The Matchmaker

Chapter 3

"Well for one, I happen to think you do have eggs considering the smell of cake coming from your apartment. And I also think you could have told me that the laundry room was out of service today."

Scrunching my eyebrows together, I give him a look of disbelief. What do I look like, the building owner? Also, how dare he try to get at my eggs designated for my own personal baking purposes.

Smirking, he takes a step forward and I take one back."For another reason, I could think of a million ways to wipe the corners of your mouth." 

Glancing at the mug in my hand I become acutely aware of the warm substance all over my mouth and ungracefully swipe at it. 

His eyes narrow and I look back horrified at the proximity between us, "Um, would you mind moving please? See, this is a door which means you can enter and also exit, especially if you're about to hurl gross comments like that," I replied in a clipped manner, smiling with forged sweetness.

Grinning, the good looking idiot has the nerve to chuckle before shaking his head, "But we're already inside your apartment and I meant a napkin, you can wipe your mouth clean with a napkin. Do you even realise you just wiped the corner of your mouth that's covered in chocolate with a white shirtsleeve?"

My eyes widen as I see the door shut soundly behind him, the room feeling darker. Hot breaths fan my face making the hairs on my neck stand up and the heat rushing to my face, my heart thudding in my chest. Oh god, the humiliation...oh god, my shirt! Oh god that stain!

What in the world is happening to me? 

"Damn, I knew it!" And just like that, he's no longer looming over me as he scans my apartment with a keen eye.

"I'm sorry?" I'm still dumbfounded by the entire ordeal while he acts as if nothing ever happened.

"Don't you have a thermostat?" He asked irritably, looking all around for it.

"Of course I do, everyone does."

"Then it has to be reading negative eighty degrees celsius. It's like a Tundra in here!"

Shrugging my shoulders, I place the mug on my desk and quickly minimise my report on my next client while sneakily shoving a few folders laying out, underneath a stack of printing paper.

Zander Nolan was the last person I wanted to be discovering my secret. 

"I knew there had to be a reason for you to be dressing like that." 

Scoffing, I roll my eyes and sit on the couch. Who did he think he was, mocking my fashion sense and my freezing cold apartment? The fashion police? "Look here neighbour, it's rude to just waltz in here and voice your opinions as you please. I'm sure your mother taught you manners so if you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave."

A sly grin forms on his face and I only blink, waiting for him to retort or do as I've asked. 

"No, not until you give me what I want."

"I told you, I don't have any eggs. Brown or white."

I don't even notice that he's moved from turning the thermostat up to standing right before me.

"Not that, I'll be frank. I need your help," He said seriously, all light humour gone while the lines that crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, become smoothly hardened.

Ah so there it was, there's always a hidden agenda or motive. I'm peering up at him suspiciously, his overly familiar demeanour making more sense as time lapses. This guy either has no sense of space or the concept is so lost on him that he treats everyone too casually.