The lobby of the 'Excellente Repos' hotel, Xavier booked is a palace. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, and the floors gleam like they've never known dust. Guests walk through with designer handbags and the kind of confidence that comes from never checking price tags.
I give the receptionist at the front desk a shaky smile, "Can I get the rates for standard rooms?"
She gives me a smile that's not any less than the one she gave Xavier Steele, "Certainly. Here you go."
I last a long three minutes at the front desk before forcing a laugh, "I need to confirm with my boss." I say and drag myself with my small suitcase out of the hotel like eels thrown into hot oil.
The receptionist smiles at me but I feel the hint of mockery in her smile.
I can't even afford a standard single room, not even with an entire month salary.
Thirty minutes later, I check into a three-star hotel with flickering lights in the corridor and a receptionist who barely looks up from his phone.
My room smells of cleaning solution and something else I can't name, but the sheets are clean, the door locks, and I can afford it with no embarrassment.
Still, it feels like failure.
I stare at the ceiling that night, jet lag buzzing in my bones, and wonder what coffee bastard would say if he saw me here.
The next morning, I'm up before dawn, trying to tame my hair in the streaky bathroom mirror.
I stuff the day's schedule and all the documents he might need into my handbag, double-checking three times because one mistake could mean war.
By the time I get to Excellente Repos Hotel, my nerves are shot.
Coffee bastard chauffeur eyes me like I'm late even though I'm early, and when I finally step into the car, I can see why.
Xavier's already in.
He reply to me greeting him good morning. Just flips through a file like the world itself bends for his time.
I sit beside from him, my bag clutched tight against me, and repeatedly tell myself not to gawk today.
"Where are you staying?" he asks suddenly, without glancing up.
I swallow. "Nearby."
"Define nearby?."
"Thirty minutes away," I reply looking down at my shoes.
I had gone out of my way to buy new shoes for this travel. Although, they were not from a popular brand, rather Sloane's small business, the high stiletto heels gave me a sense of importance. Like, I was about to conquer the world.
You know? Like cruella? Yup.
That makes him look at me. His eyes are sharp, assessing, like he's dissecting me molecule by molecule.
"Did the hotel run out of rooms?."
"Not everyone can afford five-star suites."
"You work for me," he replies smoothly. "Your proximity to me should be seamless. Instead, you've created inefficiency. Do you realize how much time is wasted with you scurrying back and forth across the city?"
I bristle. "I didn't choose the prices of your palace-hotel."
"You chose poverty," he says coldly. "Don't blame me for it."
The cruelty lands, sharp and painful. My fingers curl against my bag strap, teeth digging into the skin of my lips.
"You don't have to be—" I pause, taking a deep breath in "—like that."
He arches one brow. "Do you mean honest?"
I turn to the window, heart hammering.
If I look at him any longer, I might say something that gets me fired, and then what?
Back to job hunting and praying the electricity bill doesn't get cut off?
While I may say that I want to resign, the thought is just what gets me by. The illusion of choice that I don't have but makes me feel good.
I grit my teeth and focus on the city racing past. I'll endure. I always do.
*******
The day unfolds in a blur. Meetings, presentations, more coffee than my body can handle. Xavier is ruthless in the boardroom, a predator in an expensive suit.
I watch him slice through negotiations with precision, charm when needed, cruelty when effective.
And damn it, I hate how impressed I am and I see why he's so unimpressed by my efforts. They don't even measure up to quarter of his work.
By late afternoon, I'm running on four cups of coffee, dashing between hotels to fetch a folder he left in his suite, emailing last-minute briefs to investors, all while fighting the ache in my legs and the fog in my brain.
Every time I hand him something, he doesn't acknowledge me. He just takes it like it was owed.
But I catch the flicker of approval in his eyes when he realizes I've anticipated his needs before he speaks. It lasts less than three seconds, but I see it and I revel in it.
That night, I collapse into my three-star bed, every muscle screaming. Yet a tiny, stubborn flame of pride burns in me. He may never say it, but I made his day smoother and that makes me important.
*****
The second day is worse. Cinderella had it better.
I trip running up the metro stairs, nearly spilling coffee all over the documents. My head throbs from lack of sleep, blisters on my feet threaten to break me from the new shoes but I persevere showing up to Excellente Repos on time.
Xavier looks me up and down, turning his attention back to his phone, "Unprofessional," he mutters.
I snap, "Sorry my budget doesn't allow for endless pairs of Italian leather."
His eyes narrow and his lips tilt up in a smirk, "She bites." he says.
Later, during the big meeting, he speaks with such controlled authority that even the French investors who arrived skeptical leave leaning forward, nodding, agreeing.
Coffee bastard walks out with the contract that was rumored to be impossible.
I guess this is what makes him worth his business nicknames
Xavier Steele!
I follow him, keeping my exhaustion beneath my skin and a sense of pride on my face.
My boss won the impossible contract.
"You were…" I hesitate, then blurt, "You were incredible in there."
His lips twitch. "Flattery doesn't suit you, Hazel."
"I'm not flattering you. It's the truth. No one could hold a candle to you."
He regards me dismissively, "Hmm. Try harder next time. You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
The warmth in my chest dies instantly.
What was I hoping to hear?
But as we ride back, coffee bastard suddenly turns to me, "Where did you get the market projections from? The ones you slipped into the folder this morning."
I blink. "I… pulled them from a niche journal. Cross-checked with a report that wasn't public yet, but I knew someone who had access."
His eyes narrows, "You knew that data would sway them."
I nod. "They wanted proof of market growth. I figured if I gave you the numbers before they asked, you'd have the upper hand."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable like always.
Then he says, " Didn't know you had capable frie
nds. That was competent."
I stare at him stunned into silence.
Coming from Xavier Steele, that might as well be a standing ovation.