Nicholas Carmichael is the heir to Carmichael Estates, one of the leading real estate companies in the world. Unlike other companies that rival their competition, the Carmichaels are very good friends with their competition. The Bardots of Bradot Pr...
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“Okay, so would you say you're a caller or texter?”
“What?” Nicholas throws me a look before focusing back on the road ahead.
“I'm tryna make our road trip fun. So? Caller or texter?” I raise my eyebrows even though he's not looking at me.
“I don't know.” His brows pinch together.
“I'll go first while you remember. I'm a texter. I feel like it's less emotionally draining. And if I don't feel like I'm up to communicating with the person in that moment then they just have to wait until I am in the mood to before they get a reply. Calls are . . . demanding and so too the point and direct and just no.” I shake my head at the thought of calls.
The only person I don't mind being on call with is my mother for obvious reasons. And Wanda. They're the only two I can remember só They're the only ones I'm okay with.
“But isn't the point of every conversation to be direct and to the point? Why would you want a conversation that could be over in three minutes drag into three days?” He sounds like he could never even imagine ignoring messages or calls.
Must be nice to be thriving socially.
I just shrug because I have no reasonable explanation. “It's your turn to answer.”
“If my previous questions didn't already point it out then I'm a caller I guess I could say. But it's not like I don't text either. I do. But for the sake of answering the question, I'd say that I prefer calls to texts because they're to the point and save time. Someone can multi-task but speak on the phone. You can multi-task and text.”
“Fair point.” I hum. “But I'm not won over.” I scoff.
“So you hate calls for the very same reasons that I prefer them for.” He grins as he speaks.
“So it seems. Next question. Do you have one, or should I ask?” I ask him while mentally trying to go through a list of things that I could ask.
“I think I have one,” He taps his pointer finger on the steering wheel. “I think the proper way to ask this question is what color would you be if you were a color?” His tone is unsure. “But I'll switch it up and ask what color would you say I am if I were a color? I don't think I worded that correctly though.”
“If you were a color, you'd be green.” I let him know.
“Green? Why green?” He throws me a confused look before focusing back on the road ahead.
“I don't know how to explain it. But you just remind me of like a milky green matcha if that even makes sense. Like a pastel green. It's just so you.” I babble.
“I remind you of matcha?” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“The color of it. Yes. Now you answer.” I try to move along with the topic so I can hear what color I remind him of.
