A/N: I do not own Girl Meets World, the characters, the locations, the songs and quotes mentioned in it.

Based off Fifty Shade of Grey Trilogy with a slight twist of Girl Meets World in it.

I'm so used to being used

So I love when you call unexpected

'cause I hate when the moment's expected

So I'ma care for you, you, you

I'ma care for you, you, you, you, yeah

'cause girl you're perfect

You're always worth it

And you deserve it

The way you work it

'cause girl you earned it, yeah

Girl you earned it, yeah

- Earned it; The Weeknd

"Chance encounters are what keeps us going."

- Haruki Murakami

Chapter One: The Interview

I was going to kill her.

I want to kill her so bad. And revive her later on just to kill her again.

This is the worst thing I've ever done for her. And I've done a lot of dumb stuff for her in the past. Most of those things have given me detention and a couple of suspensions (even though those never bothered me) but it is the thought I put into my tricks that counts. So she better be fully grateful for this because this is the biggest torment for me yet.

I felt out of place by standing here in this parking lot, scowling at myself in frustration in the rearview mirror as I tried to comb my hair into a proper state and constantly checked my makeup for any smudges. Damn, my lipstick looks too dark now that I took a better look at it. I quickly used a napkin from the takeout I ate on the way here and wiped the awfully deep red from my lips. I gave up on my hair. It was a whirlwind of tangled curls and opted to pulled it back in a neat ponytail.

Giving myself another look in the mirror, I let out an irritated moan and rolled my eyes at the pathetic sight of a girl trying to perfect her look to impress a stranger I never heard of until the day before. It wasn't like I am a bombshell or anything. I was just another pale, blue-eyed blonde who grew up from the streets and often mistaken for a hooker from the red light district all because people, men in general, tend to think of me as another Paris Hilton. How stereotypical of them.

Glancing outside of the window, I could see the ridiculously tall, towering building made out of polished glass and the parking lot was filled with new shiny models of cars that are trending for the year. My glossy yet beat-up 67' Chevrolet Impala stood out like a sore thumb among them, making me more uncomfortable with the unwanted attention I am getting from men in suits and women in blazers. I am completely out of my element.

I let out a low groan as I slumped back into my seat, tapping on the steering wheel with my black-painted nails, hoping that the deeper I shrink down, the more impossible it would be for people to spot me. It usually works when I'm caught in a busy crowd. Being only five foot gives an amazing advantage of invisibility.

I hate you, Riley, I thought bitterly.

Riley Eleanor Matthews; she is my best friend, my only friend in my life, and is also my roommate. I met her a couple of day after my fifth birthday. The way we met was by far the most unbelievable way told because it is not everyday you tell people you encountered your soul friend by climbing through her window when you heard her singing and looking like the more rarest of innocence to be found in a horrid world like today. Every time we tell people how we met, we'd leave them speechless because it is absurd but I know it is not due to the story but because of who she and I are.

You see, I grew up in a rough neighborhood in Greenwich Village. The kind where there are real hookers who wait at the corners of the street are living in the apartment room above yours and you could hear their business overnight, where the only police department within the radius are on a payroll with the gangs who own the territory, where kids are already learning to roll up a joint, and where pedophiles hide in to avoid the society that has ridiculed them through media. I was part of it all, a witness to the sinful things at such a young age, and I gained my own reputation in the midst of it all.

I was known at the untrustworthy rebel, a street rat, who would con people into giving me free food or money, a danger to the community and the crush of all hopes to any new generation. I was one of the most disliked kid in the neighborhood. Especially to those who lived in high society. I was a menace, according to them, who reeked havoc like a lowlife bum, making them despise me whenever they see me. Children feared me, adults loathed me, and lawmen would abhor me for the constant call complaints about me.

I was soon nicknamed the Anarchist. It was not original. I was a star to any known rebel within the area and the antagonist to other civilians. I enjoyed the respect my name provided me - I reveled in the legacy. I was wild, unrestrained, and I was heading down a deep, uncertain path in life where I won't have chances to make things right again. The was the way it was for me and I thought I would live in a life like that but then time changed everything one day when I heard singing coming through a window and I found myself lured towards it.

And that was when Riley came into my life. She was in a more secure and friendlier side of Greenwich Village. One where you could wake up to birds chirping outside your window instead of sirens blaring, where you could go to the dining table full of plates of home cooked meals and a family waiting for you to start their prayers for the day, where you could plead for a toy to have on your birthday or that Christmas and get it, or where you could get your dream car a day early of your sixteenth birthday.

Riley is my exact polar opposite. She is a bubbly girl who is outgoing with her friends, cheerful even about the most trivial things occurring to her, holds an incredibly high optimism, has a strong intelligence in the maths and science, and she could be sensitive about specific topics about herself but that does not seem to stop her from voicing her opinions in political views and feminism. The only downside of her lifestyle is that she has been a bit spoiled by her parents when she was younger is that it made her an idealist and she expects everyone to live up to her expectations, maybe even considered lofty if you like. These are the many traits are what made her into the awkward, successful woman I've seen her grow into.

The boys in our school would go after her like a lost puppy. All kinds would be captivated by her. Jocks, nerds, mechanics, and fitness freaks. Some believed to be in love with her, others would be in lust with her. I won't deny that she is gorgeous; with her heart-shaped, light complexion, and slim and marginally athletic physique, she is quite the sight of natural beauty. And the fact that she is almost, always healthy makes her twice the catch.

At least she was until today when she has chosen to be victimized by the flu. Stuffy nose, clogged throat, and watery eyes, therefore, she cannot be present for the interview she worked months to arrange with some profitable tycoon I'd hear girls squeal about at the sight of a picture of him in a magazine cover and give me a migraine. After a couple of tries of persuasion and constant begging, I reluctantly agreed under the condition that she bought me a new supply of photography film and paint kits.

I should be back at the apartment working on my project for the art festival that is being held at NYU and impress a mysterious guest artist who is looking for an apprentice, but no - I have to waste my gas to drive 5.3 miles to Upper East Side, New York to make sure she doesn't lose her interview some wealthy CEO of Friar International Trade Inc. I don't really know what it is that he does to reach where he is but apparently it gives him a busy schedule where every second is critical and he somehow managed to grant Riley an interview. A thoughtful man, she told me. I'm sure he is, or he just wanted to get her out of his hair for good.

I still remember how she looked earlier; covered up into a bundle of a heavy blanket, huddled up into the cushions of the couch, hacking her lungs out into a used tissue, and snorting up the phlegm covering up her nose.

"I love you - I love you - I love you!" Riley repeated exasperatedly in a raspy voice while clasping her hands together, her cheeks a deep red. "You don't know how much this means to me, Peaches. Did I mentioned how much I love you lately? Because I really love you."

I don't know how she does it. Even looking ill, nearly on the brink of death, she looked adorable with her glassy eyes, rimmed and baggy, and her cocoa brown hair looking like it had gone through an electrical surge. She could even bring out her sincerity through her sore throat.

"Just don't die while I'm out," I said with a sigh, internally kicking myself. The slightest bit of regret was beginning to form in the pit of my stomach knowing I have no choice but to go through my agreement with her. "Do you have everything you need to get better? Nyquil? Chicken soup? Enough rest?"

"I just drank a shot of Nyquil so I'll be out like a light by the time you're heading there. And I didn't throw up any of the soup I just finished eating. Do you have everything?"

I held up the notepad and digital recorder she handed me earlier. "Professional reporter for a day, at your service. Anything I need to know?"

"If you feel like he says something that seem too important, write it down, even if you have the recorder. Aside from that, just ask the questions I have written down for you and make sure the recorder catches them all and clearly. That is important. Don't worry about writing down any big notes - I'll transcribe them all."

I slumped my shoulders. "Should I really be doing this? I don't know a thing about the guy. All I know is that girls are willing to drop their panties for him if he asks them to. Are you sure nobody from your class can cover up for you?"

"The only one in my class who is willing to do this is Missy Bradford and you know how I feel about her. She doesn't like me and I have no doubt that she will put her name on this project because it is the biggest one for anyone in our class to get. I can't lose this opportunity out of desperation. That's why I need you to do this for me."

"Fine," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Anything else?"

Riley seemed hesitant and gave me a sheepish smile. "I don't want to seem rude, honey, and you know I have no problems with the way your style is but could you dress a little more...appropriate?"

I raised a brow. "Appropriate?"

"I know, I know!" she squeaked out. "But, as much as I hate to say it, appearance speaks volumes in the journalism business. If we don't look the part then we won't be taken seriously. And, unfortunately, they won't look twice at someone who has your kind of style. You're suppose to seem approachable, not...intimidating."

Crossing my arms, I smirked mischievously while glancing down at my choice of outfit. A red band tee shirt with a pair of black ripped jeans and some combat boots I found lying around under my bed. To complete it all is my trademark leather jacket that was once owned by my stepfather and I've worn since high school.

"I like it," I said proudly.

"And I like it too," she responded. "But, please, please, please, just this once, Maya, dress up in something different. Just this once. You know I never tell you to change if it wasn't so important."

I sucked in air through my teeth. "Alright. I'll see what I can find in my closet that's interview worthy. I promise."

Riley lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank you so much. Seriously, I love you."

"And don't you forget it. Anyway, I'm going. Get back to bed." I stared at her fondly as I gathered up my backpack and gave her a quick kiss on her head before I left the germ-infested living room. A part of me could not believe that I let Riley convince me into this but then again she is studying to be an excellent journalist and I have no doubt that she will reach the tops of her career. Also, because I am willing to do anything for her because I love this peppy girl.

And now I am found in a parking lot, double-checking everything again to make sure I have all that I need and left my car. I tugged down the skirt - the only decent one I could find that won't be frowned upon in this side of New York society - that hit above my knees and smoothed out my red tank top. I tugged my leather jacket closer to my frame. I was not going to leave home without it; I don't think I ever wore an outfit without it. It is like a good luck charm to me and I feel like I'm going to need it for today.

I walked up towards the glass doors to the building lobby and held my breath as my eyes stared up at the tall building. Above the entrance was the initials, FITI, of the company in bold style engraved in steel. I quickly glanced at the screen of my iPhone to see I arrived twenty minutes early, bringing a rush of relief since I know I have the tendency of being late to such occasions, and I quickly entered the building as I released my breath.

Inside the building, I was stunned into numbness. The lobby was like an elegant art carved in the hands of a master, no, a genius; the walls were a cloud white shade and the floor was a gleaming black marble that I could practically see my reflection casting off of it. There was no spec of dirt found on it, not even a grain. I could even hear the clacking of my heels echoing off the walls as I head over to the reception desk. It was not frightening or intimidating but it was not exactly the warmest place to feel welcomed to and the classically dressed people seen walking across the place were not exactly helping as they would glance at me in bewilderment, silently judging me through their eyes.

Behind the gray-surfaced desk with a fish tank beneath is young, attractive and neatly groomed redhead woman who immediately forced a false polite smile once she spotted me. She was wearing a royal blue spaghetti strap dress that showed a little bit of cleavage and the darkest shade of brown lipstick that seemed horrible in contrast to her light skin. She looked like she was trying too hard to get attention.

"May I help you?" she asked, her eyes scrutinizing me intently.

I cleared my throat. "I have a meeting with Mr. Friar. I'm standing in for Riley Matthews. My name is Maya Ha - Hunter."

She arches her thick eyebrow at me as I tugged on my leather and then began to type in the keyboard of the fancy computer set in front of her. A part of me was beginning to wish I borrowed one of Riley's formal dresses instead of my casual outfit. I felt this was a smart choice in the beginning but seeing how much I stood out in this crowd of sophisticated people with advanced vocabulary and a calculator for a brain, I looked like a sheep-meal for a pack of wolves. I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear whilst I waited for her to stop typing. The continuous clicking of the keys was making me feel paranoid.

"Ah, yes, a Miss Matthews is expected for an interview expected at noon." She smiled dully as she ran a manicured finger over the list of events. She hands me a clipboard with a sign-in sheet and a fountain pen. "Please sign in here, Miss Hunter. When you're done, you will take the third elevator on the left and press for the fiftieth floor," she added as she watched me sign in.

She then gave me a security pass that has "VISITOR" labeled on the front. I resisted the urge to let out an unlady-like snort. As if I needed a badge to state the obvious. Clearly I am visiting - I don't fit in here at all. I didn't say much so I vaguely smiled at her before I walked to the row of elevators and kept my gaze forward as I passed the line of security guards at each door, who remind me of those England guards with their stiff posture.

The ride up to the fiftieth floor was not fast enough for me with all the stops but I managed to get there in record time and when I stepped on my floor, I found myself in another large lobby identical to the one below. There was another young woman with jet black hair that was glossy and lots of volume. The only difference was that she was dressed in a, what seems expensive to me, long-sleeved dress.

At the sound of the elevator letting out a ding, she rose up to greet me and put on a pleasant smile as she held a designed hand to me. I complied.

"Miss Hunter?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Friar will see you in a minute. Could you wait here, please?" She gestured to the resting area of brown leather chairs.

It looked more like a viewing spot of New York City. Behind the chairs was a glass wall painted by the reality of my home, an excellent sight of the Empire State Building seen being shined upon by the beaming sunlight and I could see the George Washington Bridge on the other side, hovering over the Hudson River that is a glistening dark blue. Above the area was what seems like a skyline where I could see the clear sky of the day with a few faded clouds floating along. It was simple, it was the same thing I see every day, but I felt like I was closer and I could see the details that happen in it better than the small window at my apartment. Wow.

After a temporary fascination, I sit down at the chair closest to the glass wall, pull out the questions from my raggedy bag, and skim through them, cursing Riley to the fiery pits of Hades for giving me a hazy explanation about this stranger. I know absolutely nothing about this man. I don't even know how old he is. For all I know, he could be sixty or eighty, or he could be a pedophile on the low. Ew, no. I shuddered at that thought. Way to boost yourself up, Hart. I wanted to smack myself for that. Hunter! You're a Hunter now! Maya Hart is no more!

A ringing from the phone behind the desk brought me out of my mind and made me look back up to the woman behind it. I never noticed it before until I looked at her more thoroughly; all the women who work here are young and gorgeous. They each have different hair color, wore an exaggerated amount of layered makeup, and their hairs are pinned up. Was this a trend for the high class? Or did this Mr. Friar have a specific taste he like in women? That could not be true because they are all kinds of races in here from Hispanic to Asians to African-American. Maybe he likes to taste the rainbow.

I fingered the corner of the page of questions as I tried to distract myself from the bizarre discovery. This interview just became extremely uncomfortable for me. I'd rather be surrounded with Riley's company, curled up in bed, with her writing in her laptop and a random show of hers playing on Netflix, while I blended colors for a piece I decided to work on. Not sitting in the inside of a statue structure with multi-colored doppelgangers roaming around at every corner. I figured with the struggle Riley went through to set up this interview, it won't last long. If Mr. Friar is as busy as I told he was, this would be over quicker than I could blink, I hope.

I am curious, however, at how he might look like. Seeing as how modern the building looked from outside and inside, I can imagine it to be a middle-aged man. He must be. It would make sense for someone to be in the business to be able to gain a reputation and acquire an expansive amount of fortune. He could be like those stuffy and overly done enigmatic men I've seen on TV with a combed-back hair, a few strands of gray here and there, and a trimmed stubble that would make him seem irresistible. At least, that is the closest to a businessmen I've pictured. And if he was anything like those guys in those shows, this interview has already gone down the drain.

He better not be an ass. I puffed out air. That would be a problem if he is. I don't handle well with arrogant people who are so high up the pedestal and think they're the ruler of the world. I tend to have a loose tongue if I feel threatened or disrespected - a trait that would have very well gotten me expelled in high school if it hadn't been for Riley's father's persuasive words to the principal at the time. Think of Riley. Doing it for Riley. Important to Riley. Think of Riley. Doing it for Riley. Important to Riley. I just kept that mantra in my head in hopes it would help me get through this nightmare.

Just then, another flawless, gracefully dressed woman comes out of the large door behind the desk. This one is a natural brunette with blonde highlights in the bottom. Again, what is it with all of these women being so young? Are they even legal to work here? I feel like I stepped in a hidden stripper's joint and a show is going to start at any second now. I took a deep breath to hold back the bile I felt rising up as I stood up.

"Miss Hunter?" the brunette asked.

"That's me."

"Mr. Friar will be with you shortly. He's currently finishing a meeting. Would you like me to take your...jacket?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at her as I tugged my jacket closer to me, noticing the disapproval and obvious disbelief in her tone when she eyed at it. Why this little -

"No, thank you," I answered coolly.

She pursed her lips. "Very well. May I offer you some refreshments as you wait?"

She sounds so monotone. Robotic, much? I shrugged nonchalantly. "Got any Scotch in here?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Hunter, but Mr. Friar doesn't allow any alcohol here. We only have water, juice, and soda. Would any of these benefit you in some way?"

I raised a brow. So much for a high-class establishment.

"I guess water is fine," I said.

"Excellent." She seemed eager to walk away from me as she turned and scurried her way back to the room she came out of.

I glanced up at the skyline. The clouds were gone; a flock of birds are seen flapping to the opposite direction of an airplane. I quickly took out my phone, opened the camera app, and took a quick snap of the sight before I observed the picture. It was decent but it was enough for my liking. With the glass, the birds and the plane were not in the best quality but it was the angle of the view is what gave it an appealing vibe.

The brunette returned a minute later with a glass of iced water and a slice of lemon on the rim. Oh, now they're living up to their expectations.

"Here you go, Miss Hunter," she said as she handed me the glass.

"Thanks."

"If you need anything else, just tell Charlotte and I'll come." She walked away without another word, her high heels clacking too loud across the marble floor, and disappeared behind the large door.

I barely heard a word she told me as I took a sip of water, cringing slightly at the cherry taste splashing over my tongue. Rich people water. I discreetly poured the rest in a soil pot of a plant nearby and placed the glass on the coaster on the oak table before I looked at the busied woman buried in her computer screen whilst she spoke in the phone. I was beginning to wonder if this man has some sort of fetish about these sorts of women when the tall doors of the main office open and out came out an African-American man, dressed in a slick black suit and a lopsided grin on his full lips. I am definitely underdressed.

He shakes a hand that reached out to him, the grin never leaving his face, and laughed merrily. "It's good to see you again, man. You're coming to the basketball game this weekend, right?'

I heard a low murmur and this man nodded before he turned away as the door shuts closed. He halts for a second when he saw me at the waiting area and sends me a kind smile with a nod, his dark eyes the sweetest thing I've encountered all day. I send back a small one. I never said I was good at being social. He then turns to the dark haired woman, Charlotte, at the desk and the smile slowly carved into a flirtatious smirk.

"Hey there, sugar," he said. I couldn't help but noticed that he held an accent - a little Southern, if I'm not wrong. "Would you mind letting Miss Martin know I'm on my way out?"

"O-of course, Mr. Babineaux," Charlotte squeaked out with a little giggle. She dialed in her phone and was murmuring in the speaker, her eyes wandering over his torso with a gleam of hunger bouncing off her pupils. After a minute, she was off the phone. "She is getting your car right now, sir."

"Thanks sweetheart, you're a saint," he responded. "Have a good one."

He walks away from the desk the same time the elevator doors slide open and he steps inside the cart. I didn't bother to watch him leave.

"Miss Hunter? Mr. Friar will see you now." called the dark haired receptionist. She gestured her hand to the partially opened door. "He's been informed of you so you can go right in."

Gathering my backpack, I made my way to the gigantic double doors while repeated in my head, Don't screw this up for Riley. Don't screw this up for Riley. Don't screw this up for Riley. I considered running out of here but I could see I didn't have a chance to do so when this interview wasn't even for me and I know I would never hear the end of it from Riley. I guess I'll just have to fight the bull and get the horns rather than face the wrath of Riley Matthews.

Taking in a deep breath, I pulled open the door and peeked inside.

I could see him standing by the glass wall behind his black steel desk, his back turned to me, mumbling quietly to himself as he read over a stack of papers in his hands. he flipped the form closed to shove it in the drawer of his desk and his attention diverted away from his task when he heard me enter his office. I was stuck on the spot, my hand on the cool handle as he looked up to acknowledged my presence.

Holy shit.

He was not what I expected.

My dead heart suddenly sprung into life and is now fluttering like wild wings as I absorbed in the sight of this unbelievably young man standing a few feet away from me. He was far but I could see he does not have a single wrinkle on his face. He screamed youth. How old was this guy? I couldn't figure it out as my line of questioning stopped once I find myself gawking idiotically at him from the doorway of his office.

How awfully young and charming - very, very handsome. His sandy brown hair was groomed neatly, his bone structure was strong and defined. His tan complexion seemed warm but his greeting smile was captivating, revealing his perfectly aligned whites. He was too tall, probably enough to tower a foot above me, dressed in a pitch-black suit, pure white shirt, and a matching tie.

He moved around the desk to approach me in a confident stride, giving me a clearer glimpse of his impeccable appearance. I find myself staring at him longer than necessary as his gaze met mine with the most surreal shade of green that could ever exist. Soft like foam, glistening like emeralds, and natural like nature. They were warm but I was frozen.

This was not just a young man - he was a stud. He looked like he came out of those Calvin Klein commercials.

"Miss Matthews," he greeted kindly. Oh God. His voice was deep and husky. The sound made my ears vibrate in delight. I think I could hear the same tone that Mr. Babineaux has only I could surely hear the Southern accent.

He extended his hand to me and I, in a daze, place mine in his for a shake. The moment our fingers brushed, his touch sent an exhilarating rush of shivers in my skin as a thousand volts of electricity thrummed in my veins. I thought I might be swaying under the adrenaline. I withdraw my hand, perplexed.

"Miss Matthews fell ill so she sent me as her replacement," I corrected him.

"And you are?" He cocked his head to one side. His voice lacked criticism. He looked highly amused, his smile shrunk into an entertained smirk, but above all, he seemed mostly interested.

"I'm Maya Hunter, sir," I said formally. It is an instinct to I've developed from handling so many rude customers in the coffee shop I work in. Not to mention, I got it from the man who came into my life and raised me as his own daughter to shape me up into the woman I am now. There isn't much change but I am an improvement compared to the past.

"Do you work in the same area as Miss Matthews?" he inquired.

"No, actually, Riles is my roommate and best friend," I explained. "We go to NYU together but she's the one studying journalism. I'm an Arts Major."

"I see," he said casually. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Hunter. I'm Lucas Friar."

My answer seem to intrigue him. His cheeks rose as his amiable smile was back. But it was his eyes that I couldn't seem to pull away from. Seriously, how old was this guy? How is it possible to look this young and run an entire corporation? Something this big should bring out stress wrinkles, gray hair, and even make his eyes look wary but he was reborn.

"Would you like a seat?" he insisted, waving his hand at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

I was awestruck by the size of the office now that I am focusing on it more. It was much too large for just one man to work in. In front of the glass was a black surface desk in contrast to the bright room. Everything was white - the walls, the ceiling. The things that were different was the dark floor, the matching chairs, and the one wall that was covered by a masterpiece I didn't think I'd have the privilege to stand in front of. It was an exquisite splosh of colors thrown together into a blended tornado that somehow managed to make such a creative picture of life and leaving the admirer breathless.

Mr. Friar noticed my stare. "I assume you know this piece, Miss Hunter?"

"Claude Monet's famous Water Lilies," I breathed out. "He did two-hundred- and fifty paintings to decipher the water lily pond from his backyard. The only way you could see it is by perspective. Some people focus too hard on the details to look at the bigger picture and miss the most obvious detail in front of them."

"That's quite an impressive observation, Miss Hunter, I couldn't agree more," he replied in a soft tone, and his voice somehow managed to force a blush out of me.

Aside from the painting, the whole office seems dull and not so fascinating. I feel like I'm standing in the principal's office of those high-maintenance private schools. It makes me ponder if this stiff atmosphere represents the personality of Steve Grand over here who just sat down in his gray leather chair and has his chin cupped in his hand, staring at me expectantly with his bright green eyes.

Somehow understanding the question in his eyes, I took in the invitation to sit in the chairs in front of him and crossed my legs. I should be concern that my skirt at ridden up slightly but I was never bothered to expose a bit of my skin. My mother always told me to be self-reliant of my assets but to still have respect in myself.

"Just to give you a little heads up, Mr. Friar, I've never done this before," I said as I pulled out Riley's questions and the digital recorder from my backpack. "So bear with me."

"Take all the time you need, Miss Hunter," he responded. "I don't have to be in my next minute for thirty minutes."

"No pressure, right?" I mumbled sarcastically.

"No pressure," he snickered.

I look up from the notepad to see he is now leaning against the desk, one hand tapping its finger against the surface while the other hand still held his chin, trailing his long finger along the outline of his cupid's bow.

"Before I start," I said as I tried to figure out how the damn recorder work, cursing myself for not asking Riley beforehand. "Could you explain to me what Riley's interview is about?"

"Of course. I'm here to speak for the business column in the Washington Square Newspaper talking about the benefits a member of the board could bring to one's life and I shall be attending the grand opening of the art exhibit in the Towers Hotel due to my donations to the events."

I stopped fumbling with the recorder and snap my head up to look at him in shock, wondering if it was my mind playing tricks with me. This was news to me. The grand opening of the art exhibit was something I've been blowing up Riley's ear with ever since my teacher told me about it one time after class. The downside is that I couldn't afford an invitation to the event. I am also surprised to learn that someone who is not older than me is the reason behind those donations that helped make it possible and the fact I am talking to the man himself.

"Huh, I didn't know that," I mumbled as I went back to figuring out the recorder.

"Will you be attending the event, Miss Hunter? Seeing as you have a passion for the art, I assume I'll be expecting you there admiring Sandro Botticelli and Georges Suerat."

I snorted. "In another life maybe." I finally got to get the recorder working and placed it on the desk before I flipped the notepad to the first bag. "Anyway, let's begin, shall we?"

"Very well. " He seemed a bit discouraged. "What is your first question?"

I shifted my weight and cleared my throat. "Mr. Friar when you started your business, you were only twenty-years-old. What was the motivation behind you starting your own trading company?"

His smile became miffed, but he didn't seem upset as he answered, "War. The world works with greed, Miss Hunter, and mankind is willing to go beyond their limits if it means they get what they want. I've been on the other side of war so I know what people think, what drives them, what scares them, and what they desire. My employees, although are rewarded well in my company, are here for the same thing with personal purposes I will not speak about."

"You seem to live off a fantasy that you're Midas or something," I blurted out. I couldn't stop myself for speaking out, not when he seemed rather arrogant and acts so highly of himself to the point he seems to have a stick up his ass.

Something changed in his stare in me. "I have a strong belief in having a perfect routine that works for everybody in their own way. It was difficult but manageable. But once I've learned the key to how people work, I gained the knowledge of the in's, the loopholes if you may call it. Work became a second instinct to me with all the logic I got from years of experience and I formed a natural gut instinct whenever a have a decision to make, hiring new people into the company, and coming up with ways to keep the place a well running machine. In the end of it all, it's all about knowing things."

"And how do you know it's the right thing for this company?" That question wasn't any of Riley's - I was actually curious to see how his mind worked. Call me nosey, if you like. The corners of his lips twitched slightly.

"I'm sure you have information about my educational history in your questionnaire, Miss Hunter, so I'm sure you know that I studied Psychology in Oxford University. Therefore, I could see who has their mind set for the intentions I have for this company and find the right people to run under my name. I remember a quote I heard that I still live off to this day. What was it?" he paused momentarily, closing his eyes in contemplation, licking his pink lips. "Ah, yes, 'If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more, and become more, you are a leader.' John Quincy Adams - an excellent man. Best example to name a school."

My eyes widen slightly as my heartbeat quickens erratically and I am sure my face is pale of all colors. It isn't possible that this man is discreetly telling me where he studied before high school because it would be too much of a coincidence. It would also be a cliche for me to reunite with an old classmate who became a worldwide-known businessman. There's absolutely no way!

"What school would that be, if I may ask?" I asked.

"John Quincy Adams Middle School."

Oh, fuck me. I groaned inwardly.

He became confused. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," I quickly said, scribbling in his answer for the first question before flipping the page for the next one. "Aside from preventing war, what else inspired you?"

"Hmm…" He pondered the question as he tapped his chin, which I realized is quite chiseled. "The list is endless to me. I can mostly likely say that my real inspiration would have to be my grandfather, Pappy Joe. He is a war hero and he raised me as his own. He taught me everything about discipline, domination, and restraint. Three most important things in life. If it weren't for him, I don't think I wouldn't be where I am now."

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I mentioned, "You sound like a control freak. Something tells me you like having it. Discipline requires control to learn, domination needs control to overtake, and restraint needs control to, well, to hold down."

Those words came out of my mouth before I realized. It wasn't intentional. It was just an observation I happen to point out. I really need to learn how to keep my mouth shut or I'll end up risking this interview for Riley and she'll be upset with me. But, surprisingly, Mr. Friar did not seem bothered with my statement.

"Control is a vital tool to me," he replied, no trace of humor found in his voice. I look at him, the tone capturing my attention, and I felt my heartbeat quicken in anticipation as he holds my gaze, an impassive haze over his, and I felt irritated at the fact my face flushes.

Why am I acting like some lovesick schoolgirl? Why am I thinking like one? Most importantly, why am I letting this stranger of a control freak get the better of me? Maybe it was his overwhelmingly structured good looks? The way how his eyes would be innocently simple yet they deliver such an impact? Or maybe it was the way his marble lips with twitch as he smirked criminally? God, I wish he'd stop doing that. Man, I am really pathetic.

"Absolute management is what helps me keep everything running smoothly such as personal lives or confidential secrets," he continued, his voice unwavered.

"How do you get to be in a powerful position running a top company like yours?"

Keeping my curiosity was a failure. I keep on asking questions that weren't on Riley's list, not even the highlighted ones, but I'm sure I might get a free pass because these sound like impressive information she could write for her article if she approves of it (she obviously will).

Mr. Friar shifted and leaned as far forward as he possibly could on to his desk. "I've been told I can be a persuasive person, Miss Hunter. Of course I cannot do everything in my company by my own but I can ensure that the sixty thousand plus people I've employed do their jobs here. It is tedious to have that kind of responsibility - power, as you call it. If I didn't use my tactics then the ten countries who are allied to the US are most likely to run against us if we do not reach their expectations and desires. Plus the other countries who have recently come to truce with each other. I rather not be the cause of sending my home in flames."

My mouth drops open. That's basically the whole world. I quickly looked down at the question I've neglected to speak about and quickly scrolled for one that is non-business related. My finger stopped on one.

"Even though the media does cover up on your work life and of your whereabouts, do you have any other interests that hasn't been known?" I asked and glanced up at him again. The arrogant smirk of his faded away.

"If you're talking about my social life, I very much like to keep it private. What I do in my personal life for my pleasure is only for me. I like to keep it the way it is."

I raised a quizzical brow. "I don't think the question is asking whether you do murder in your sleep, Mr. Friar. I'm sure Riley wanted to know what hobbies do you do to keep yourself relaxed and distracted from your business life. You know, chill out."

"Chill out?" he chuckles merrily, his smile wide enough to reveal his teeth.

I stopped breathing for a second as I took in the sight; this man is truly beautiful. He was like a lost piece to a struggling artist who never got the chance for their perspective in life to be seen. I wanted to paint him. Taking a picture of him with my phone would be too weird and make me seem like a stalker.

"Well, to keep myself relaxed and distracted, as you put it - I like to play basketball with my friends, I like going for morning runs, I like to go horseback riding, and other physical pastimes." He crossed his arms. "I may be a wealthy man, Miss Hunter, but I don't like to do the things society expects me to do at my own time. I like to do things that I like."

"Do you go square dancing too?"

I wanted to kick myself - I need to sew my mouth closed. I couldn't help myself when I see an opportunity to comment about this guy, I have to take it. Everything about him was very Southern; his manners, his interests, and his accent. He is like a full-born cowboy. I never met one in person and I expected him to wear plaid, those pointy cowboy boots, a buckle larger than his own hands, and, to put the icing on the cake, a cowboy hat.

But his response left me bewildered; he laughed. I was shocked. Normally people would lash out on me for my snide remarks or call me out for being rude about their heritage but this guy was the complete opposite. He actually seemed amused, as if he was enjoying it. I'm too guarded up to believe he is not the least bit offended. I'm waiting for the security guards to come in and drag me away in shame.

"No, I don't square dance. At least, I don't unless I go back home to Texas for a family reunion.

he snickered, shaking his head. "You have a...peculiar sense of humor, Miss Hunter,"

Aha! He is a real cowboy! I gave him a sarcastic smile. "It's my pride and joy."

Mr. Friar didn't say anything, instead, he stared at me with stoic eyes and a ghost smile. I shifted in my chair, uncrossing then crossed my legs again, as I flipped through the notepad. Tension suddenly suffocated the office. I could see now why he went into business. He knows the right words to say, he stands tall with a sense of leadership, he holds a likeable attitude, he is a gorgeous man, and he is intimidating. Too much, if you ask me. God have mercy on the souls who have wronged him. Despite his heartfelt moments and kind smile, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would take no for an answer and he will go at any angle to get a yes out of a person even if it meant ruining their career in the process.

I just want this interview to be over, go home, make a nice BLT sandwich, watch Dean Winchester in the new episode of Supernatural, and never see this man again. Surely I gathered enough material for Riley to write for a fantastic article in the history of NYU. I glance at the next line.

"It says here you were an orphan at the Children's Shelter and you weren't adopted until age nine."

Mr. Friar quickly rose from his chair and walked around his enormous desk while fixing his tie. His face did not give away his emotions yet it got my heart accelerating twice its rate as I watched him come to a full stop in front of me and leaned against his desk, his hands clutching on the edges hard enough for his veins to pop up once in awhile.

"That's an invasion of personal information, Miss Hunter," he pointed out, his tone clipped. Shit. I should have done some last-minute research on him to avoid this awkward moment. Yet, during the oddity, I had boldness to give him a glare because my aggravation with this guy and his multiple personality was beginning to boil over.

"Hey, I'm just reading what Riley wrote down," I retorted. "Keep your hat on, Ranger Rick."

His brow rose up. "Ranger Rick?"

"Suits well for the cowboy who traveled a long from Texas on his trusted steed and still keeping tabs on all the hoedowns and pageants?" I mocked in the best country voice I could muster up with a phony smile while doing a hilarious gesture with my arms that I usually see country boys do whenever they are overexcited and then leaned back in my chair, my smile morphed into one of satisfaction.

Except my moment of gratification was short-lived when his mouth quirked up into a small smile and his green eyes soften, his finger tapping on the edge of his desk as he scrutinized me appraisingly. My smile fell.

"I see," he said after a minute passed. "Well, is there anything you like to ask me, Miss Hunter? Do you have any questions of your own?" Mr. Friar cocked his head to the side and his gentle sea-green eyes forcefully pierced their way into my soul like a sharp knife. His smirk is back. I pressed my together tighter and I drew in a breath.

"Not really. I didn't know a thing about you until today," I shrugged nonchalantly. If Riley were here, she would know the right thing to say in this hard position I've been pulled into. Damn her for getting sick at the last minute.

"Isn't there anything you're curious to know about?"

"Um," I whacked my brain for a question, thinking if I went along with his charade then perhaps we could get back on track and finish this interview so I can go home faster. "In Riley's notes, it says you're unmarried and was voted the most eligible bachelor for four years straight. Are you gay?"

All the colors in his face washed away as the smirk dropped and appeared onto my face. I get so much pleasure in other people's displeasure. I'm still bothered by him for his crude behavior earlier. I leaned back into my chair again, content, and chewed on the tip of my pen. I thought I heard an intake of breath from him but I figured it was my ego getting the better of me.

"No, Maya, I am not gay," he answered coolly, an odd gleam in his eyes. He moved away from his chair and gracefully sat down on the chair next to me, the new close proximity making me sit upright on instinct. I was never good at people being close into my personal space and these chairs were not making it easier for me. "Is there a reason why you're so curious about my relationship status?"

"I didn't ask if you were single, Mr. Friar," I remarked. "I asked if you were into men - there is a difference."

"Which also implies whether if I am in a relationship with a man or a woman," he countered. "Therefore, you asked me, indirectly, if I am involved with someone."

"Or it's because I don't know anything about you."

His lips pursed together and he has an impassive look on his face that is causing a round of shivers to crawl over my spine, making goose bumps to rise on my skin. It's a good thing I'm wearing my leather jacket.

"That is because I like to be a private person," he said. "As I said before, I do not disclose my personal life. Do you have any other questions that are not directed to my personal life, Miss Hunter?"

Oh, we're back to 'Miss Hunter' now. This was the most confusing guy to exist on planet Earth. The change of the atmosphere was constant in the spacing office. One minute he was strictly all about business and the next he was playful. It was next to impossible to read him out or to figure out how he would react to me. It was like nothing I threw at him could not break him - I hate that.

A soft knock came from the door and popped in the same brunette from earlier. She was holding a tray of refreshments as she walked towards us and placed it on the table in front of us before she smoothed out her skirt then turned to us, or only Mr. Friar, with a polite smile.

"Mr. Friar, your next appointment is in two minutes," she informed.

I kept my eyes on my notes, marking the next questions I should ask for the last minutes of this nightmare, and idly doodled around the margins.

"Please, tell my next appointment that we would have to reschedule. Miss Hunter and I are not finished here," he demanded. I glanced up through my lashes to see that he has not taken his eyes off of me when he said this and I thought my head would explode from all the blood rushing into it. I was embarrassed. I don't like it when people look at me in the eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Friar," the brunette answers before she exits without another word.

I opened my mouth to protest but he quickly said, "Please continue, Miss Hunter."

What else would he want me to ask about? I'm quite sure I pulled out enough information from him for the both of us to part ways. It was clear his life was in high demand being in the field of business and all. I know his priorities for the other high-class people are more important on his list than some silly interview for a local school newspaper. The fact he rescheduled an appointment with someone who could have helped him in advance with his company was unbelievable. Wasn't he tired of my sarcasm or badgering? Doesn't he want this interview done with like I do?

"Um," I stalled for a second. "It says here that your brother, Farkle Minkus, owns his own company which used to be your father's. Despite for both being for different purposes, do you work together from time to time? And do you like working with him?"

"Working with my brother can be a challenge at times but that comes with who you decide to work with. We both have different views on how to run a company but we both want the same thing. I believe that is why it is good for us to have separate companies instead. He is more of a believer in scientific facts and I am more of a dreaming kind of believer."

"It seems like you don't normally see eye to eye."

He exhaled sharply. "We're brothers. It's bound to happen." He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tangled his fingers together. "Enough about me for a minute, Miss Hunter. I want to know more about you. I think it's only fair to learn a little bit about the woman who came all this way to interview me."

"There's not much to know about me. Just a college girl taking on the world."

"So you have any plans after you graduate?"

I shrugged, puzzled by his sudden interest in me. "I don't know. I didn't think far ahead - I'm just trying to get through my finals right now." Which I should be home finishing right now, rather than sitting in your cleansed, well-decorated, and built office, feeling like a helpless prey under your weird gaze.

"You said before that you're an Arts Major. Was it Picasso, Van Gogh, or Da Vinci who made you fall in love with the arts?"

I bite my lip. "Michelangelo."

He smiled softly. "I assumed Picasso. My company is linked to all the universities in New York for those who are interested in business and we offer magnificent internship. If you're pursuing a career in the arts, you will need to learn the basics to sell your pieces. We are still accepting applications if you're interested and I could personally teach you all you will need to know."

I gawked at him in surprise. He couldn't possibly be offering me a job here, could he?

"That's a generous offer, Mr. Friar," I said, perplexed. "But I'll have to decline."

"May I ask why?"

Is he serious? I licked my lips. "Some people in the working class are meant to stay in the working class while others managed to sneak their way into the high-class society. People like me don't really fit in with people like you. I like where I am."

"I see." His stare was far too intense to bear, all traces of his kind personality disappeared, and a strange contraction was happening in the pit of my stomach. I should look away but I couldn't tear my eyes from him as I tapped my pen against the notepad in a rapid rhythm and bit my lip out of habit. His posture suddenly went stiff and his nostrils flared as his eyes blazed.

"Would you like a tour?"

The obviously isn't an interview anymore so I started to shove my stuff in my backpack then grabbed the recorder, flicked it off, and crammed it in my bag. I hopped up on my feet

"I actually have to get going," I announced. "I need to take care of Riles and have a lot of errands I need to run. Plus, it's going to be a long drive with the traffic."

"Very well," he sighed as he rose up from the chair and holds out his hand. "It was an honor meeting you, Miss Hunter."

"Thank you for giving Riley this interview, Mr. Friar, I'm sure she appreciates it," I said as I shook his hand once more. I tried to not flinch as the same current from before came back only twice the impact. It must be my excitement to finally be free.

"The pleasure is all mine." He gestures a hand to the door - the pathway to my freedom. "Let me walk you out."

He was already walking to the door with an athletic elegance and opens the door for me. I took quick strides out of his office, ignoring the fact that he following me out, one step close behind me with a hand grazing over the middle of my back, as we approached the elevators, or better known as my escape route. From the corner of my eye, I could see the receptionist watching us intently. I sensed some resentment from the young woman, who is glowering at me with red rage. A part of me is thinking that she might have had an affair with Mr. Friar and it is her possessive nature coming out or that she might be jealous to see him with another woman she doesn't recognize.

"Do you have everything your friend needs?" he insisted and held his hand by the call button of the elevator.

"I'm positive, Mr. Friar."

So this was it. I was done. The interview is over and I would never have to spend another walking second with an intimidating yet beautiful man. I won't lie that I could feel my heart sinking knowing this. I will admit that my conversation with him was the most compelling one I had with another man that didn't make me want to pour a smoothie on their head - it has been a long time. But seeing where it was heading, I had to go.

Hitting the call button, the elevator promptly opened and I stepped inside, desperate to run. I really need to get out of here. When I turned to look at him, he was leaning against the outside of the elevator frame with one hand on the wall and the other in the pocket of his slacks. He is really, really enchanting.

"Have a safe drive home, Maya," he said.

He rolled my name off his tongue again. It formed a hard knot to twist painfully inside of me. His cordial personality was enticing, dripping with allure. There is no way this charming man really hoped to see me, a person raised from the streets, again in the future. Judging by all the goddess-like women in his workplace, he will not have the time to think about me again. I give it an hour and I'm just a lost memory.

It was false hope and I don't do that.

Hope is for suckers.

"Goodbye, Lucas."

And thank God, at that moment, the door chose to close.

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