Paris returned home from a very tedious meeting where he'd nearly lost his temper twice in the space of thirty minutes. He'd met with two stockbrokers who were as greedy as pigs. They were one of those people who couldn't handle a nip of power but enjoyed pretending that they did. They get a corner office and a secretary and suddenly they're the Stalin of the paper-pushing wall. He'd known just by their high-handed voice that they were willing to abandon their humanity just to get a 2% bonus.

He'd been forced to reschedule for another time after two hours of getting nowhere. Frankly, he'd rather tank the whole deal. He hated working with loan sharks.

He was also badly in need of a cup of coffee. Taking off his coat, he draped it on a hook beside the door and headed to the kitchen to make himself just that.

On his way, he saw Ms. Wood standing on top of a chair against a shelf, clearly fascinated with... something. He watched her for a minute, in her white shorts and yellow top, her hair up in a salon-perfect bun, her short legs embraced at the ankles with a pair of Nikes. Cute. Her dressing was a stark contrast to her personality. There was art in that. And maybe even deception.

As if on impulse, Shanya turned around and squealed, nearly falling off the chair.

"Son of a bitch!"

Paris rushed to her aid, but she had almost caught her balance so he held her waist instead, steadying her. The chair she was standing on made her appear slightly taller than him, but they were still on eye level. Her slender waist was warm and pleasant to the touch. He contemplated carrying her down but had a distinct feeling she would slap him if he tried. Besides, Heather didn't like being carried, and neither did Purity so he was probably out of practice.

"You cuss. How unladylike."

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she shot back when she caught her breath, shooting daggers at him with her brown eyes. It felt like falling into a pool of deep chocolate.

Paris gave her a wry smile and withdrew his hands from her waist, holding one out to her. "I'm sorry for giving you a fright."

"No, you're not," she stated, putting her hand in his, calloused and warm to the touch. There was a clever, knowing glint in her eyes he knew better than to oppose. Devious little minx.

"No, I'm not."

She flopped down from the chair—the movement made her perfect bun come slightly undone—and withdrew her hand from his grasp. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough." He peered down at her other hand, finally noticing what had caught her attention earlier.

"I see you've found my family album."

* * * *

A quick tour around his house—no, estate, it was a freaking estate—had left Shanya bubbling with so much love that she nearly forgot she was mad at him for almost causing her to fall and then having the nerve to call her unladylike.

The estate stood strong and beautiful atop a narrow landscape cradled with the prettiest lawn she'd ever seen. There were at least three gardens outside, each of which flowered a different seed; hibiscus being one of them. Glass bedecked the entire corners of his estate—mostly all entrances were literally made of glass. She'd always had a deep admiration for glasshouses. Whether it was the fact that the inhabitants were clearly not afraid of much as anyone could throw anything inside and it would be ruined in seconds, or how the sun shone through the glass beautifully, illuminating everything it touched.

There was something oddly humbling about how exposed glasshouses were, how utterly transparent. It made one feel like the owner had no secrets to hide. But of course, she knew better.

Paris had taken her to the garage where there were about three cars. She only recognized the Rolls Royce and Mercedes. The rest, well, she didn't know their names. When she'd asked just to make conversation, he'd gone into a whole history about it and she'd had to bite her inner cheek to keep from screaming. What was it with men and cars?

Not long after this, he asked if she wanted to take one for a driving run.

"Uh, no thanks," she said a bit too quickly, trying to mask the fear in her eyes. But he may have noticed it regardless because he asked, "Why not?"

And in the spirit of getting to know each other—and also because she wanted to avoid that penetrating gaze—she answered truthfully. "I have a driving phobia."

"But you enter cars."

"Because I have no choice."

He gave her an amused look. "Paranoid?"

"No, prudent."

"What's the difference?"

"Prudence wears a seatbelt. Paranoia avoids cars."

His eyes glistened as he stared at her. "So you're vehophobic then?"

She nodded dimly. His response wasn't entirely what she'd expected. He hadn't laughed, or mocked her, or looked at her strangely. He'd simply stared and stared at her as if he hadn't thought she could fear anything. The realization intrigued her as her hands tightened under that grey-eyed gaze.

Silence fell and she thought he wasn't going to say anything more as they continued touring, but then his voice sounded beside her.

"You'll have to learn then."

She kept her face neutral. "Learn what?"

"How to drive."

"You do know what a phobia is, right?"

He shrugged once. "You can't get over a phobia without practice."

"I have no desire to get over it," she snapped. Did he purposely wake up this morning to annoy the shit out of her or was he just daft?

"Too bad," he grumbled, and the look on his face told her his mind was made up. He walked past the other car he'd called a Coupé. It was a shiny black and was the coolest one there in her opinion.

She stewed as she thought of another way to approach the issue.

"It isn't part of the contract."

"No, it isn't." He gave her a pointed, knowing look. "But would you rather Travis drive you around all the time? I hear he's a real bag of sugar."

Bastard. He was a schmuck bastard. But he was right, she didn't want Travis driving her. The drive today had been infuriating enough. So she nodded briskly and they continued touring.

The kitchen, study, and living room of the estate were even more glorious. When Shanya saw the tiled floor, her heartbeat went double time. It was slate, but not grey. It was blacks and browns in a chaotic tumble of wonderfulness. She inwardly squealed, hating that her feet were covered up as she would have let the slight roughness cool her feet. Her dad may have been skilled at architecture, but she didn't understand a thing she was seeing. She just knew she loved it, preferring to ogle at the fine objects laid with precision around the estate.

Everything from the furnishing to the decorations was built more for comfort rather than fancy. She'd stood for what felt like hours admiring a glass flamingo situated at the right corner of the living room as well as the light crystal blue marbles and vases adorning every table.

Despite its seemingly massive build, she'd counted only three bedrooms and a very large swimming pool just outside. The place was utterly beautiful. They'd come across a lot of weird paintings and even weirder statutes in the study and she'd felt like Belle when the Beast showed her around his castle. The only place he didn't take her to was his room, but she suspected it was just as beautiful.

The environment made her heartache for her own home—her room most especially, filled with posters of Matt Damon. The love of her life. Matt could be old and groggy and she'd still want him. He was just sexiness personified, and a literal genius with an IQ of 184. Higher than Einstein's, higher than Stephen Hawking. Shanya did not consider herself a sapiosexual, but she definitely loved a man with brains.

She and Paris were back in his elegant study where his housekeeper, Martha, had led her to barely 45 minutes ago telling her to wait. She reminded Shanya a little of Marisol, her own housekeeper from before. All strictness and rare smiles.

"I was not expecting... this," Shanya admitted with awe coating her voice as she unconsciously ran her fingers through the family album she'd been too curious to resist touching earlier.

From where Paris stood, arms folded watching her, an amused look on his face, he nodded slowly, as if awed too.

"Did you think I was a caveman?"

"Would you blame me if I had?" The sun was doing a marvelous job of bringing all parts of him to light. His dusty brown hair streaked with gold bloomed under its kiss and his white flannel shirt adorned to his wrists revealed perfectly sculpted biceps. Caveman indeed.

Paris unfolded his arms and walked towards her. "What do you think?"

She peered up at him, confused. "About?"

"My family," he replied, nodding his head towards the album she was cradling.

Shanya looked down at the family picture atop her lap, displayed in the beautiful black album. She had no idea his family was so large. So... white. She bit the insides of her cheek and studied the picture more closely.

It was nice enough. She counted eight people on the beach goofing around. Most of them had drinks in their hands unaware that their photo was being taken. There were two older people sprawled comfortably on beach nets. One was a lady in a peach dress with a brown hat over her face and the other was a man in his late forties doing the same. Shanya suspected those were his parents but try as she might, she couldn't make out their faces.

She raked her eyes over Paris's figure instead. He was in ridiculous green summer shorts decorated with palm trees and was sprawled on the sand with a young giggling girl straddling his back. She appeared to be holding him hostage and was the most unusual girl Shanya had ever seen. Pretty much everything she was wearing was black, from her eyes which had been painted with the thickest eyeliner, to her pitch black hair, right down to her black mickey mouse socks. She had a couple of long weird chains flanking her neck and her fingers were decorated with rings of all shapes and sizes.

Her look reminded Shanya of Billie Eilish. Except... girlier. Shanya knew she'd like this girl.

"Who's Dark Barbie?"

The warmest of smiles played at his lips. "That's Purity, my sister."

Shanya couldn't help but smile at the irony in her name. A girl who fancied all things dark but whose name literally meant light. "She seems fun."

"She is," Paris confirmed, plopping down next to Shanya, his hand reaching out to look at the picture more closely. "And a complete nutcase."

He smelled of pineapples and candy. Shanya had to fight the overwhelming urge to lean in and sniff him. When it came to smells, she was a goner. Lily had once called her a dog for being so scent-sensitive. But how could one resist the smell of candies, for Pete's sake?

Maybe sitting in close proximity with him, as deliciously scented as he might be, wasn't a good idea. He seemed oblivious to her plight as he continued staring at the picture of his family. He clearly adored them.

Paris gave her a soft smile before rising up from the couch and proceeding towards the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Shanya trumped in relief, following after him. She couldn't believe how dry her throat had gotten all of a sudden.

There was silence as he prepared their coffee so she used the opportunity to examine his kitchen—again. It was definitely beautiful, built in such a way that navigation was easy. Everything was placed in perfect order, knives, spoons, and forks in their racks adorning the ivory counter, a very large sink that could fit two babies and an array of cupboards embedded into the ivory walls which she suspected had utensils and jars aligned in order too.

So clean. It wasn't even the type of kitchen that one would say needed a woman's touch. No, no, a woman needed this touch. Her mom would've loved this kitchen. She might be a cheat, but she was a damn good cook. Something sadly, Shanya didn't inherit.

"Milk or no milk?"

Shanya snapped back from her sightseeing. "Huh?"

"Your coffee," he tsked, grey eyes pinning her.

"Milk."

Walking over to the huge white fridge adorned with sticky notes and funny-looking magnets, he retrieved liquid milk and poured some into the black coffee cup before handing it to her.

"Thank you," she said, grabbing it gently and taking a small sip. Her face immediately convulsed. "It doesn't have any sugar!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Because it doesn't need it. There's milk in it already. Or are you okay with having diabetes?"

As she glared at him, coffee in hand, she considered dousing him with it. Twice, maybe three times.

"I like my coffee that way, so if you please." She motioned towards the container written 'SUGAR' that lay abandoned on the right far corner of the black counter.

She could've sworn he said suit yourself as he shook his head and handed it to her. She took a teaspoon from the rack and poured nearly four spoons of sugar into her coffee.

Paris titled his head, a look of stark apparition evident on his features. "You should have simply poured the coffee into the sugar container and have at it."

Prick.

Shanya sipped the coffee and smiled in satisfaction. "I have a sweet tooth."

"Clearly," he turned away from her, walking towards his study, and sat on the sofa, opposite from where they had been sitting a few minutes before. The look on his face made her want to smack him. But she removed her fanny pack from around her waist and sat at her previous seat before looking up at him.

"I've made a list of possible questions to ask each other."

"I would expect so, that is why we're here after all," he chided, sizing her up with a lackluster gaze.

She glared at him. This was going to be a long day.

A/N: Some of you have been waiting for a chapter with Paris and Shanya and I hope I didn't disappoint. *pinches nose*
I'm excited for you guys to see what I have in store for these two crackheads!

-My heart always does a leap when I see all of y'alls comments and votes. It means more than I can explain.

You'd be my hero if you vote again;)