It's in our nature to partake in futile gossip and lend an ear here and there- after all, what harm can it do? Whether it's workplace chatter, the sharing of family news or group texts between friends, it's inevitable that everyone who talks, well, talks about other people. People tend to think of gossip as synonymous with malicious rumors, put-downs or the breathless propagation of a tabloid scoop. It's just random talk-of-the-town going on and on between people that leads to one intensifying a very trifling matter; the cycle just goes on. People just need a topic to turn into scandalmongers, and the volatility of these matters change faster than a human mind can register. As a bartender, if you know how to serve the best assortment of drinks, the tips are yours. As a horde master, if you know how to provide people with newer, exciting stuff to talk about, they move on no matter how conspicuous the previous occurrences were.

I admire how Wolfe uses more brain and less money to do so. Not the typical modern-day billionaire who thinks money can substitute for the knowledge of how many beans make five, yet where's the fun in that? Be flawed and fabulous, because perfect is non-existent and normal is boring. 

Enough praising Wolfe for the day. Back to being arch nemeses.

I rip open a packet of chocolate filled cookies and munch on one while working on the financial plans for our newly acquired media group. Ten minutes through at work and I start using 'Fuck' like a comma. What can I even possibly do? Stupidity comes in all shapes and sizes, some even come dressed like people!

The door swings open. I sigh in disappointment. "Can't you at least knock, for the love of God?"

"It's not like I'll run into you using your darling vibrator, will I?" He grins at me and strides inside without an ounce of seriousness. I make a sardonic expression and get back to my work. He comes over to my side and watches me work for a few seconds before turning back and leaning on my side of the table, facing me. "Aren't you going to ask me to sit?" He asks.

"Should I?" I ask him half-heartedly.

"Ay, Achelois Circe," he almost says in a complaining voice, "I'm your boss. Show me some damn respect, man," he mutters and sits down in the chair in front of my table.

"If you were already going to sit without me asking," I lift my eyes from the screen and throw a scornful expression at him, "Why bother me with weird questions and act like a fucking drama queen?"

"There it is, again," he kicks up a fuss again, "That attitude. Mend it soon."

I scornfully mutter and he clicks his tongue. I keep on typing under his heavy stare, until I finally grow sick of it. "Are you done admiring me?" I catechize sarcastically. He lets out a grim composed of laughter and cursing. I roll my eyes and flick my eyes back to my laptop until I notice him slapping two envelopes on the table for a split second. I eye him warily as I take them in my hand- he nods his chin, asking me to proceed. My eyes flicker in dubiety as I notice one of them in Wolfe's name, the other in mine. Sneaking a curious look at him again, I proceed to open the unopened black envelope bearing my name in golden letters on it. My eyes dance throughout the letter in a matter of a couple of minutes.

"What does this mean?" I ask him in a cynical tone, tossing the envelopes back onto the table and crossing my arms. He shrugs, "Exactly what you think it means," he stretches his arms and yawns, leaning forward, "An alumni meet."

"This hasn't happened before," I murmur hoarsely, "Isn't this a bit too odd?"

"A bit?" He laughs satirically, "This is way too sneaky, okay? An alumni meet organized by Harvard, sent out to all the batches present when we were freshmen," He stands up, pulling the lapels of his custom tailored expensive-as-fuck suit together.

"Man, this is bizarre," I shrug, "And you already seem to know so much."

"I did some background digging before I decided I could give you your letter," he grins radiantly, standing facing the busy Californian roads buzzing with fast cars and industrious people. I rotate in my swivel, facing the ceiling length windows as well, "It's quite interesting, the bits and pieces I learnt."

"What do you mean, background digging before you could give it to me?" I scowl at him, "If I was meant to be controlled, I'd have come with a remote. Plus, what did you learn?" I ask the last bit curiously.

"Do you always have to pick holes in everything I say?" He growls at me, turning around and leaning against the glass, hands in his pockets, "Beg, only then shall I tell you."

"You wish, Theodore," I snapped at him and turned around in my seat, taking my mind off his childish demands and focusing on my work. He sighs loudly and starts walking. I half expect him to give in, until I realize Wolfe Theodore isn't an easy man, he's almost second to me if we fight about how stubborn one can be.

"Just a single word, Circe Crimson," he grins at me like the devil, "Your pride is getting in the way of you attaining a very mysterious and intriguing fact," he says and strides towards me. On the spur of the moment, he moves my swivel by grabbing the back of the chair and makes me face towards him. In a flash, his mouth is inches away from my ear; he has leaned in. I plaster myself into the chair, digging with my back to maintain a safe distance from in. Trying to wheel the chair away is out of the question; I can't beat him in a battle of physical strength, especially when he's making an effort.

"Beg," he whispers.

My eyes flicker.

I force myself not to pull away, or rub away the echo of his touch, the pad of his thumb on the lobe of my ear. I bite at my lower lip, the endorphin rush from my shiver dissolving from an onslaught of nerves. I'm scared his lips will brush the nip of my ear, I shudder as I feel his thumb descending from the side of my face towards my neck. I'm at the deep end of the ocean, staring into the abyss.

I need to snap out of it.

"Make me."

I am on fire from the inside out. My words were tinder, primed to explode into flames from the first brush of his fingers at the base of my throat. From the sparks lighting up at every point of contact. I clearly have the upper hand in the situation right now, even if I might look trapped between his arms. I move my face a few inches closer, catching him off guard.

Two can play this game.

I study his expression as he absorbs my sudden counterattack, his face displaying absolute bewilderment. It's a stunning landscape carved from granite. High, wide forehead. Strong, aristocratic nose bracketed by the diagonal slash of his cheekbones. The deep groove of his philtrum that leads to a generously sculpted mouth. God, Wolfe has grown.

He coughs, and straightens back up, putting one of his hands in his pockets and running a hand through his hair- shiny onyx styled in the most idle yet eye-catching manner. The cold mist that has climbed up my back and neck, inching beneath my hairline, isn't lingering dampness from a shower. It is itchy, clammy sweat that spreads across my skin as my gut twists and churns with a violent fury. He clears his throat. "Maybe I'll just tell you."

"You could've saved us all that drama and the readers could have had some actual shit to know," I shrug, trying to display my nonchalance. My heartbeat is an erratic, distracting pitter-patter against my ribs as I take in the stark beauty of the man standing in front of me.

Did I just-

Scratch that, there are a lot of good-looking dudes who happen to be good-for-nothings as well out there. Which is exactly why I should stay away from them.

"But I couldn't have snuck in that one if I would have," he winked at me and I averted my eyes. He's getting bolder, this asshole. He sits back in his place, crossing his legs, a small smile playing on his lips. "Interestingly, very interestingly, I happen to know the guest they're inviting to preside over the matches; the dude used to be a soccer player until he changed professions."

"What's interesting?" I ask.

"This was the same guy who had come back then, during the final match of our senior year," he grunts and slaps a photograph on the table after taking it out of his pocket.  Sliding it across the table to me, he cocks his head thoughtfully. "Jasiel."

"Jasiel, huh?" I mutter, studying the photograph. An attractive man with blonde hair, striking me as slightly familiar, yet I fail to recollect any memories of him. The slightest hint of a five-o'clock shadow dusting his jawline. He's clean shaven, hair unruly and his smile tight, just like the typical businessman. "What about him?"

"There's something shady going on with the University, Isa," he murmurs, "This is very unusual, but I happen to have gotten the word that it's Jasiel who's setting his alumni meet."

"Jasiel?" I ask in disbelief, "Are you sure? Why would a businessman perk up to hold and recreate a particular scene from back when we were twenty or so? It doesn't make sense," I murmur, handing the picture back to him.

"The point is," he says in a cynical tone, "This is Jasiel Simpson."

"Ah fuck," I blurt out, when I connect the dots together.

A/N:-

Ah, good ole days writing!

Okay, no shit sherlock. Let's also forget about fangirling about Shay Mitchell because she's one of the most gorgeous women I've seen besides any woman reading this. All the way self-love because William Faulkner said, 'Love could only rest in books because it couldn't exist anywhere else'. 

What's wrong with me?

Okay there was a lot more flirting that information but yeah if anybody couldn't grasp it (like me, the stupid author after opening her drafts after ages- yeah, I have almost 20 more chapters in drafts and I'm just the daughter of a coastal area for not posting them) - Simpson is the family surname for Dartagnan Simpson, who, in clean words, is father to Delaney Simpson aka Wolfe's on-and-off date for business parties. Again, Dartagnan Simpson is a politician muddled in the States' intricate governing affairs and also a shareholder in the very hospital Achelois caused a ruckus at, CareMark.

I know there has to be a lot of you questioning why Achelois could get away with a very tough situation like that and why she's so okay after shooting a guy. Basically we're going to learn about that stuff soon, too.

That is, you shall when you stay tuned!

QOTD: Instant noodles or traditional style Ramen?

I don't have answers for myself *lifts hands up in show of surrender* the only men who are hawt and spicy are Ramen!

*runs from an enraged Wolfe* kyaaaa

Meeting you with an update next week!

Sincerely,
Disha🐤👊🦋