Watching the busy streets silently move beneath me from my office window, I daydream about green eyes and cross tattoos. I've been doing this a lot over the past three days and the second I catch myself, I try to stop immediately.

Nothing productive can come of this type of behaviour and this distraction is the exact reason why I don't even attempt to date anymore. Actually, it's the reason I don't have anyone in my life, period. I'm too busy.

Not that I have found anyone remotely interesting enough to spend time with or anyone other than Liam has tried.

I feel so bad about dismissing him the other day, worse than I would ever admit out loud.

Katie scolded me for being heartless and too harsh and that hit far too close to home. When did I become like this? I was never like this.

I take in a deep breath and catch my reflection in the window. There is nothing special about how I look, I have dark hair that is always cut in the same way, long layers sitting just below my shoulders. This is the perfect length, not too short so it doesn't flick out to the side and not too long that it looks unkept. I get it cut every three weeks to make sure it's always at the optimal length.

My eyes are dark, almost black, and I used to spend my youth wishing they were an exotic colour, maybe grey or a turquoise blue, with depth that another person would get lost in, tell me I had beautiful eyes and say they captivated them.

I don't wish that any more. I'd love to say it's because I'm happy with who I am, but it's not that. It's more that I know wishing I had blue eyes instead of brown isn't going to change them and now, I concentrate on things I have control over.

I'm thin, mainly from stress, but I wish I was fitter, more toned. I tried to go to a couple of spin classes in the past but the yelling and music made me anxious and I found myself spending the hour counting down the minutes until it was over.

I do no exercise at all apart from walking home from work every now and then, my awful diet of pre-packaged salads and cigarettes doing their best to make sure I look healthy but my insides are far from it.

My clothes aren't adventurous or self-expressive; they are practical and corporate, appropriate and a little dull, deliberately so, in order to not have any male counterpart have that to comment on or draw attention to anything other than my ability.

My wardrobe consists predominantly of pant suits, nothing form-fitting, of course, cashmere sweaters and pencil skirts all in grey, black, white, navy or beige. Now that I think of it, I don't think I own anything in any other colour except a pair of blue jeans I bought on holiday in Paris one year and have only worn them once.

Katie is always on my back about how I look, telling me that I should splurge on a sexy pair of heels or a fun cocktail dress once in a while with, "All that money you work so hard for." But I tell her that not only is it unnecessary, but it's also not me. I'm not fun and I'm not sexy.

I'm beige, not red.

Harry Styles is the opposite. He is almost flamboyant in his appearance, self-assurance and personality dripping off him, making me feel more like a robot than human as his authenticity floods my senses.

He's not red either, he's rainbow.

After Liam interrupted our meeting that morning, he drove me out to the Gipps Street site in his white 1966 convertible Mercedes, impeccably restored and you could just tell by the grin on his face, it was his pride and joy.

More impressive than his taste in clothes and cars, was his knowledge. Undoubtedly, one of the most informative and well prepared agents I've ever dealt with. He spoke confidently and with precision, never hesitating to answer any and every question I threw at him and, unlike most realtors, he came across as convincing and sincere rather than slimy.

He wasn't intimidating or undermining, he listened to me intently and made relevant and interesting suggestions. He is fantastic at his job and clearly passionate about his work which I find incredibly attractive.

Not that it matters.

He had offered me a cigarette, lighting mine before his own and not bothering to give me a bullshit remark about how they will kill us one day.

My attention on his mouth, as he sucked in a drag, clouded my mind so much I hadn't realised he had asked me a question and the look his face let me know he knew exactly what had happened.

It was clear he is dedicated and hard working which are rare qualities to find in someone so young these days and I'm wondering just how old he really is when an incoming email chimes on my computer.

*Alexa, the revised contract you asked for is attached. Harry.*

No emotion and written exactly how I would have worded it. No bullshit, no pretence. This man is perfection.

I glance at my clock, 9.01 on Friday night.

*Thanks, Harry. You're still working?* I send back, smacking my forehead with my palm, why would I ask that? He's making me lose every speck of the professionalism I pride myself on.

*Clearly. Guessing you also spend Friday nights at your desk, Ms Patterson?*

*Guess so. Thanks again.* I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding in. Good work Lexi, shut the pleasantries down. You are not friends, you barely have a working relationship with the man.

*Have you had dinner?* I bite my lip as I see the email and I don't know why my heart leaps in my chest.

What a weird thing to ask?

*Just about to order some.* I reply, not giving him anything more.

Something about him makes me uneasy and out of control, he's hard to read and borderline condescending but my racing pulse frightens me more than anything and I don't like the feeling of it at all.

*Good, I could use a break. Meet me downstairs in 20.*

What?

Is he bringing me food? Or taking me out? Fuck. No. I don't want to go out for dinner with him. Do I? What if he expected me to order him food with mine?

*What do you mean?* I ask but I there's no reply.

A/N:

Double update for your weekend!

ENJOY!

Love Ruby

x