My cheeks burned hotter.
Fabian smiled. "But that's the coward's option, isn't it?"
I choked out a breathless laugh. He wasreallyclose to me. It made it hard to string words together.
"Then you obviously don't know me very well," I said. "I am a coward."
Fabian tilted his head, his red hair draping like silk over his shoulder. A thought flashed unbidden into my mind: it looked soft to the touch. Which was a stupid thing to think. I torched that idea instantly.
"Are you, Stan?" Fabian challenged. "Because I can tell I'm making you very upset right now. Almost like you want to fight me. And I don't think you're the type of man to get flustered this easily."
My eyes widened the size of plates. How the hell did he know that? He was right—I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so upset. No, upset wasn't even the right word. I didn't know how to describe the feelings swirling in my chest right now.
I swallowed thickly. "I…"
Why was it so hard to talk?
Come on, Stan, it's a guy wearing 30 pounds of makeup! Why are you even intimidated by him?
The lights on the elevator number pad were quickly approaching the bottom. Good. Being stuck in the elevator with Fabian was starting to feel claustrophobic. My heart was racing and my face was flushed. I needed fresh air.
Then Fabian did something horrible. He leaned in even closer, until his sharp beak-like nose was only inches from mine. I stopped breathing. I had to, otherwise I wouldn't be able to stop myself from smelling his breath, his hair,himin general. And I did not want to do that.
"Well?" Fabian prompted with a sly smile. "We're almost to the ground floor. Just say the word and I'm gone. You won't ever see me again." He winked. "Not in person, anyway. I'm sure you'll see plenty of photographs of me."
My tongue felt dry. My heart was racing so fast I could barely form a thought. The worst part was, I didn't even understand what my body was reacting to. Was it because Fabian was an alpha? No, that couldn't be it. I never had this intense reaction when I was stuffed into the elevator with other alphas who worked in the building. Was it because he was goading me the same way I was goading him? He not only shrugged off my rude comments, but he turned the tables on me, calling me a coward if I refused. Normally, I wouldn't care, but it was infuriating coming from him.
Yeah, that was it. It had to be. Because the only other explanation for my physiological reaction was that I found Fabian attractive, and that concept was hysterical. I may as well have been attracted to a rooster.
The elevator stopped. We were on the ground floor. The doors began to open.
Fabian was still in my face, still smiling. "Well, Stan?"
Just say no. Just say no. Just freaking say no and walk out of here and you never have to see him again.
I opened my mouth to refuse, but what came out was, "Fine."
Why did I say that? Oh my God.
Fabian sprung back just before the doors fully opened, as if he had never been inches away from my face. "Excellent! Then let's make haste. Wouldn't want to keep the driver waiting."
"Nope," I mumbled as I followed him listlessly, my face blazing hot. "Wouldn't want that…"
4
Fabian
Stan wasa little grump all the way to the studio. He sat against the leather limo seats with his arms crossed, doing his best not to look at me. To his credit, he did keep up conversation as I chatted with him in a friendly manner, the way I did with all my clients.
But Stan wasn't anything like my usual clients. In fact, he was the total opposite. For one thing, clients of mine tended to take pride in their appearance. That was the whole reason they sought me out—to have a professional create the vision of themselves they wanted the world to see. Not Stan. His outfit looked like it had been fished out of the dumpster, except for the fact that it was strangely clean. Why did he bother laundering his clothes so well if he was going to wear fabric that was literally falling apart? He was an enigma to me.
His hair was the same. From the smell and texture, I could tell it was freshly shampooed and conditioned this morning. That wasn't the problem—the issue was that he'd clearly avoided a professional haircut for the past eon. His tips were frayed and cut unevenly. The jagged ends indicated he done it himself in five minutes with a pair of safety scissors and no mirror. His hair was also quite long. The ends touched the nape of his neck and it fell messily across his forehead. He didn't even bother pushing it aside. It drove me mad. I constantly wanted to reach over and tuck it behind his ear, but he was too wary of me. I doubted I could reach a hand towards him without him biting my fingers off.
Or maybe I could. His reaction in the elevator amused me greatly. Of course, I was pushing his buttons on purpose. I wanted to see how far he would let me go without shutting me out. And he never did. It was his decision to come along and accept the help. I hadn't forced him into anything so that was a good sign.
It was also adorable how much he was blushing. I felt confident taking a wild guess and assuming he didn't get much attention from alphas given his sour attitude and the sloppy way he dressed. It was fun to tease him that way. But the tension wasn't mean-spirited. I didn't know why, but I felt a pull towards Stan, a thrumming sensation in my chest when I looked at him. He intrigued me in a way no other client had ever done. Maybe it was because he was a challenge.
Maybe it was something deeper.
