. I noticed a small smile creep onto the corner of her lips.

"Okay," she said.

And that was it.

There was no bratty banter, or even the slightest sign of annoyance. Just 'Okay'. If I wasn't trained to expect all things unexpected, I might have been taken aback. In truth, I was. Slightly. It only came as a shock that the woman was able to be cooperative.

Then again, this wasn't cooperation, was it? I couldn't expect her to take a nap, and suddenly wake up like the perfect person. No. She wasn't playing along. She was blatantly playing me. Mocking me. Edging me on, because she thought it would be funny to pretend she didn't care about what insults I threw at her.

Fine. If that's how she's going to be, I don't care.

"Door. Now," I said sharply, cocking my head towards the exit, "if you want to get new clothes, you better be quick—"

She was walking away before I could finish my sentence.

_

THE TRICKY THING ABOUT BUYING WOMEN CLOTHES, IS THAT THERE ARE A MILLION THINGS THAT GO INTO PLAY.

Is it flattering? Is it comfortable? Is it affordable? Will it be out of style by the end of the month? It's a bloody pain for me, and I'm not the one trying on the clothes. Just another tack onto the list of all the things I've seen Lovey struggle with (and it's barely been two days).

I took her to a department store on the corner of Avenue Montaigne, and shoved her off with an employee so I wouldn't have to hear her mumblings about fabric and shoes. I wouldn't be much help, anyway. I only own two sets of interchangeable clothes for efficiency.

The department store was larger than most in the shopping district, with a large glass chandelier hanging from the heightened ceiling. Racks of designer clothes surrounded the chaise I sat on, their buttoned-eyes staring me down with malicious intent: buy me, buy me, buy me! I was stronger than them. I had nothing to buy for myself.

Seemingly hours later, Lovey came strolling out of the changing rooms with a muddled expression on her face. For a momentary second, I let my eyes glimpse at her attire—a red pencil dress, with a 60s staple trail of white running from her right shoulder to her left hip. Her shoes were cherry-colored, and ruby earrings were pinned to her ears. She looked...nice. Decent. Slightly better than before—but I immediately locked my gaze back onto her eyes.

Watch yourself, Miller. It's against my code of conduct to gaze at my client's physical appearance in a sexual way. Not that it's sexual. That's a harsh term, to be honest. I only mean that I'd rather not get caught looking anywhere below her chin.

"Alright, Creep, what do you think?" She asked, coming to a stop in front of me. I lifted my head so I could still stare at the irises of her eyes. "I like it."

Her eyes didn't sparkle. They were flat like cardboard, almost deadpanned and void of any other emotion. Impressive, really, she'd make a good interrogator if she was smart enough.

"Hello?" She waved her hand in front of my face.

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"I asked you a question."

"The dress is fine."

I thought my response was perfectly adequate, but her lips pursed into a thin line. Eyes. Only look at the eyes. Even though the bright red of her dress is almost blinding to my peripheral vision, I can't glance away for the slightest second. Eyes.

"You can't give me an honest opinion if you won't even look at my dress," she snapped.

Cardboard eyes. "It's not appropriate for me to make comments on your figure."

"I'm asking about the dress, not my figure."

"Just buy the dress, I don't care. "

"Will you drop the act already?" She quipped. Her tone sharpened like the blade of a knife, and it almost felt like she was holding her words against my throat. "I know you're not a polite man, Creep, and it's not as if you haven't fawned over the female body before."

"I wouldn't fawn over you," I scoffed.

"Then look at the damn dress, you sod."

Fine. If she was going to be so adamant about needing my opinion on her clothes, I'd be sure to give her a hell-of-a review.

I slowly broke our gaze, letting my eyes travel towards the neckline of the dress. I made a point to look at every stitch running along her shoulders, every fold of fabric falling against her skin, all the way down to the hemline at the bottom. It barely covered her knees, which had the faintest hint of bruises from her earlier fall.

I didn't care about the dress. She wanted to hear my thoughts on it, but now all I could think about was the way my staring had left goosebumps trailing along her skin. They weren't there before. Did she feel vulnerable letting me look at her? She must know I wasn't really looking at the dress. To hell with the dress.

Looking back up, I noticed her staring down at me. Her eyes were sparkling this time. Not distinctly, but there was something written inside them. I wanted to know what she was thinking. The dress looked nice. On her. It was a bloody boring dress otherwise. Now there's an itching feeling inside of my chest, and it's making me so agitated at that bland outfit, that I was to take it into my hands and completely rip it to—

"Is it too short?" She asked.

Suddenly, that itching feeling washed away. I cleared my throat, locking my gaze onto her eyes again. "No."

"Do you like it?"

"It's fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, it's fine. Just buy it, Lovey."

She rolled her eyes at me, exhlaing throgh her nose and stalking back into the changing rooms. I didn't know what she wanted me to say about it. I thought it was a boring dress, but I wasn't going to tell her that since I knew she liked it. It was strange that she cared to know what I had to think.

Glancing back towards the changing room screens, I felt my mind dip back into the memory of a few minutes before. She had goosebumps—was it out of intimidation? Maybe it's strange to let another man observe you in close proximity when you have a boyfriend. I wouldn't know. I don't do relationships, and I despise anyone who's in one.

Perhaps that's also why I despise Lovey.

For the most part.