When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 10

“How did you learn to type so fast?”

I jolted, my heart jumping to my throat. The book I had been about to place on the shelf clattered to the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” I hissed, mentally willing my pounding heart to calm down. “Do not sneak up on me like that.”

As the heat of the moment passed, a twinge of panic born of the knowledge that I hadn’t heard him arrive, much less creep up on me settled in my chest. If he wanted, he could have hurt me before I even got a chance to react. How is he even quiet with those unnecessarily long limbs?

I still had a few minutes before the end of my shift and although, I was gradually getting used to him randomly showing up, it still set me on edge.

“First things first,” I said, forcing myself to take calming breaths. “Where’s the contract?”

“How did you get so fast with your fingers?” he reiterated, closing the small gap between us. “I asked first.”

“I’m sure that came out dirtier than you meant it to,” I replied, stepping back to put much needed space between us again. “And technically, I asked first. Two days ago. When I gave you the contract.”

“Technically.” He drawled the word out condescendingly. “I get precedence because I don’t trust you which I made very clear a long time ago.”

I flashed him an unimpressed look before bending to pick up the fallen book.

“Are you really trying to outsmart me right now?” My tone conveyed incredulous amusement. “Haven’t we already established that even drained, crying and with a headache, I can still outwit you? Seriously, don’t embarrass yourself.”

If eyes could shoot, I’d be riddled with bullet holes.

“Glaring like that isn’t going to change anything,” I pointed out. “Which reminds me, what did your lawyer say? About the contract?”

I didn’t think it was possible but his scowl darkened dramatically. It went from ‘I want to kill you’ to ‘I will decimate you and everything you care about.’

“I take it he was impressed,” I deduced.

“It was okay,” he bit out.

“Okay?” I scoffed. “You’re looking at me like you’d like to teach me a lesson or two in a dark alley. You don’t do that for just ‘okay’. Come on, just admit it was spectacular.”

His nostrils flared.

“It didn’t have any mistakes. You win,” he gritted out, his gaze trained on the opposite shelf above my head.

I knew he definitely wasn’t interested in horticulture so it had to be something else. Some other reason why he couldn’t meet my gaze.

“I more than win, don’t I? He loved me, didn’t he? What did he say? I want his exact words.”

Mother of all shockers, I found out he wasn’t at scowling capacity yet because his scowl darkened even further. Enough that I was starting to debate the wisdom of goading him in a remote aisle.

I took a step back reflexively.

“He offered you a job.” The words were forced out of jaws so tightly clenched it was a surprise they were audible at all.

His revelation was followed by a sharp bark of laughter from yours truly. In my defence, I couldn’t help myself. What was I supposed to do? Not laugh? It was too precious.

“That had to have burned,” I goaded.

“Can we get back to the question about your typing now?” His gaze remained fixed just above my head as an embarrassed blush made its way up his neck.

“Sure,” I acquiesced. “But you signed it, right?”

There was no point if it wasn’t signed.

He nodded reluctantly.

“Doesn’t mean I trust you to honor it. I just signed it as an extra layer of protection since it nullifies your testimony and stuff. For the record, I’m still going to follow you around. The problem isn’t you talking to the cops, it’s you talking to... other people.”

‘Other people’? Seriously?

I held out my hand for the contract, stifling the urge to roll my eyes. At least he signed it. I could work with that. Take that, voodoo doll witch.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you keep skirting my question.” The chill in his voice could’ve competed impressively against the seventh circle of hell.

I stiffened at his tone a light shiver running down my spine as I looked up from the contract.

“Feeling threatened by my superior gaming skills?” My tone was light and forced. A failed attempt to lighten the mood.

He ignored my generous olive branch.

“Your skills are good but your hands are very fast. And for someone who’s bent on keeping it a secret, you’re irritatingly proud of your gaming skills,” he said in a snippy tone.

“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other,” I answered congenially.

I was being kind, magnanimous even, with this second bone but that had more to do with the fact that we were slightly secluded from the rest of the library and for the first time ever, he actually seemed like a criminal.

“A hacker is fast. Like you,” he insinuated, letting the sentence hang accusatory between us.

I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly. Oh please. The story there wasn’t even that interesting.

“I used to help my mom with her work when I was much younger. Like when I was in elementary school,” I began. 

My list of crimes could very easily be counted on one hand with fingers to spare; Olly and drag racing, Olly and the underground fighting syndicate and that other thing I was going take to my grave. Not the underwear incident. This was a different to-my-grave secret. One that no amount of alcohol at any college rave would get out of me. That was all. All my crimes. I would never try hacking. If I got caught hacking, my parents would kill me. If they lost face in front of their friends because of me, I would be finished.

“She’d bring home case files she was done with and assign us tasks. My sister and I. It was supposed to be educative and probably get us interested in law. She started off giving us fun tasks like highlighting all call logs to a specific phone number and things like that.”

Since the contract had been signed and delivered, I had no issue with satisfying his curiosity. That and I had no choice.

I placed the next book in its appropriate spot then moved on to the next aisle, pushing the cart ahead of me. Masked Idiot trailed closely behind.

“It was fun at the beginning. Like playing a work version of dress-up.” My lips curved up in a wistful grin.

In my periphery, I caught him rolling his eyes.

“A little while later, the company hit a rough patch. The company itself was facing a lawsuit. Cases weren’t coming in as much and a lot of their clients were jumping ship so they had to let some employees go. My mom wasn’t high up on the chain back then so her secretary had to go too. Her workload increased so she started giving us real work. Cases she was still working on. It was probably a breach of confidentiality but...” I shrugged unapologetically.

He nodded slowly, almost carefully in a way that had me doubting if he truly understood.

“At first, she used to crosscheck but she was usually too busy typing up her reports to spend time worrying about us. Especially since there were almost never any mistakes. I didn’t make any and I used to correct Olly’s before we gave them to her. Though in Olly’s defence, she only made very, very few mistakes.”

“I’m not seeing the connection to the question I asked,” he said.

“I’m getting there.” I rolled my eyes. “Back then, we were too young to cook so I started helping her type up her notes whenever she was busy in the kitchen or taking a bath, stuff like that.”

She never explicitly told me to do it but I could tell she was swamped and I wanted to lighten her load. It was my cursed caregiver instincts acting up, even at that age.

“Anyway,” I carried on, pausing to slip another book into its appropriate slot. “She used to crosscheck that too at first but she soon realized I wasn’t the type to make mistakes. I was a bit slow. I mean, I was a child so yeah, I was slow.”

I couldn’t help the instinctual urge to defend myself even though rationally, I knew I had no reason to do so, especially to a criminal who had shown an above average inclination for idiocy but it had been hammered into my head since I was a kid. I had to be excellent at everything. Always. Defending young me who didn’t instantly become an expert at typing wasn’t an urge I could curb.

“But I never made mistakes so she let me. Started asking me to do it even.”

I never made mistakes. I wasn’t that girl. I was the girl who people would look at and say, ‘how is she so perfect all the damn time?’ I always did everything perfectly. It’s all I knew. My mom had drummed into my head how crucial perfection was that I constantly felt like I couldn’t afford to be any less.

I sighed wearily. Mission failed, mum. I made the worst mistake ever.

“What?” he questioned, suspicion coating his tone as he took in my forlorn expression.

“You,” I answered tiredly. “You’re the one speck of imperfection in my perfect little life.”

He frowned.

“Anyway,” I pasted a smile on my face and forged on, “that’s how I started typing and now, I’m fast at it.”

“Sometimes you seem like you’re just a law abiding straight ‘A’ student.”

“I am just a law abiding straight ‘A’ student.” It came out more hopeless that I intended so I added, “I don’t like being defined by it but yes, I’ve been a straight ‘A’ student since birth.”

Yes, I was deflecting and yes, it was a textbook defence mechanism. Sue me. Humor, bringing joy and masking hurt since 128B.C.

“Your humility is a model to us all.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re practically a saint.”