Well, Someone Was Pissed

KNIGHT

Shit.

This was not happening.

I wasn't trying to overhear anything, but she was sitting right next to me and she kept speaking till I could feel my ears turning red and I had to keep pretending like I didn't know what she was saying but God, I did and this was the most embarrassing experience of my whole entire life.

"Talk to him? Of course, I'm not going to!" She whisper-yelled. Whatever her name was. "Esra, stop acting like an overprotective freak. I know he's a guy. I won't talk to him, dammit. He might be smokin' hot but . . ."

I don't know what she's saying I don't know what she's saying I don't know what she's saying

"You know what, I'll talk to you once I reach my apartment. There's so much I need to tell you and I can't . . ." I could feel her eyes on me. Her doe-like hazel eyes, encased by some seriously curly lashes without mascara. I had definitely noticed back on the train. "I'll talk to you later."

Oh, thank God. I felt my muscles visibly relax. I knew I resembled a tomato but a few calming breaths could help with that. Focusing back on my work, I checked the CVs of the new employees for this week. One of them was an intern from Ege Üniversitesi in Izmir, who would be working as a chef in one of the kitchens of our hotel based in Bosporus, Istanbul.

My assistant must've interviewed her and I trusted him so I moved on to the next CV.

I couldn't forget what she'd said about me; it was stuck in my brain and I hated thinking while I was trying to work.

Of course, I'd heard women talking about me before. It always made me uncomfortable but never like this. This woman was absolutely stunning. I had never seen someone like her before. Her milky skin seemed softer than silk and the expression she wore reminded me of a startled hyena.

This girl might seem soft but beneath all the layers she was hardened by life. Just like I was.

I couldn't explain the kind of connection I'd felt to her the moment our eyes had locked. Like we were long lost lovers. I had to know more about this strange girl who looked at me like I had given the world to her. Like I was her hero.

It warmed up my insides.

"I'm twenty," she intoned out of the blue. "Going to turn twenty-one in December."

Good to know?

Her eyes sparkled and for a moment I thought it was from amusement until she gritted out, "You called me Abla,"

Oh. That.

"I call everyone Abla," The truth easily slipped out.

Her mouth dropped open. "Why?"

Shrugging my shoulders sheepishly, I said, "I'm not interested in a relationship so I don't want anyone to have such ideas."

There you go. I said it. I basically threw it in her face that I wasn't interested in her.

"Okay," She crossed her arms over her chest and my attention drew down to her full-sleeved polka dot dress. She rocked a pair of converses that were older than me.

Strange indeed.

"First time visiting Istanbul?" For someone who wasn't interested, I sure seemed to talk a lot.

She clutched her chest with a dramatic gasp. "What gave it away? My not-so-posh accent? Or the fact that I wear a hijab?"

I raised a brow with a smirk. Someone's ego was hurt. "You know that almost fifty per cent of our population wears a hijab, right? And I was just asking, no need to get so defensive."

"No, no, you're right," sarcasm dripped from her words. "I'm from a village in Izmir that you probably have never heard of before."

I chuckled. "Sorry, I honestly wasn't being rude. You asked why I called you Abla and I told you."

"Whatever," she huffed. "I don't care."

Sure she didn't.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like that though. Being next to her was so refreshing. However, this moment would end in no time and then I'd be alone again so there was no point in getting attached.

She turned her glary eyes at me again, eyeing me suspiciously. "How old are you?"

"Not sure how that would help our conversation but I'm twenty-eight; turning twenty-nine in—"

"April, I know,"

Okay. WHAT?

"Have you been . . . stalking me?" Now I was seriously worried.

This had happened before. And it got messy.

Her eyes were widened. "It's just . . . you look like you'd be born in April. All annoying people are born in April."

I eyed her and she shrunk back. "Are you sure you haven't been stalking me?"

"How is that even possible? I just met you!"

I wasn't convinced but I was willing to let it go. If I didn't, the alternative was just scary. Trust me, I'd met some crazy people in my life. And they never looked like it.

"Fine," I sagged in my seat, "I'll bite. Why are you visiting Istanbul?"

"Job," she clipped, "Why are you asking when you basically think I'm a stalker?"

"You aren't supposed to know strangers' birth months."

"Forget that already! I don't even know your name."

I didn't know my name either.

"They call me Burak," I said and no, I was not being funny. That's what apparently my name was. In my foster home, I was sent with another name and my best friend called me Knight. Thinking of her sent splinters of sadness into my heart. "What about you?"

"Alana. They call me Alana," She laughs at her own joke, doing a poor job at mimicking my voice.

"Ha ha, that was funny," I closed my laptop, figuring I wouldn't be working anytime soon.

"So, you're from Istanbul? And why are you travelling in public transport when you look like. . ." She waved her hands, gesturing to my clothes, "that?"

No excuse, really. Sometimes it felt good to be normal. To not be seen as a CEO, but a normal guy. As normal as one could be on a business trip, I guess.

"I am from Istanbul and it doesn't matter why I chose to travel on a train. What are you studying?"

"I didn't realise we were playing twenty questions. If so, then I'm out." She made a face at me, all pouty and two-year-old-y. "I wouldn't want to give you the impression that I'm interested or anything."

Fair enough. I got myself into that one deliberately.