She could not stand the man. He was boyishly obnoxious with a misleading cold gaze that could cut through any room. If his stare could not kill, his quick-witted put-downs could, and did. He kept his enemies and friends at an equal distance to establish complete control and power by fearful default, which left her frustrated and isolated. If he had an emotional Achilles' heel, she could not find it. She came close once while mentioning his ex-wife, but he only managed a snort, a puff of his cigar and a dramatic swig of single malt. His self-righteous hypocrisy was staggering, and his scowl was bitterness personified. As she got to know him, she let her feisty side show which was met by annoyingly excellent comebacks and the same stony expression. His presence in her life was infuriating because he could not, would not, reveal his intentions, thoughts or feelings to anyone, it seemed. He was extremely guarded, and how he existed at the centre of the universe without relying on anything or anyone confused and bemused her. She could not stand him at all.
Then she saw him kiss another woman.
She felt like an intruder; a peeping tom. She sensed herself gawping but she could not tear herself away: it was the first time that she had seen his passion poured into anything besides anger or righteousness .Beforehand, she had seen him as purely a superior work colleague whose emotions were shielded from the world. That kiss changed everything. His hand holding her face looked lovingly soft, a stark contrast to the hand giving criminals the backhand of the law. Before she knew it, she was imagining herself in that embrace with him, and realised that the repulsion he caused her to feel was actually a mask conjured by her logic. Now, her heart was winning, yet it began to sink as she watched them stagger drunkenly along the moonlit lane.