67

"Where to put the boxes, Señorita Parker?"

I ran my fingertips elegantly over the cover of one of my favorite books and as I carefully placed it on my white desk between the modern lamp and my laptop, my questioning gaze slid to Carlos, my new landlord, who was already sweating from all the exertion dripped from the forehead.

"Carlos, please call me Isalie," I smiled urgently at him and rushed towards him to help him with the heavy box, but he pulled it away from me and looked at me warningly with his dark eyes.

"It's still missing that you have to help me," he defended his honor as a man and I shrugged my shoulders calmly to then point along the corridor to the back room. Raising his knee, he steadied the box moments later, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his thin white sweatshirt before puffing like an old donkey and disappearing down the hall.

I looked after him with a tiny, guilty conscience and had to admit that something else was attractive to me. Granted, Carlos was handsome, but he was the type of guy who subconsciously tries to impress you with the fact that he has muscle and strength. But I was more impressed by the intelligence and humor of a person. After all, anyone with even a little stamina could have a good physique.

I took a deep breath, brushed a strand of my hair out of my face and lost myself in thought as I looked at my new office.

I've been on a few dates since I moved here to Alicante three months ago, but somehow the men here in Spain were all the same. Maybe I was just looking in the wrong places, but that didn't seem important because I was starting to think it was my age.

Of course, with my fresh 20 years, I was looking for someone my age and in this age group, there was apparently only arrogant, superficial and only for a quick joke.

My eyes drifted thoughtfully back to my desk, where I noticed a photo of myself and my best friend. We were standing in front of my parents' house on the day I left, and while it seemed like yesterday, it was further away than ever.

"So what is there left to do?"

Carlos stood right next to me and seemed to be eying me sideways, but I was so taken up with longing for my better half at the moment that it took me a moment to turn to him.

"Um," I thought, looking around the office. Basically, he had already done everything that would have been too difficult for me, but I had to admit to myself that I often gave him unnecessary errands just to avoid becoming lonely like an old maid. "Could you please put the mirror over there on the wall for me."

I carefully walked between the boxes to a tall mirror for which I had already found the perfect spot. Because my back was to the window when I was working on my laptop, I wanted the mirror to be mounted on the wall directly opposite me. So I could look out through it to the beach, which was clearly visible from here, and I would always have something to focus on should work ever get to my head again.

"Lo hare inmediatamente (I'll do it right now)", I heard him behind me and after looking thoughtfully at my green eyes in the mirror, I rolled my eyes with a smile and took aim at Carlos again.

"My Spanish is-"

"I know, but you have to learn, so I'd best just talk to you in Spanish," he interrupted, raising an eyebrow and lightly brushing my shoulder as he picked up the mirror from behind me and backed towards the wall.

"Here?" he asked, staring over his shoulder at me expectantly. I immediately padded to my desk and settled into my sun-heated desk chair to examine the view of the mirror.

"A little further to the right, otherwise I only see myself," I directed him with my hands, but he suddenly laughed stupidly and caught my attention. "What's funny about that?"

"I'd rather keep an eye on you than the boring beach," he said, and my cheeks immediately warmed up, although it also annoyed me at the same time. He'd let such insinuations escape his grinning lips before, but I'd made it clear to him often enough that I certainly wouldn't start anything with him.

After I didn't reply to him except a warning look, he finally hung the mirror in the right place and fastened it while I got down to some decorative items and arranged them neatly on my desk.

A scented candle for my relaxation, an artificial orchid for my inner peace and last but not least a small, red stress ball that I have had to use more often than I would like lately, but alone in a foreign country it is always a bit more stressful at first.

A few more hours passed during which Carlos helped me arrange my collections of books alphabetically in the modern closet made of white wood and glass before it got dark outside and he decided to go home. Of course, he also offered to invite me for a cocktail, but I politely declined and offered the alternative that we could have lunch together the next day, which he accepted with anticipation.

"It can begin," I said proudly and, in the little light of my purple floor lamp, surveyed the room where I would probably spend most of my days.

The bedroom, my small living room with the cute kitchenette and the even smaller bathroom were in the back of the apartment and I still had enough time to put everything away.

With my hand already on the light switch, I was about to go to the shower to wash off this stressful day and swap my light summer dress for my pajamas, but suddenly there was a knock behind me on the dark front door, which is directly next to mine office bordered.

I glanced around, thinking Carlos must have forgotten something again, but when I put my hand on the doorknob and turned the key with the other, my jaw almost dropped in shock as I pulled the door open.

A very somber looking man who looked like a businessman in his tailored suit just stood there and stared at me with his cold eyes so blank that a shiver ran down my spine that made me freeze for a moment.

"Buenas noches," came from the depths of his throat, and his voice, so dark and raspy, made my heart skip a beat for a long beat before I regained my senses, my eyes falling to his arm and I realized in shock that he was putting his hand over a wound that was dripping far too much blood for my understanding.

Out of sheer instinct, and since I often spent my lonely nights watching mysteries, I wanted to close the door quickly, but he took his hand from the wound, pushed the door open with force, and just walked past me into my office, while I stood frozen and watched him go.

"Close the door!"

He turned around to me, probably trying to dominate me with his ice-cold gaze and when I took him a little too long, he suddenly pulled a gun out of his jacket and aimed it right at my head.

"Don't shoot!" I blurted out and immediately put my hands up in surrender to kick the door shut, which slammed shut behind me with a loud bang. My heart was pounding and dying for survival while my hands were shaking and I could hardly breathe. The oxygen around me seemed to be dwindling and what I was going through in that moment of absolute silence, like a panic attack, while he casually ran his fingers through his dark, thick hair.

He seemed calm, too calm. Not at all like someone who was bleeding to death, which somehow made me think it wasn't his first injury of this kind.

"Water, painkillers and a towel," his dark voice broke the silence and it took me a moment to collect myself before I slowly and carefully walked past him with my hands up. I kept expecting him to do something to me. Assuming that as a witness he would surely kill me anyway and tried to pull myself together despite everything. In the documentaries about criminals, it was always said that one should keep calm, because if one interacted too nervously or hectically, one would transfer it to the attacker and the chance of survival fell to zero

And judging by his demeanor and demeanor, he certainly was anything but a mugging victim. Everything about him oozed danger, and my pulse seemed to get faster and faster as a result...

After collecting everything in the bathroom with trembling hands and my rapid breathing, I slowly, careful not to provoke him, walked back to his office.

He leaned his hips against my desk and my gaze inadvertently flitted over his naked upper body, which seemed to be covered in scars and tattoos, until I met his eyes and, after a brief pause in them, immediately lowered my head again.

"You're welcome," I stuttered and held the things out to him, but an unexpected touch from him on my chin made me recoil in such shock that everything slipped out of my hand in panic and I couldn't stop myself from crying at him.

"Why are you so scared?" he asked without emotion in his voice and it seemed unreal that he was asking me such an absurd question considering the extreme situation we were in.

His eyes seemed to examine every inch of my trembling body before he came back towards me and I closed my eyes in fear...