CHAPTER 2: Tick-Tock and Tension

The sound of ticking coming from my watch, the tapping of my heel on the carpeted floor, and the grumbling sound that doesn't come from a monster's throat or thunders in the sky, but from my stomach.

I watched how my soon-to-be husband, Michael Montero, reviewed my papers as if I'm applying for a job with him. When in fact, I'm not, and he asked to see me personally.

"I don't see any reason why you had to go through my background like I did a crime," I broke the silence, which had me convinced that I'd gone deaf.

Throwing his naturally sharp eyes on me, he closed the folder containing everything about me and sighed. He placed it back inside his bag as the waiter arrived, wishing "bon appétit" as he left.

Michael played with his long hands with his utensils, aligning them neatly according to the way he wanted them to look. He sat there like he's some kind of the most respected person in the world. Well, yes, he is one of the most respected persons on this globe. Imagine being one of the youngest billionaires with a face like that.

"Well, I had to. Because Scorpios were born to be secretive," he replied. I always know that it wasn't just his eyes that were sharp, his tongue as well. I just got roasted a million times the first second we breathed the same air.

"It's not secretion, Michael. I just keep things, and that was a job I gave to myself. It's called gatekeeping and privacy," I corrected him, putting less sense to the word "secrecy."

"What do you do in your free time?" He asked, pulling the napkin from the table, ruining its design to tuck it on the neckline of his shirt.

"You've got records of who I am and what I do, why not read it out loud for me?" I retorted.

I watched how his thick eyebrows rose until the middle of his wrinkling forehead, giving me the deadliest glare he could throw.

"You're looking at me as if you were never ugly," I said, causing him to scoff and divert his eyes to his plate where he gracefully cut a mouthful.

He's a man who adopted the manners of a lady. It would be no wonder; he was raised by his unsophisticated mother, who was a famous luxurious woman known for her propriety. But what says otherwise of his excessively proper movements was his manliness that I've been attracted to. His prominent features of a grown man. Those veins on his hands and arms, his chiseled jaw.

Many women have fallen on their knees just to be touched by him, but I never heard anyone who succeeded, unless those desperate women were spreading genuine rumors.

"I never was, Ms. Kaufman," he proudly uttered as he swallowed what he gnawed, addressing me with formalities that made me grimace. "It was just your standards were too high that it could smash you like a tomato on your fall."

"I will never," I replied, picking up my knife and fork and began to eat.

The whole lunch was so quiet that it irritated me. He asked to talk to me, yet his words were counted. He said he wanted to settle things with me, but it feels like he's creating taller walls and longer distances to keep us apart.

So much for having a great life with this man.

"My mother believes that you can be the perfect wife for me, I still can't find a reasonable explanation why she thought of that." His words were merely plain, and I'm not dumb enough to not notice his simplified, or rather say, formal insult.

"Because a conservative man like you would likely go well with a liberal woman like me," I answered to mend his confusion, but seeing the way he looked at me, I can already smell the upcoming judgment from his mouth.

"I think you're confusing the word tacky with your choice of word," he questioned, almost sounding a sneer through his luscious lips. "Liberal," he scoffed, sounding like a mock.

"I believe that people have their own perspective with how they perceive the world in all aspects, and as for you, you're overly sensitive to the new generation. You're living in the Victorian world, Mr. Montero."

"And you're part of the modern problem, might I say?"

For the love of my parents, this is the man I'm gonna have to tolerate for the rest of my life. Not unless we agreed on a divorce after aiding our family's partnership. I remember my mother asking me to be tolerant, and this is me hindering myself from squeezing his neck and shoving the 21st-century sign up his round and tight butt.

He should be thankful because I see him as the man I could probably spend joyful nights with. But no, I can already see the future of him locking the door on me if ever I got home late and he's already sleeping soundly with all his limbs relaxed and spread in all directions of "our" bed.

"Mrs. Montero mentioned to me that you're going to be the sweetest man I will ever encounter in my whole life, I'm so glad that you made it clear to me."

His eyes squinted at me. As if I pulled his last straw, he harshly snatched the napkin from his shirt and wiped the sides of his lips. Did I say something wrong? That's nothing compared to how he had been "sauteing" my ego.

"What have you heard about me?" He suddenly asked. I must have sparked that little interest he's got in his boring life. Scoffing mentally. I could only wish.

"A lot of things coming from random people who shared their experiences upon meeting the almighty Michael Montero," I fed his hunger.

"And that is?"

"That you're either a virgin or like to have a threesome with desperate models and actresses. That you're either snobbish or act menopausal like a woman. That you're either homosexual or just hate people. That you're either a--"

"Alright, that's enough." Cutting me off, he showed me his palm and sighed. "What do you think of me?"

Studying his face until his proud chest that his usual three-piece suits always hide. I wish I could see him rip that shirt open like how Superman does.

Letting go of the utensils, I straightened my back to show the formality my mother always reminded me about and smiled politely. The kind of smile I use to either charm or annoy the person I'm talking to. I'll just leave it to Michael whether he will take my words as a compliment or not.

"When I first heard about you, I had my own opinion about prim and proper little boys. I thought that you were taken away from the free world and forced to drown yourself with schoolwork as a child," I began, causing those beautiful chestnut eyes to narrow even more.

"When I first saw you, whatever I heard about your great looks were confirmed. And my first vulgar thought was to sit on your face," I honestly uttered. I thought more than just sitting on his face. I was just filtering my words so he won't wrinkle his nose even more.

"But when I had my first conversation with you, I gotta admit, I'd still want to sit on your face," I continued, smiling at him, slightly tilting my head to the side. "And fart on it," I added.

"Where is your decency?" Once again insulting my whole existence, Michael stared at me with his hypercritical face. "You're considering yourself as an affluent woman, and yet you speak like you were born and raised under the bridge."

"I'm not asking for your opinion."

"It's because you could never accept the harsh sentiment about your flaws."

My lips that are painted in red have slipped my original attitude of being a bitch. It curved upwards as my jaw clenched while looking at him with a scowl.

He's not just a snobbish guy, but also mean and someone who deserves two middle fingers up from my perfectly manicured hands.

"You know what? I came here with you thinking that we could get along, but it looks like I'm gonna have to ask my parents to stop this ridiculous plan of being wedded to you," I spat on him, silently barking like a dog. Less the drooling, of course.

I almost hitched my breath when my eyes had a glimpse of a small smile on his lips. That was a rare sight to see because Michael Montero's little curve on his lips is worth the whole world's most expensive diamond. But his smile is far from being genuine; it was more of sarcasm and mocking me even without using his words.

"I would let you do that. Do whatever you want. But keep in mind that it was 'your' family who asked mine for help."

I may have listed a lot of things I hated about him, but one thing that raised and waving at me is that invisible red flag above his head.

"Your unstable career of showing skin in front of the camera isn't really going to help your family's company to survive because the debt was worth hundreds of millions," he continued, looking at me with those piercing eyes that resemble the color of autumn.

The steak I swallowed must have gotten stuck in my throat. I find it hard to breathe by just looking at him.

"You should be grateful at least that I sacrificed my image and standards and be married to someone like you--"

"Someone like me?" I repeated; every inch of my body got offended.

"Do not cut me off when I'm talking," he scolded me.

Snorting unladylike to annoy him even more, I leaned close to the table. "You did it first," I pointed out. "So, what's it gonna be, Mr. Michael Montero? Are we going to have a great day today, or we're going to have an act of liking each other in front of everyone's eyes?"

"This relationship between us will stay fake because there's nothing into it. A business matter for a cause. From what I see, there's no need to be clingy," he clarified.

And that is just in my favor.

"But..." Why does he have to add more?!

"My mother wanted to see us getting closer and closer, and eventually, make a family of our own."

"Excuse me?" I pardoned. I think he's not speaking in English.

"I hate repeating myself, so I suggest you keep those ears clean and listen to me properly," he said, enunciating his words. "The paper we're signing will be the end of our freedom, and we have to embody that sworn oath."

"You take this as if it's a sacred oath from the ancients. Hello! Are you even aware of what year it is right now?"

"Unlike any other people like you, I'm a man of my words. My family asked me to do this because your father and mine were good friends, and Dad thinks that if our company merged with yours through us, conquering is what's left to do."

"You talk like you're an ancient. How old are you?"

"I think that you're pretty," he suddenly told me that caught me off guard and the stake that got stuck in my throat had me choking.

That was the nicest thing he ever told me throughout this whole day.

"... on a picture, but never when you're talking."

And here I thought he's making a peace offering. "You are so sweet."

He ignored my sardonical comment when his phone buzzed and he dismissed talking to me, even neglected throwing a glance at me.

Only if I keep quiet, I'm pretty in his eyes? Well, only if he's a little bit nicer, he would have all of me; my lips, my heart, and my body. But no, he's a mean, chauvinistic person! It would be no surprise to me if he doesn't even know how to put a little cent in children's donation box.

"Get up, we still have an event to attend."

"What?" I almost yelled. "But I'm not done yet."

He twisted his head at my direction with his smug face on. "Do I have to repeat myself?"

"The event will start at eight in the evening, it's twelve noon."

He exhaled harshly as he stood there glancing at his wristwatch, and that was my cue to get my cute ass up and be polite. I was never a slave of anyone, and this "mother pucker" wants to be the boss of me.

Well, I'm going to make him realize that the real boss is "me".