A Barbie Girl In A Human World

A/N: Newst chapter, yay! Sorry that it's not editted and all, but I am trying to get an editor currently! So please don't be too harsh, plus, I really LOVE this chapter!
*This was edited by @dreamsmadereal*

Delilah

“Partner?” I inquire, looking at Ross who still has a grave expression. His gaze drops to the floor.  I’m frozen solid in my plush, ivory chair, gawking at the dark-haired Jack Simmons who has a smug look plastered across his fawn colored face. I want to go smack that damn smirk right off his beautiful face, but I hold my ground. Jack clearly notes my shock and annoyance (which is strange, considering I’m normally emotionless) and it only makes his smirk grow. He's summoning some emotions in me, which I am not okay with! Can Barbies have emotions? After spending a lengthy amount of time with humans they can, and it's pissing me off that he's evoking so much out of me.

Do I seriously have to work with him? This is foreign to me.  I’ve never had a partner. On Gemini case I worked on alone.  Sure, I had Ross to help me out, but I did everything by myself because I don’t work well with others.

“Yeah.” Jack snorts.

“I don’t do partners." I conclude, talking directly to Ross who sighs in annoyance. He does this when someone complains, but this is the way it goes.

I don’t do partners because I’m not a people person. Actually, no-I’m not a human person. Just because I work with them every day doesn’t mean they don’t aggravate me, because they do. Take Candy for example.  I love her to death, but she’s like a girl on fire. She’s always hopping around, never in one place, and is always acting crazy and childish. I’m more of a serious person I suppose, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have fun. In fact, I have fun when I’m at work (and no, not in that way), but when it comes to business I'm very serious.

“You two are going to be a hell of a group." He mutters.

“No, we’re not going to be partners.  I don’t work with others.”

“He’s going with you, and that’s that.” Ross shrugs.

Sighing in irritation, I take out my gold package of Camel cigarettes. This is probably the only company nowadays that actually has the old-fashioned cigarettes that can slowly kill you. Nowadays, everything is about extending your life. Mine has been long enough.  Whenever I take out a ciggie’ people tend to stare the same way Jack is right now, as I light it and take a drag.

Cigarettes are my addiction- I can’t live without one for more than even an hour.  It doesn't even matter.  They have no effect on my body. I can never be ill, so I’ll never get cancer from these addictive little things that I always crave so much. I live near a drugstore just so I can buy a package (which is weekly to sometimes daily) whenever I need more. If I was human, then I’d be the dumbest person in the world.  But I’m a Barbie, so dying doesn’t apply to me. Of course, no one knows this though.

“Couldn’t you have at least given me someone fun to look at?” I smirk as I dump the ashes of the butt of the burning cigarette onto the gold ash tray that’s on my vanity.

Jack just rolls his eyes as if he expected this. Okay, so I'll admit it. Jack is really fun to look at, but I have no interest in him or anyone else for that matter. Just because I work at a strip club doesn’t mean I’m someone who jumps into bed with someone at every wakening opportunity.

“Like you’re any better.” Jack rolls his eyes.

I have to repress a snort.  I can tell by his smoky eyes that he finds me attractive. It’s no secret that I look flawless. I have the perfect bone structure, the right sized nose, lips that are neither too small nor too big. My twenty-two inch waist is the perfect size and my blond curls are soft and luscious, just like the rest of my body.

Call me conceited, but why lie when it’s truth? I know what I am and I know what I’m not. I’d be lying if I said I am insecure with how I look, because I’m not. I don’t brag about my looks, but I’m not one of those juvenile girls who get compliments and then tell the person they’re stupid or whatever (those girls are stupid.  They know that they're good looking, but they’re too scared to admit it.  Or they know it, but they just want to hear it again for attention).