Episode 7: The Visitor

Episode 7: The Visitor

"Good evening, Miss Quinn." His voice was cold, demeanor stiff and hard to read.

The ability to speak abandoned her.

He was standing in the empty hallway watching her intently. It was like he was being extra observant of the reaction she would give to him spontaneously showing up here.

Her eyes took in all of him in detail, looking like a model in a black suit with a navy blue dress shirt on the inside which stood out like his eyes.

The goody bag in his hand was held awkwardly as he realized she really was sick.

Suddenly she was conscious of the fact that she was wearing sweatpants, un-showered with untamed hair while he was looking like he just came off the runway.

"So you are sick," he acknowledged out loud. "I'm here to check the credibility of the contents in your emails."

"You came here to check if I was lying?" She sputtered in disbelief.

And here she was thinking she had trust issues.

"Can I come in?" He asked boldly, and she couldn't do anything but nod even though the woman really didn't want him to. It was like having the enemy invade her territory—with her permission.

Christopher remained elusive as he entered her apartment. She could practically see his eyes taking in every detail of her place as he walked inside; almost like a robot inputting data. As if he was suddenly aware of her confused and very unsettled expression, his hand outstretched towards her.

She looked down at the brown paper bag in his hand.

"It's soup," he revealed and her brows raised curiously.

"I thought you said you came to check if I was sick or not. What if I had been lying?" She turned away from him as the sensation to sneeze overcame her, and as her face scrunched up awaiting it...nothing came.

Her eyes rolled at the disappointing build up.

He thought it was directed at him.

"I didn't want to come empty-handed regardless." Was his only dry response.

She nodded before accepting his gift. "Well, thanks. I was just about to make some of this before you came so I guess you saved me the trouble."

Politeness always won her over even though all she wanted to do in the moment was grab him by the collar and scream in his face.

Ask him why the hell he would show up at her door with soup, making her heart waver towards him again.

This was a trait she possibly hated the most about a person—indecisiveness.

It seemed Christopher Wells was an expert when it came to it and that riled her up in ways she couldn't vocalize.

"You're welcome," he murmured before indicating to their surroundings. "You have a nice place. It seems a bit too big for the residence of one individual however."

"I don't live alone," she journeyed over to the kitchen, unaware of his eyes boring holes in the back of her head.

"You don't?" His voice sounded strained and her eyes found him instantly.

The look on his face gave nothing away as he watched her place the container of soup in the microwave for three minutes.

As it started she leaned against the counter, placing her hand beneath her chin. Her eyes took him in, intentionally not answering his question, just staring.

"I asked you a question." He snapped like she wanted him to.

She hid the smile that wanted to overtake her face.

His interest in the topic brought a sense of anticipation within her.

"I live with a roommate."

"Male or female?"

Her mouth twitched at that.

She froze, bringing her hand up to casually cover her mouth when his eyes zoomed in on the act.

It was stupid of her to entertain the thought of him probably being jealous of her non-existent love interest but it just couldn't be helped. The desire to get any type of reaction out of him which wasn't preprocessed was becoming an addiction of hers. And maybe it made her say and do the stupidest things but at the end of the day she couldn't help but feel as if it was worth it.

"Male."

His jaw clenched, head cocking slightly to one side. "For how long?"

"I don't think that's any concern of yours, Mr. Wells," she said, positively overbearing. "You did say there wasn't any relationship either of us could have for that to happen."

His eyebrows furrowed unpleasantly at her using his words against him.

"Maybe if we were friends...I would be able to tell you." She said in a sing-song voice then her eyes hardened at the end of her speech.

"But at this moment you're just a colleague. One that came to visit me with a demeaning intent to check whether I'm lying about something simple like the common cold."

His mouth opened but the sound of the microwave going off interrupted him.

She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

He gestured for her to attend to the machine and with a dry smile she gladly did so.

Being consumed by arrogance, it didn't occur to her that she hadn't grabbed the cloth to withdraw it. When she already touched the container it had been so hot it startled her into letting go of it, causing the contents to spill onto the floor with a big splash. She cried out in surprise and her feet hopped away for safety.

In a flash Christopher was by her side, checking her face, arms and legs for any injuries. "Are you okay?" He asked with eyes wild with what was...was that concern?

She was more stunned by that than almost being burnt as her gaze took in that side of him.

It heightened when his hands went and cradled the sides of her face, wiping at a nonexistent smear. Her heartbeat spiked at how intimate all of this was even though he didn't seem aware of it.

His blue eyes blazed at her, his curiosity pouring out of his stare.

His lips were parted, awaiting a response—a confirmation that she was alright. "Are you?"

She nodded, wide eyed and speechless.

He reached and took from the jacket of his suit a pocket square. His hand came up and wiped at her face, the trace of anxiety still lingering in his eyes as he catered to her.

Oh god, please help me, she begged desperately not wanting to fall deeper into this man than she already was.

The handkerchief stopped moving across her face and when his lips twisted wryly that was when she realized her eyes were drawn to his beautiful sculptured mouth.

"Look away, Leslie." He scolded softly and she couldn't help the way her heart flipped at the sound of it.

At that, he stepped away and her body suddenly felt cold. She looked at him in a manner she wished didn't showcase her desire for him. Just in case it did, her gaze flickered down to the mess on the floor and she couldn't help but groan.

"This is going to be hell to clean up."

"I'll do it," he surprised her by offering.

At her expression he felt the need to have a suitable explanation. "I'm the one who brought it in the first place. If I hadn't, we wouldn't have this mess. I can't believe you almost ruined your skin." He appeared upset by the mere thought of the possibility of it before he asked where the bathroom was.

"You don't have to clean—"

"I want to," he cut her off strictly. "It's the least I can do."

She sighed, seeing that he wasn't going to yield. "It's down the hall to the right. There you'll see a mop in the corner."

He nodded before finding his way there.

Leslie leaned back against the counter, her legs finally giving way.

This man was going to be the death of her.

When he came back she had already gathered her wits he completely obliterated earlier.

She couldn't help but feel like something was off about the way he was mopping up the mess.

It just seemed...unsuitable.

Of course it does! He's wearing a crazy expensive suit while cleaning your damn floor, her subconscious spoke up.

She frowned at the image of him before going over to help him but the stern look he gave had her falling back.

Okay, then. No helping him.

When he wrapped up, she gave him a small smile of appreciation. "Thank you."

Her nose felt a tickle and at that moment the sneeze made its return, this time coming full force.

His lips made a straight line at the sound of it.

"I feel like this is all my fault." He said, almost as if he hadn't meant for it to be heard out loud.

"How am I being sick your fault?"

Giving her a pointed look, he tapped at his pink lips and she flushed.

"T-That's..."

Why was she suddenly so reserved in front of him? Was her sickness getting to her head? Normally she was more outgoing than this.

No, you're just learning not to push your luck, a part of her reasoned.

That was in regards to her thoughts on him having any kind of interest in her.

It made sense that after being rejected so many times she would lose confidence in her advances.

"If anything it's my fault." She finally admitted to it.

He stared at her, his blue eyes intense. The seconds ticked by before he nodded stiffly. "You're right."

She eyed him, heart thumping within her chest.

"It is your fault."

For some reason hearing him say that felt like it had a much deeper meaning.

Her eyes redirected themselves to the floor shyly.

He caught sight of it and sighed heavily.

"What are you going to eat now that the soup has gone to waste?"

She shrugged. "Maybe I'll make some cup noodles."

"That's not healthy." He said, borderline scolding her.

"I don't have any strength to make a proper meal," she ran a lazy hand through her knotted hair before leaning against the counter. Then her eyes sparkled with a girlish mischief he could see from a mile away. "How about you make me something?"

He eyed her impassively.

She reached a hand out to nudge him but he skillfully stepped away.

It almost made her laugh.

Other women would have been insulted by the act but the genuine discomfort on his face made it humorous to be honest. She was starting to realize that there was something about him that just wasn't socially trained and it made her want to push his buttons.

"What makes you think I'll do something like that?"

"Because it's your fault I'm sick."

"I thought you said it wasn't." His face displayed how unappreciative he was of the practice of her going back on her words.

"I changed my mind." She pointed to the stove and his eyes followed the movement. "Now why don't you be a good sport and fix me something to eat? We are colleagues even though we aren't friends. It's the least you can do as an act of charity for the sick and unable."

"I think you're plenty able with the way you keep chattering on like a parrot." He fearlessly deduced but was already making his way around the stove.

She could almost squeal at the sight of him.

He really was making a meal for her like she had asked.

Maybe he was starting to warm up to her.

Or maybe it's the fact that he feels a sense of accountability for your illness and his guilt is making him tolerate you, her subconscious spoke up derisively.

Her lighthearted mood plummeted into an abyss of sadness instantly.

Unknowingly, she had been getting ahead of herself again.

Goddamn it, what was it about Christopher Wells that made him so irresistible?

Everything, the better part of her answered.

And sadly, it was right.

She slowly retreated to a spot of the couch, no longer wanting to watch him like she had intended but even as she sat there her eyes trailed back onto his figure. It was like it had its own spotlight and the glimmer of it was too outstanding to ignore.

If someone told her a couple weeks ago that Christopher Wells would be standing in her kitchen with an apron on preparing her a meal she would have laughed in their faces.

The likelihood of it happening was just ridiculous and that made this image of him even more savory.

Time flew by like a light breeze, felt but given no acknowledgement.

He placed a plate on the small dining table and looked at her wordlessly.

"Are you finished?" She coughed at the end of her question and his eyes narrowed at it for a split second.

Her voice had gotten more hoarse during the period of not speaking.

He nodded at her in confirmation as she stood up and drew closer to where he was.

"Wow this is really...wow. I didn't think you had it in you." Her eyes roamed the delicious meal before her.

She felt no need for pretentious manners and grabbed the utensils.

When her fork reached out to have a taste she saw the plate slide away from her.

She blinked.

Her eyes gazed up at the perpetrator who stood there stiffly. "So did that mean you were testing me?"

She sighed before reaching for the food again but he did the same thing, not letting her have it.

Her blood pressure rose at being denied yet again.

"No, I wasn't testing you. I just didn't think you'd be nice enough to make something for me much less it being above a mediocre state."

Amidst him processing all that she quickly stole off a chunk of the omelette which was cheesy with dark leafy greens, stuffing the piece into her mouth. It was soft and warm.

Her cheeks unpuffed themselves as she swallowed and a moan slipped past her lips at the sensation. "That tastes so good."

He watched her, eyes dark at the little stunt she pulled but nothing came from him.

That darn moan was still echoing in the back of his mind.

"After you've finished eating, I'll see myself out." Her hand paused above the plate at that and he was clueless to it as he glanced around her. "By then your roommate would find himself coming home so there's nothing to worry about."

She inhaled sharply at his shift in attitude at the end of saying that.

The way he spoke was so emotionless—almost as if what he said had been a public service announcement.

"I'm gonna still need help making it to my room." Her mouth said the first thing that came to mind to extend his time spent here.

"You can't walk to your room by yourself?"

It was obvious he didn't find the reality of it believable.

But she was shameless so she nodded while biting down onto her lips.

His eyes followed the act before they lowered and he gave a gruff sound of compliance.

After that the speed at which she ate was reduced by two times.