1. The Blind Date
Elena had a vast knowledge of blind dates.
She had arranged a few dozen of them at her previous boss's request (Varis Galvus) and canceled at least half of those at his son’s demand (the very man said dates were intended for). Zenos yae Galvus, 32, Garlemald's most eligible Bachelor, heir to the biggest tech company, disgustingly rich, devilishly handsome, smart… and an insufferable asshole — also, her current boss.
One may wonder, ‘Why are you the one arranging those dates, Elena ? That’s not part of your job description.’ Well, let’s just say the Galvuses men took the personal in personal assistant a bit too literally. Meaning she managed every aspect of their life from ordering wedding anniversary gifts to reviewing notes on an acquisition deal. She had done so when she was Varis Galvus’ PA and continued to do so for his son. She was thus in a precarious position, between the father — freshly retired with too much time on his hands who desperately wanted to marry off his son — and the son, who was content fucking models and refused to get hitched. In short: her life was a shitshow, she was overworked, exhausted, and contemplating murder (which Galvus man would die was yet to be determined). But really, what was a lifetime in prison if she could sleep and eat on her own time?
This is why Elena had also been on countless blind dates — not hers, but Zenos’.
She either:
canceled the dates (and got a ‘champagne facial’ more than once — jilted women, especially the rich and spoiled ones, seldom enjoyed being disregarded by a man who didn't even bother to show)
been his reason for a quick escape (‘Oh look at that, my PA is here, something must have happened at the office’ — insert looks that could kill from said spoiled women)
or worked on papers while his potential life partners talked about mergers, combined power, world domination, evil deeds… Whatever one talks about when two prominent families try to become one through the eternal (minus a few divorces) and financially beneficial (careful about those costly divorces, better to sign a prenup) bonds of marriage.
But tonight was her first blind date.
It was not as bad as she feared. Robert (‘Call me Bob’) was nice in a completely inoffensive way. He had picked a lovely place for dinner; they had a good table, the food was delicious, he was considerate and polite, and didn’t cut her off when she talked. He was… perfectly adequate. But he was, well, Bob. No offense to the Bobs of the world, but she could hardly picture herself screaming his name in ecstasy. Also, he worked in accounting and enjoyed it (which made her doubt his ability to bring her to ecstasy). The evening had thus been uneventful boring until Bob excused himself to take a call from his mother and was replaced by Zenos. Handsome, rude, thoughtless, completely inadequate, Zenos.
That was a name she could picture herself screaming, partly because she had done so in the privacy of her room — out of anger and frustration, mind you — but also because whenever he said her name it rolled off his tongue most lasciviously, setting her ablaze with three little syllables. He did it on purpose, she knew he did. He had been edging on an HR complaint since he first marched into her office with a smirk on his face and the most ridiculous demands about the Leveneur acquisition deal.
Galvus senior had been a demanding boss, and he did treat her more like his personal valet than his personal assistant, but his son was a different beast entirely. Zenos was ruthless. They called him ‘The Reaper’ for his ability to make tough calls. He took the decisions everyone else was too scared to make. Sometimes that meant reducing the workforce of the off-branch location by 27%, but that also meant he was the reason why the other 73% still had a job. It wasn’t so much his methods she loathed, it wasn’t the long hours or even the stupid coffee order, it was his work ethic. Or lack thereof.
It was the endless stream of conquest parading in front of her desk at every hour of the day; the never-ending procession of glamazons, marching into his office like some Victoria's Secret fashion. The noises they made — of course, he fucked them in his office — were not just completely inappropriate, not to mention a violation of at least 12 HR regulations; they were a constant reminder of the arid state of her own sex life. How could she have time for a one-night stand, let alone a relationship, when she spent all her waking hours chained to her desk?
She was quite certain he was doing it to get a rise out of her. Disgusting, horrid, insufferable lech.
So although she was taken aback by his presence, she also wasn’t. He had a way of finding himself where she’d least expect him. That is, where he’d most annoy her, which he was doing right now, by silently staring at her, his piercing blue eyes finding her softest places. He was making her uncomfortable and enjoyed every second of it. He wanted to watch her squirm and she had to restrain herself from nervously smoothing the tablecloth, the wrinkles and breadcrumbs completely incongruous next to his perfectly tailored suit.
“Why are you here, Elena?”
“I'm on a date.”
“A date.” His voice might have been casual, but his stare was anything but. He looked predatory, dangerous. “With Kingsley? From accounting? That’s where fun goes to die, Elena.”
“We can’t all date lingerie models.”
He chuckled. Was he seriously judging her choice of date? And was she really being defensive of Bob from accounting? Four (five?) glasses of wine may have helped her endure that tedious date, but it was clearly affecting her self-control, which was already severely eroded by the aggravating man sitting across from her.
“Jealous are we, Elena,” he almost purred, her name dripping from his lips like honey.
“Stop doing that,” she snapped.
“Doing what?"
“Saying my name.”
His smirk turned wolfish, he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on her lips, and she felt a blush creep up her face. His eyes glittered, and she knew he was enjoying the power he had over her.
“Is there something wrong with your name? Elena.” His voice was low, much too low; her name but a murmur, the promise of something wicked. She inhaled sharply, and leaned back in her chair, away from the table, away from him.
“Why are you here M. Galvus?”. Not Zenos, never Zenos.
“Work meeting.”
“Lie.”
“Is it?”
“There was no meeting tonight, professional or otherwise. I would know, I plan every second of your life.”
He was enjoying himself, she could feel the grin spread from his mouth to his eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, another barrier between them.
“While this has been lovely, I’d appreciate it if you left, my date will be here any second now.”
“No, he won’t. I told him I’d take you home, to which he replied ‘ yes, Sir ’ before running away like a true romance hero.”
“Fucking Bob.” She slurred.
“You’re adorable when you're drunk.”
“I am not.” She refuted with a petulant scowl.
“Drunk or adorable?”
“Either. And I can uber myself home, thank you very much.”
“You could, but it would be unwise. You’re drunk, and men are pigs.”
She scoffed at him.
“And what does that make you?”
“Your knight in shining armor of course.”
“Fine.” She lifted her head and he walked to her side of the table and held out his hand, “but you’re paying for dinner.”
“Kingsley might be a coward but he’s not a boor. He took care of that when he left.”
Her mouth round in a silent ‘O’, and all she could do was nod as she stood, stumbling slightly in her drunkenness. His arm snaked its way quickly around her waist, his body steady and strong against hers. Fire ran through her veins and she couldn't suppress the sigh that escaped her lips. If he heard it, he was gentlemanly enough not to tease her about it. Instead, he carefully led her outside the restaurant, where a valet waited next to his sports car.
“Of course, you drive a Garlond.”
He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He might have called her ‘adorable’ again, but she was too numb with alcohol to be sure, not drunk really, just floating. He opened her door, as a gentleman would, and eased her into the passenger seat, before sitting behind the wheel.
“To Park avenue…”
“I know where you live, Elena,” he interrupted her.
Her name again, so warm in his mouth and soft on her skin, sent sparks of electricity down to her core. She sighed and rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to clear the fog that was engulfing her brain. Outside, the city lights danced in the night, blurring into colored streaks as the car picked up speed.
“I thought I told you to stop that.”
“You did.”
“You're an asshole,” she finally stated matter-of-factly. He chuckled, the sound warming the inside of the car.
“Most days,” he conceded.
“And I hate you.” Another small laugh.
“No, you don't.”
“No,” she admitted softly, like a secret whispered in sleep, “I don’t.”
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