Chapter 7.

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I SUGGEST YOU READ LAST CHAPTER (CHAPTER 6) BEFORE THIS, SINCE I HAVEN'T BEEN UPDATING FOR ALMOST THREE MONTHS; JUST TO REFRESH THE EVENTS PRIOR TO THIS IN YOUR MINDS. ENJOY.

CHAPTER 7.


Placing Montoya's breakfast tray on the table, I sigh in relief. It took every little fighting will inside me to get up this morning and get here. I am still hurt and angry at Montoya for yesterday's event, however I am expected to be professional, and that's what I am going to be. I am not going to let this man control my emotions the slightest bit. He can't hurt me. I will not let him hurt me. 

Suddenly, soft footsteps coming down the stairs interrupts my clouded thoughts. Realizing that the steps definitely comes from uncovered feet, I look up in confusion, only to lock gazes with an almost naked Mr. Montoya, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. My eyes widen in shock as I am paralyzed to the ground, looking at his face showing nothing but confusion and surprise.

"What are you doing here?" He mutters, his last steps down the stairs almost happening in slow motion.

Oh God, what does he mean? Am I fired? Crap, I should never have snapped at him yesterday, smacking the car door leaving him mid-sentence! I am so fired.

"I-I..."

"You what?" he presses, his tone becoming harsher, his voice turning impatient, "what are you doing here?"

"Sir," the word leaves my mouth in a barely audible whisper, and while I struggle to keep stubborn tears from forming in my eyes, I force my mouth to mold words, "I-I... I made breakfast."

His eyebrows furrows as his eyes wanders to the tray on the dining table. His jaw hardens and he breathes out heavily, his eyes closing for a second as if he's trying to compose himself. Or prevent himself from attacking me that very second.

I am so scared, him clenching his hands into fist by his sides makes me grip the end of the table as panic settles in. I don't understand what I did wrong.

"What day is it?" he asks as he reopens his eyes, the forced calmness in his voice making me shiver.

What day is it, Hannah, answer him!

"What day is it?!" He barks, making my body jump in fear.

"F-Friday."

"Haven't they told you that you don't come to my house on Fridays?" he snaps.

Oh my God, nobody told me that.

"N-No..." I stutter, "I swear, sir, nobody told me, I am s-so sorry - "

"Get out."

My feet are glued to the ground as I stare at him in fear, trying to make my mouth apologize to him.

"GET OUT!"

With that I stumble away from the table, grabbing my purse from the counter before I hurry towards the door, my heels clicking against the marble floor unrhytmically.


"Baby, who is it?" I hear a soft, female voice murmur, and just before I slip through the back door of the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of a tall, blonde woman now standing behind Montoya, placing her palm on his shoulder, looking directly at me, wearing nothing but a white shirt owned by none other than Montoya himself.

***


After calling Fiona and hear her apologise to me at least a million times for not telling me, that I am absolutely not showing up at his house on Fridays, I find out that Montoya has texted her, telling her that I can have half of the day off. I only need to come by at four and finish up on some stuff and then leave at about six.

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