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"Yeah, yeah," I replied groggy and immensely disoriented.
"We were sent up to ask what you wanted to have for dinner. There's a restaurant staff right outside your door, so he can take your order."
"Um..." It took me a while to process it. "Who sent him or her... I mean, I didn’t send for anyone. I didn’t send for food; I've been asleep."
"Mr. Swift?" she replied, and the exhaustion was immediately wiped out of my eyes. I pushed my hair out of my eyes, understood what they were saying, and nodded.
"Um, yeah, let me call you back."
"Sure, ma'am," the woman said, and the call ended.
I had no idea what time it was. I had drawn the blinds before I had gone to bed, and they had blocked everything out. I hurriedly grabbed my phone again, and when I saw that it wasn’t yet time for the performance, I released a heavy breath of relief. I wasn’t screwed. Phew. I still needed to get up then, so I could feel human, get my brain working, and a few minutes later, I knew that I needed to call him.
Earlier on, I had been certain that he was so monumentally pissed at me that besides work, and until we could get back to the city and he could fire me, he wasn’t going to talk to me. But now he was ordering food for me? This was how he was. One moment he would be cold as ice, and the next he could make you feel so warm that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. I loved this about him, and so, more than ever, I was even more confused. What was I to do now?
I headed over to the bathroom, and after brushing my teeth and washing my face, I decided to get dressed. I sent him a message.
"Sir, the performance starts in an hour. Do you need any further preparations for attending? I’m available to help you as needed."
I sat down on the bed as I waited, and then my phone buzzed with a message. "Come to my room," he said, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
I stared at the message and had to check it several times to make sure it was right and that he was the one that had truly sent it. Why did he need me to come over? He usually wasn’t one for processes or meetings. He was brief in everything that he did... straight to the point.
Sighing, I rose to my feet, and I couldn’t help but wring my hands. When I arrived at the door connecting our rooms however, I stopped. I had to be professional, so I headed out the front and then went over to his to knock.
Getting this room had been his idea, and at the time, I had been nearly heartbroken. I had brought up the booking for separate rooms to him, but when we found out that they weren’t next to each other but were instead at the opposite ends of the corridor due to availability, he had then decided for us to just get the presidential suite.
"In case we’re working late and need quick contact with each other, there's no reason to be that far apart. Our major business in Bangkok is the conference and networking."
That had made sense to me, but then I cried myself to sleep that he didn’t even see me as a woman enough to care that we’d be sharing interconnected doors. Nothing was for sure going to happen between us. I was certain that it hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Now, as I waited in front of his door, I couldn’t believe how much things had changed—or had they? Had yesterday and today all just been a fluke because we were in a different country and had gotten carried away?
I didn’t know what to believe in or even hope for, and this was the most unsettling part about all of this. So, he came to the door and opened it. He was dressed in the dress shirt he had worn earlier, but this time around it was completely unbuttoned, revealing his gorgeous, unbelievable physique.
For the first few seconds, all I could do was stare, almost with my mouth agape. He eventually realized this and turned away without a word.
"Why did you come to the front? Is the interconnected door locked?" he asked as he returned to the chair by the window and took his seat. He was dressed in dark slacks, barefoot, his wavy hair neck-length and all over the place in the most gorgeous way possible.
My heart was weak. I remembered all that had happened the previous night, starting from right there on the chair he was still seated on and working with his laptop, and then to the bed. He had on his glasses. It was rare he wore them at outings or even in the office. I had only seen them when I'd stopped by his apartment. But now they were on, and the gorgeous dark rims around his eyes gave him the kind of appeal that made me want to do exactly everything I had done the previous evening, but this time around, completely willing and sober.
"Did you get something to eat yet?" he asked. "You need to eat now so you can fully recover,"
I replied, even though he wasn't looking at me but instead had his gaze on his screen.
"I think that sleep was what I needed the most, so I'm fine."
"Choose something with a soup base," he said. "It’ll make you feel great."
"Yes, Sir," I replied and continued to stand before him. He didn’t look up again, so I knew that I had to move the conversation along.
"I was wondering if you wanted me to order you something to eat as well. I could join you, or maybe you want to go to the restaurant before the theatre performance. We still have about an hour left, so we need to leave soon if we're going to make it."
He continued typing, which was quite typical of him, so I knew that soon enough, he was going to finish and face me. And this was exactly what he did. He shut the laptop off, and then he lifted his gaze to mine.
"I don’t want to go out for dinner or the performance. I'd rather stay here. Plus, there's a situation I’m monitoring in New York, and I'm waiting on responses that I don’t want to miss."
"Alright, Sir," I replied, wondering what responses he was waiting for. I knew almost everything about his business, so if he was communicating with the office, I should be aware, right?
