ANA

"And who are you, dear sir?" I ask, mockingly.

He frowns, but not at me. Rather, he is suddenly frowning down at his shoes and chewing his lip. His behavior speaks of hesitation- and perhaps, although I am unsure, guilt.
Good. He must be coming around to the fact that one should only be outspoken if one has correct views and opinions, which he obviously does not.

But still he doesn't answer, and my impatience causes me to snap. "Cat got your tongue?" He remains silent. "Pity. It seemed to be free and on the run just minutes ago," I quip.

His eyes rise to meet mine again, and instead of irritation at my remark reflecting in them, which I would have preferred, I am met by almost tranquil, sea blue orbs. "Aiden Harper," he says, holding out his hand.

My jaw drops, the reason for his sudden change of demeanor becoming apparent to me at once. So, this is Aiden Harper. I look him over, from top to bottom and then back to the top again, though I already had when I first noticed him. This time, though, I look through a much more critical filter than that of my usual calculating intake.
The English tutor my father had hired for me stands almost as tall as Charles Barkley himself, making me sorely regret my choice this morning of wearing flat pumps instead of heels. His hair is a dark russet colour, reminding me of the cherry oak furniture in my father's study back at home, and then of course, he has those cerulean eyes.

Quickly as I can, I shut my mouth that is still hanging open a little. I ignore his extended hand, realizing that I have the leverage here. He my father's employee, so in a way, he is mine as well. I easily convince myself that being polite would be a courtesy after this bumpy beginning.
I sigh softly, as if disappointed, and allow my eyes to wander away from his face, hoping to make him fidget. He doesn't. Instead, he lets his arm fall to his side, and when my gaze rests on him again, he is smiling slightly.

Soon his smile is full when he realizes he has my attention. "Well, I'd say it's a pleasure, but something tells me you'd see right through that expected statement. Rather, I'll just tell you that I think it's good we at least both know where we stand, and it isn't behind a wall of pretense. This is a good start, don't you think?"

What? Is he playing mind games with me? This is a terrible start. Well, for him at least. For me, I suppose it is good. I already have a few reasons to add to my list that I can present to my father when I suggest we fire him. After I handle that, I'll only have three tutors left to go. They are annoyances I can deal without at that moment.

"I assure you, Mr. Harper, I'm quite positive I would have seen through you anyways, had we met differently. You are not quite the tutor I had...shall we say, anticipated?" I cock my head at him, blinking innocently.

I was already feeling cutthroat earlier today, before I'd been so considerately informed by Miss Reynolds, my father's secretary, that I was to meet my English tutor at the museum in the afternoon.

I'd woken up late because for some reason, my alarm hadn't gone off. I'd figured it out when I realized I'd forgotten to set my alarm clock (call me old fashioned, but I don't use my phone as a clock) and that's also when I realized that I hadn't even unpacked it because I hadn't seen it when unpacking yesterday. I must have passed out before even thinking to set it going, after an exhausting dinner of pizza with Iggy. When I say exhausting, I mean that my ears were exhausted. The girl can talk.
I got dressed as hurriedly as humanly possible, brushed my teeth, put on those darned pumps and some earrings, before quickly checking the suitcase I was sure I had packed the alarm clock into.
It was empty.
Except for something I'd rather not have seen. I apparently, had missed it when I first unpacked. It was a little slip of paper, with a handwritten note scrawled across it.

I know you must be quite tired after your journey, Anabelle, so I thought I'd assist you in taking this little piece of junk that a smartphone has long since replaced, in the hopes that you will get as much rest as you need. Sleep well!
Regards from your old friend,
Roger.

I had gritted my teeth. He was stealing things now? He really was stooping low. The wily sneak, he had planned the whole thing, although it's beyond me how he managed to do it without my noticing.
I comforted myself in the fact that he didn't succeed. Yes, I slept late, but that was my own fault, even if I had my alarm clock I was going to forget to set it.
Or so I told myself.
I scrunched the piece of paper up, flushed it down the toilet, and rushed off to orientation. Iggy had already been long gone, she must have been too nervous over what happened yesterday to wake me this morning.

It wasn't until I was halfway there that I realized that things were not actually going badly. No, they were going very well. Being late for orientation? Anything to earn a bad reputation. I could have face palmed myself for allowing Roger's little prank to get to me when in fact, he helped me. Not that it was a prank that would have worked anyway, I reminded myself.
I stopped my speed walking to a slow, leisurely stroll. So be late I would, and I'd give Roger a most lovely thank you when I saw him next. He had helped me begin the project of getting myself expelled.

The day seemed to be getting better until I bumped into the previously said person. Roger insisted he escort me anywhere I needed to go and had the nerve to ask me how I slept as well.
He didn't leave me alone from then on, and his pestering rendered me irked, fuming a little, and ready to fly off the handle at anyone.
Aiden Harper happened to be the next obstacle in my path, and I had battled him gladly. It only got more interesting when he revealed his identity so that I now know he is my tutor.
Yes, he irritates me. But it's been a while since someone has had the patience to argue with me.

And this alone, perhaps, is what brings me to the realization that I know I won't fire him.

As much as the louder voice inside of me wants to say the words that will dismiss him because he will only be another complication, a smaller voice urges me not to. You're curious about him, it says. Let's see how this goes, it says. It will be fun, it says.

Here's the part where you find out that I'm the cat that curiosity has been trying to kill for nineteen years now.

Aiden Harper has still not replied. "Well, Mr. Harper," I say. "are we going to continue on to our first session of tutoring or not?"

His dark eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, as if he expected me to walk away without another word, which, to his credit, he quickly conceals with the replacement of a collected expression. He gestures grandly with his arm. "Lead the way, Miss Barkley."

I turn on my heel and he follows me to the museum's little cafeteria. This man might be one tough cookie to break, from what I can tell, but eventually I will have him begging my father to be relieved of the arduous duty of teaching me. I won't have to fire him. He'll run from me like a tyrannosaurus rex is on his heels.
A plump waitress shows us to a table and we both order coffee. She leaves and I watch the man sitting opposite of me with observant eyes, looking for any little habits or giveaways he might have on display. I find none, other than the obvious fact that he is not afraid to stare back. I silently dare him with my eyes to hold my gaze longer, but after a few more seconds, he looks away, to the right.

"Let's not play games," he says, still not looking at me. "Do you want a tutor or do you want someone to banter with?"

He looks back at me when I don't answer, and I smirk. "How about we just wait and see what it is that I want?" I suggest.

His jaw clenches slightly, but it doesn't seem to be in annoyance. More like he's accepted a challenge. I lean back in my seat and smile. "So, where do we start?"

~ ~ ~

AIDEN

Insufferable.

If somebody asked me what I would sum up Anabelle Barkley's person as in one word, I would tell them: insufferable.

But no one is asking and it's no use dwelling on it. I've dealt with difficult students before. Actually, I've dealt with plenty of difficult people in general. But that isn't the reason I feel the calm that I feel now.
Yes, it comes from experience. Yet the main factor that contributes to being able to relax even when the old me would get riled up is the change that has happened in me.
It has to do with Emma. Losing her was the hardest thing I ever had to go through, but I did, and I still do, everyday. I find that although it damaged me, it also strengthened me where I wasn't strong before.
Mostly, though, it has to do with who changed me.

Jesus changed me. Plain and simple.

Which is why I am able to take a deep, steady breath and smile brightly at the young woman in front of me. When I do, I refuse to allow my mind to add the word 'beautiful' to insufferable.
She's a student, and I've got to see her as such. Not as an enemy. And certainly, not as a pretty girl, when I know very well how her father would feel about that.

As a student. Nothing more, nothing less.

She purses her full mouth and drums her fingers against the table, reminding me that I haven't answered her question yet.

I take another breath. "We'll start at the beginning," I tell her, pulling a fat dictionary out of my bag, along with notepapers, pens, and other books on grammar and punctuation.

Anabelle smirks at me. "Old school," she comments.

"Snob," I mumble under my breath.

One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows perks up. "What was that?"

"Let's begin." I brush her question aside easily. "I'm going to give you two days to write a two-page essay on anything you choose. This is just to assess how skilled and knowledgeable you are when it comes to English, so that I know what I'm dealing with. Does that suit you, Anabelle?"

Her expression sours. "Call me Ana. And what does it matter? You're going to make me do it, aren't you?"

I smile politely and ignore another one of her questions. "Alright, Ana. I want to lay out some ground rules before we end today's session. For this essay, you'll only be allowed to use a- how did you put it- 'old school' dictionary, otherwise you rely on whatever knowledge you have already stored inside your head. Got that?" I keep my tone pleasant and friendly, happy to see it's grating on her nerves when she rolls her eyes.

"Got it, professor."

The waitress chooses that moment to plunk our coffees down on the table. She winks at us and walks away, chewing her gum loudly.

"Anything else?" Ana asks, her tone implying boredom, as she looks not at me but at her coffee.

"Yes, one last thing," I say, taking a sip of my own drink. Her eyes lift and I see a flash of annoyance in them. She didn't want there to be anything else. "Please keep any vile words or vulgar language and crude suggestions to yourself when writing the essay."

She almost spills her hot beverage as she scowls at me, hastily putting her cup down. She retaliates, a bit more intensely than I expected. "Excuse me, Mr. Harper? Not all female college students are are completely emptyheaded, filthy tongued bimbos and frat girls as you may think them to be, you pigheaded man."

Oops, I hit a soft spot there. Ana regards honour highly, but that's not a bad thing. It probably means she isn't a flirt, and I've never liked flirts.

"I apologise," I say, as sincerely as I can, "if that is what you thought I meant. I do not think that. All the same, please keep my request in mind."

She snorts. "Thanks for the heads up, then. I will restrain myself." She gets up abruptly, throwing a bill onto the table. "I look forward to when we meet next." Her voice drips sarcasm and I understand with clarity that she does not mean that in the least.

Ana slings her bag over her shoulder and walks away, barely managing to keep her anger in check. It's visible with every stormy step she takes.

Lord, I'm going to need Your help with this one.

I wait till she's gone. Then I pay, using the money she left and some of my own. I walk outside of the big building once I'm done and into the feeble sunlight, inhaling and exhaling. I run a hand through my hair.
At least I don't have to worry about the two of us developing feelings for each other. If anything has become clear to me about the Anabelle Barkley situation, it is that her and I do not see eye to eye. Far from it.

And that's putting it lightly.