Blueprint

P12 - Network

"I know. It's an unpaid internship," I retort with a mischievous smile.

"Cheeky," he points out seriously, narrowing his eyes, entertained by my banter. He shakes his head again, soundlessly, a faint smile appearing on his pink, soft, and distracting lips. He completely leans off the doorway and both of his hands come up to grab my face, palms flat against my heated cheeks.

A cheerful smile now engraved into my face, the appearance of it crinkling my eyes and pinching my cheeks, I giggle and mumble, "Stooop." He squeezes his palms against my cheeks, my lips pouting as a result. The flips of stomach indicate my enchantment with his somewhat rare, private, and adoring gestures. I hoped that he was growing fond of me, and that the gestures and the gifts were his way of displaying that infatuation. I knew I was charmed, far beyond my control now.

He drops his hands from my face, and instead reaches for my hand that was lazily at my side, not the one pressed against the doorway of the bathroom. Taking a few steps back, he urges, "Let me see you."

My eyes widen slightly, and my chest deflates with a quick, sharp exhale as I stammer, "I'm...I'm not ready yet, my shoes —"

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, lowering his eyebrows as he frowns, clearly not believing my excuses. I sigh, sheepishly smiling at the way he beckons me to turn around for him. Barefoot and not nearly prepared for viewing, I let his hand pull me in the direction he chose, spinning with ease in my place. When I'm facing him again, he raises his chin and squints his eyes, his lips spreading thin as he begins to smirk. "You look amazing," he gently avows, bringing the hand that was holding mine up to his lips. With a shy smile, I playfully scoff at his admiration, and move my hand from his.

"I don't have my shoes on yet," I testify softly, looking at him through my lashes.

"Where are they? In one of the fifty bags spread about in my room?" He mocks and I scoff again, causing him to respond with a breathless, silent laugh that is displayed as only a smile on his face. His arms reach out to me once again, pulling me by my waist. I sneak my hands onto the collar of his button up, tugging at either side of his neck. A comically uncontrollable smile tugs at my lips, and I stare at him momentarily, admiring him, aware of how I constantly can't help but distractedly gaze in the company of the green in his watchful eyes.

More seriously, then, I boldly ask him, "Why are you being so kind to me?"

He looks at me with absolutely no reaction. It should be reassuring that he didn't even blink at my question, nor seemed visibly concerned as to why I was asking it. Maybe the steadiness and the confidence of his demeanor would relax some, but for me, it did no such thing. He was so collected when I asked him about anything regarding me, as if he had no doubts. He was readily available to respond to my concerns and avow his undeniably assertive claims.

"I thought that was clear," he responds lowly, observing me carefully. I let go of the collar of his button up, hands slipping down past his chest, rustling the soft fabric, and my fingertips gliding past a few buttons until I'm right above the middle region of his torso. "I'm interested in you. I like you, if that's the simplistic version of my confession you were looking for," he candidly uttered. "This, this kindness of mine...it's not something I waste."

Feeling more comfortable with the extension of his declared admiration for me, I press, "What could you possibly find interesting about your twenty-year-old intern with big boobs and an obsessive mother? Who's also one of your current clients?"

He huffs, lowering his eyebrows at me disapprovingly before carefully squeezing my waist as retaliation. "Why are you interrogating me again?"

"There you go again," I whispered. "I'm not interrogating you...I just...I can't accept all these gifts. I'm staying in your home. And...I feel guilty about using your money, honestly, I feel dirty," I ranted.