Let's back up for a second to understand just why I was behaving like Mr. Cranky Pants. I bet you would too if you were on the 6th hour of your shift at 3 in the morning working as a security guard slash receptionist at one of those swanky looking apartment complexes that us regular people can't even imagine to ever step foot in. And exactly how fancy are we talking about?
And here I am, a barely 20-year-old engineering student, stuck at the foot of this larger than life building. Well, to be fair, I am not really stuck here since I was the one who had practically begged my cousin, Wad, to give me this job when he became the head at his private security firm. What can I say, college is expensive and I got bills to pay. Sitting on a desk doing literally nothing for 10 hours every night while I made bank actually sounded like a brilliant idea. Like I had somehow stumbled into a gold mine of mindless jobs which lets me do all the homework in the world without any form of disturbance. I mean no one really goes in and out of their buildings in the middle of the night anyway right?
Well, turns out, I am the biggest idiot on this planet.
Cause after just 4 months of this shitty job I can unequivocally say that these people are downright crazy. I would go into more gruesome details but I am rather sure in the course of time you will find out yourself. As of now though I should worry a little less about other people and focus a little more on my problems which I can see charging straight at me.
Immediately straightening my back as I suddenly saw three men atleast twice my size marching straight towards me I knew I was in trouble. Once again.
"Listen, here, you guys, whatever you want, just know that..."
I didn't even get to brag about the police response time being sub 60 seconds by the time one of the goons had grabbed me by my collar and dragged me a good five feet away from my chair.
"Who did you sell them to?"
"Wait, wait, wait...."
Why ask me a question if you don't want an answer?
My lips barely parting to respond to his dumb question with the obvious answer of 'I have no freaking idea what you are talking about' when I felt the all so familiar punch in my gut. My scream still stuck in my throat when that punch was perfectly transferred to my left eye, while goon number two was holding my hands behind my back as number three was thoroughly ransacking my backpack.
Wavering between focusing on the blunt pain in my gut or the pinch around my face I still have to figure out how to tell these buffoons that I haven't sold anything to anyone.
I never sell anything to anyone!
For heaven's sake, I lead the most boring life on the planet. And for once I didn't even know which of the precious occupants of the building I was supposed to have sold out.
"Listen, I haven't, I...please...please...I..."
For the record, I am not completely proud of groveling at their feet to stop beating poor old me, but after tasting my own blood in my mouth and feeling it trickle down the side of my almost perfect nostril, I was beyond caring what a wimp it made me look.
And while they were right in the middle of roughing me up one single phone call was enough for them to dump me on the ground, throw my bag next to my head and simply stomp away without giving me one wayward look.
What the fuck! Not cool, right?
I know these people I am supposedly guarding are all rich and famous and do shady things that is worth a lot of money to a lot of people but how many times do I have to yell on top of my lungs that I Do Not Give Two Shits about any of them. This was the third time already that I have been accused of selling information to the press or sold pictures to some rival politician only to have been cleared of all wrongdoing with a briefest amounts of investigation. And yet every time something remotely iffy happens around them, they descend on me with bullies to shake out information from poor old me. You know, I am getting the feeling that the money may really not be worth getting punched every couple of weeks. Maybe it was time to find another job.
And then it happened.
Still trying to catch my breath after it was unceremoniously knocked out, rolling on the floor in an attempt to finally straighten up enough to stand up again, my eye suddenly caught sight of the most expensive looking leather shoes I have ever seen.
Is it weird to say it was love at first sight?
With the shoes, of course.
I mean how can you not be entranced with them. They were all gorgeous and shiny. And that perfect shade of brown. My drool mixing with the blood that was still running down the side of my chin when the owner of said pieces of beauty softly cleared his throat.
Slowly raising my eyes from those mouthwatering shoes I saw tawny brown eyes staring straight into mine. Oh boy, that face more than matched the gorgeousness of those shoes.
Was that....was that Arthit Rojnapat?
THE Arthit Rojnapat!
Now let's get this straight, there were the residents of this pish-posh snobbish building and then there was Arthit Rojnapat.
Not only was he the top model turned actor, but he was also the primary cause of one too many million heart palpitations in the country, perhaps even in the continent. The brooding, quietness of the handsome star had taken the world by storm, which essentially meant those rare flashes of that dimpled smile had us swooning all the more harder. And hell yeah I totally did include myself in the hordes of swooning masses, cause I am very much a human who happens to have eyes. And how can one not fall for that smoldering smirk. So let's just blame it on the brain damage I have from the ass whooping I just got for the embarrassingly cringe-worthy sigh I just released as soon as I heard that velvety smooth voice.
"Hey, you are Kong right?"