Royally Kissed | ✓

38; the missing gift

She shot him a frigid look in the mirror in front of them. But Malcolm didn't seem to notice it. Or, perhaps, he just shrugged it off as most days.

But stilled when his words hung in the air. "Wait," she dramatically paused, the pleasure lacing her tone, "you listen to Nickelback?" His head snapped to her in her peripheral vision and she was sure that her face was all smug now. "Thought you're not the type. Like, I don't know, you seem like you'd only listen to Louis Armstrong while shooting people..."

She couldn't help but chuckle when Malcolm fully turned to her as if appalled at her words.

She shrugged. "I mean, hey, I'm not stereotyping here. When I think about it, it does seem cool to pull the trigger, slow motion, while What A Wonderful World is playing."

"I've been in the service for long enough, Ms Paige," he began sternly, hardly fazed when the elevators paused to let in two girls in business clothes. But when he continued, he grumbled under his breath, "Worked with many people, taught brats a couple of lessons, had broken a prime minister's son's nose−can't say I won't be using crafty ways to teach you a thing or two."

But his words easily tickled her sides; albeit she willed herself not to burst out laughing. At least, not when other people were around. But as soon as the ladies stepped out to the 16th floor, where some of the restaurants and boutique shops were located, Malcolm squared his shoulders and spoke with an emotionless voice this time.

"I do listen to Nickelback."

She lost all of her serious bones and cracked up.

"You're not being so nice right now."

Paige held her hand up and tried to do so, only ever sobering up after a series of tears and several failed attempts in keeping the amusement at bay. "It's not a bad thing, Malcolm. I don't know why it's so amusing to me, though. It's just so cute to imagine someone as...phlegmatic as you sticking his earphones in and bob his head to Nickelback."

"Cute is for ten-year-olds, Ms Paige. Not for me."

"Whatever you say," she said, looking up at the red digitalized numbers−38th floor.

It wasn't long before they reached the 44th, just then Malcolm left her, right when Owen's door started flying open, to help himself with coffee from the vending machine.

It was involuntary−the shivers that raced down her spine and the winding of her fingers around the handle of her bag as she placed it down in front of her like a shy girl; one Owen was so familiar with. His lips curved up into a barely-there smirk when he noticed her bashfulness.

Owen leaned into her to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. And it was so unexpected that she was sure her heart skipped a couple of beats. He lingered there for a moment, and she found herself fluttering her eyes close at the sudden delivery of his scent−he was a coalescence of leathery, woody notes, with a hint of citrus and lavender, all of which reminded her of both fall and winter.

In short, Owen was a portmanteau of all masculinity in the world that made her weak at the knees.

"Good morning," she managed when they broke apart. Her voice was so small that she even thought she couldn't hear her own voice. But Owen turned up an easy smirk. He returned the greeting and closed the door softly behind him.

"Come," he shot his hand out to her. Gingerly, she reached for it and he tugged her to the round table by the middle of his office, positioned close to the large glass window. There were foods laid out on the table but she couldn't help but stare in awe at the scenery of downtown Bradbury, "She's a beauty, isn't she?"