The Inspection
1194 Words
Travis’s POV
The clock on my desk was bleeding red: 3:00 PM.
I stood up so fast my chair slammed into the mahogany cabinet behind me with a c***k that echoed in the empty room. My heart was doing this jagged, annoying rhythm against my ribs, not fear, definitely not fear, just the sheer adrenaline of a deal that was about to go sideways. But this wasn’t a merger. It was a minefield. The meeting with my grandfather was at four, and in my world, if you weren't ten minutes early, you were already dead.
I grabbed my jacket, shoving my arms into the sleeves as I moved toward the door. I pulled out my phone, my thumb nearly cracking the screen as I hit the contact for the Fifth Avenue driver.
"Where are you?" I snapped the second he picked up. I didn't wait for a greeting. "The schedule is tight. Take her straight to Pierce Bistro. Don’t you dare bring her back to the office. I’ll meet you at the curb. If she’s a single second late, it’s your job on the line. Do you get me?"
"Yes, Mr. Pierce. We’re pulling out now. We’ll be there."
I hung up, my jaw aching from how hard I was clenching it. My pulse was a frantic thrum in my ears. This had to be perfect. If there was one hair out of place, Grandfather would tear her apart before the appetizers even hit the table. I burst through the office doors into the executive suite. Mrs. Adams looked up, her glasses sliding down her nose. She’d been around for twenty years, the only woman in this building who didn't jump when I raised my voice.
"Mrs. Adams, I’m out," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet hum of the floor. "Forward that partnership draft to the automobile group, the Germans. CC me on the final thread. I want to see their counter-offer before I even open my eyes tomorrow."
"Consider it done, Travis," she said, her fingers already hammering the keys. "Good luck."
I didn't even say thanks. I was already at the elevators, stabbing the 'Down' button like it owed me money. The ride down felt like it took a year. I watched the floor numbers flicker, my reflection in the steel doors looking like some stressed-out stranger. My eyes were too sharp, my mouth a grim line. I was supposed to be the one holding the leash, but right now, I felt like I was walking off a cliff. Every floor I passed felt like a second wasted.
The doors dinged at the garage level. My silver Mercedes AMG was idling, the engine a low, mean growl that I could feel in my teeth. Elias, my driver, stepped out to get the door, but I waved him off with a sharp, angry flick of my wrist.
"Don't bother, Elias. I'm driving myself."
"Sir? The traffic is .."
"I said I’ve got it. Give me the keys."
I snatched them and slid into the seat. The roar of the engine usually settled my head, but today, my grip on the wheel was white-knuckled and sweaty. My palms were actually damp against the perforated leather. I tore out of that garage, tires screaming against the concrete as I threw the car into the mid-afternoon mess of the city.
I drove like a lunatic, weaving through yellow cabs, my mind a total wreck. What if Elena had made her look ridiculous? What if Beauty looked like a doll instead of a woman? I could see the headlines already if this failed. I could see the look of disappointment on my Grandfather’s face. What if she couldn't handle the way Grandfather looked at people, like they were something he’d stepped in?
By the time I pulled into the VIP lot at the Bistro, my heart was actually hurting. I swung the Mercedes into the spot right next to the black Escalade. It had just arrived.
The driver scrambled out the second I killed the engine. He looked like he was about to pass out as he bowed to me, his uniform slightly rumpled from the stress of the drive.
"Boss," he panted. "Ma'am is inside already. She just walked in."
"Listen to me," I said, my voice low and probably sounding dangerous. I stepped out, the humid air hitting me like a physical wall. "Take those bags in the trunk every single one of them and drop them at her house. Then take the car home. I’m driving Ms. Whitefield home myself."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
I didn't wait. I headed for the entrance, my steps long and heavy. The brass doors swung open and the manager, Andre, came scurrying toward me like a cockroach in a tuxedo, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.
"Mr. Pierce, pleasure. The lady is already sitted in the VIP section. Your grandfather hasn't arrived yet."
"Thanks, Andre."
I walked past the main dining room, feeling everyone’s eyes on my back. I could hear the whispers, the clink of silverware stopping as I passed. I reached the glass-walled section at the back. I stopped, took a breath, and tried to fix my face into that 'Ice King' mask the papers always talked about. I adjusted my cuffs, checked my tie in the reflection of the glass. I pushed the door open.
And then I just... stopped.
I didn't just stop, I actually tripped. My heel caught the carpet and I stumbled like a kid, my brain totally short-circuiting at the sight of her. My lungs felt like they had collapsed.
She was sitting there in the late sun. That midnight-blue silk Elena picked was clinging to her like a second skin, making her look like she was glowing from the inside out. Her hair was up, showing off her neck and those black diamonds I had picked for her from the fifth avenue shopping website . They sparkled with a cold, sharp light that matched the fire in her eyes.
But it wasn't the clothes. It was the way she was sitting. Shoulders back. Chin up. She looked like she owned the table, the restaurant, the whole damn city. She looked like she could burn the place down and not even care. She looked untouchable.
For the first time in my life, my heart didn't just beat; it hammered so hard I thought it was going to c***k a rib. I stood there, frozen. I’d bought an asset, but looking at her now? I realized I’d invited a goddess into my war. I felt a surge of something, possessiveness? Pride? I didn't know. All I knew was that I couldn't look away.
She turned her head. Her brown eyes met mine, and I saw it, the messy, human panic she was trying to hide. The way her fingers trembled slightly against the white tablecloth. But to anyone else? She looked like the Queen. She looked like she belonged exactly where she was.
And God, I couldn't even breathe. I was supposed to be the one in charge, but in that moment, I was completely at her mercy
- Writer
