°•

She huffed, cutting the copying machine on and setting the desired paper inside. Zayn had literally been ordering her around all day today.

It all started when Crissle greeted him this morning and he simply grunted, closing his office door in her face. He was really getting on her nerves, so of course her big mouth called him out on his lack of greeting. And of course, he snapped and kicked her out of his office.

And since then, Crissle had been running little stupid errands for the man she despised. Good thing she was used to wearing heels because she couldn't have survived today if she hadn't.

Crissle pulled the fresh papers out the machine and piled them neatly in her hands, walking out of the paper room and towards her seat.

"Erica," his voice echoed behind her and she turned, ready for some sort of criticism. Zayn stood at the the door of the room she just exited, staring at her blankly. Under his foot was a paper, now crumpled by his expensive dress shoe.

"Sir?" she slowly walked back to him, watching as he picked up the paper and skimmed through it, "what is that?"

"One of the papers you just printed," he said as if he hadn't just wasted a tree, "print another one. I like my papers crisp," he fake smiled at her and walked away.

Petty.

Crissle took a deep breath before reentering the room, setting one of the papers in the machine and printing out another. She grabbed all the papers and went to sit back in her seat.

They were copies of revised contracts members of a big corporation were supposed to sign today. Zayn Malik was part of many branches, but the one he actually owned had art products such as: paints, pencils, books etcetera, etcetera. Apparently, he was an artistic type of guy, which was weird, because he didn't seem like he'd put his feelings into anything.

"Erica, come here, please," Crissle got up at the sound of the name he gave her and walked the short distance to his office. Zayn sat at his MacBook, briefly watching something on it before looking up at her.

"Sir--"

"The people you gave me for these jobs are satisfactory, except Mr. Tomlinson."

"Oh--"

"If you ever manage to stay here longer than a few months, keep in mind he's just fucking with me. Doesn't actually want this job," he chuckled, "I deny him his job and we laugh about it later."

"You laugh?" she muttered, a teasing smile appearing on her face when he glared, "oh, come on, someone like you is probably least expected to laugh, of all things. This environment is more professional than most."

"I did not need that," he rolled his eyes and clicked through his computer, "anyway, just send me another application for marketing."

"Is that all?" she asked.

"No," he peered up at her, almost as if he held some sort of guilt behind his eyes. As if. "Close the door, will you?"

She nodded, closing the door and standing by it, suspicious of his next move.

Zayn Malik sighed, standing up with a light groan and walking around his desk to the front, his hands resting on the edge as he leaned back a little. He looked at Crissle, no trace of real emotion on his face as he beckoned her over.

She frowned but obeyed nonetheless as she walked up to him. They were no more than a foot apart now. "What is i--"

He pushed the cardigan off of her shoulders to reveal the spaghetti strap of her top. His warm hand skimmed over the darkening bruises on her shoulder blades, his fingerprints matching with the ones on her as if he couldn't believe it. His eyes scanned her shoulders and collarbones before looking up in her eyes.

"Did they hurt?"

She was taken back by his question, his voice was low, and actually...gentle?

Plus, that was a pretty stupid question.

"Um," Crussle stuttered, trying to pull her cardigan back on but he just pressed further, making the fabric fall to the creases of her elbows. It was kind of cold in there.

"Answer my question," Zayn demanded softly. His whole face changed, he wasn't rude and arrogant at the moment, but slightly caring and soft spoken.

"Answer it as if it was a smart one to ask?" Crissle finally snapped, looking him straight in the eye, "what do you think, Zayn? I have bruises!"

"I didn't know I'd push you that hard," he retorted with a scowl, "and don't talk to me like that."

"As if that answer is justifiable," she rolled her eyes and backed up. Crissle fixed her cardigan before making her way the the door, "and next time, if you really cared, you wouldn't wait a whole fucking week to ask if I was okay," she didn't bother to look at his face as she shut the door behind her.

°•

"He asked if I was okay and I told him off. That's it," she explained to Andrea as we took our lunch break in a small restaurant.

After Crissle left Zayn's office, she found herself being more infuriated than ever, accidentally slamming things on her desk just because she was too upset. She had so many questions in her head, but none of them made sense. And when her lunch break started, she was already in the elevator, Andrea catching up to her in the first floor lobby, taking about how fast she was walking.

She asked what was wrong, so Crissle of course told her.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," she chanted, sitting up in her booth and gaping at her, "Mr. Malik actually asked you if you were okay?"

"Yeah,," she said casually, taking a bite of her enchilada.

"Shit, Cris."

"What?"

"He has the hots for you."

"Why the fuck do you say that?" Crissle asked incredulously. She hated that boy's guts and vice versa. It wasn't going to happen.

"Because he actually asked if you were okay--"

"Yeah, a whole week later--"

"But he asked," she held a finger up with a smile, "which is something he doesn't do. He doesn't ask if anyone is okay and if he did, it wasn't genuine."

"What if it wasn't genuine when he asked me?" She challenged.

"Oh, it was," Andrea crossed her legs and gave Crissle a knowing look, "it most definitely was."

What.

°•

sorry for the delay, but I've been hearing good music and brainstorming and shit

this might be a little...you'll either hate zayn or hate me because of it, sorry

the next two chapters are just...intense

bye xx