Two Hours!
1377 Words
Alora's Pov
I get lost twice trying to find Lucien Vale’s office. Not because the directions are wrong, in fact, Leyla is murmuring them into my ear patiently. But the building itself feels designed to confuse. Glass corridors stretch in every direction, and security men are everywhere.
“Take your left now,” Leyla says on the phone. “And not the left with the huge door. It's the one beside it.”
“I know,” I say, though I clearly don’t.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress and keep walking. Everyone here moves with purpose. No one hesitates for a moment or look around like they might be in the wrong place.
I do.
“Are you still there?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“If you want us to stop...”
“I don’t.”
Wanting is a luxury I lost a long time ago. The elevator opens on the top floor. It’s actually quieter up here.
“There’s nobody at the reception desk here,” I murmur. “Just a corridor and one door at the end. Dark wood. What do I do?”
“That’s his office,” Leyla says. Her voice tightens.
“Wait for his secretary before you go in. Don’t just walk...”
I end the call before she can finish.
There’s a small waiting area tucked into the corner with two leather sofas, a glass table, and a magazine. I sit and stare straight ahead. Some minutes pass when I hear footsteps.
A woman walks in, mid-twenties, dark-skinned, sharp-eyed. Her dress is a masterpiece of understated elegance, clean lines, and neutral tones that whisper luxury. She looks like someone who never rehearses in her head before speaking, and I wonder what that felt like.
I catch myself admiring her as she keeps walking forward. This is the kind of job I always imagined for myself. An office this high up, clothes this precise and power that doesn’t need to raise its voice. She looks like someone who didn’t have to beg to be here.
Gosh! Literally a mini me.
She looks in my direction. Recognition shows on her face and then hardens into judgment.
“You’re early today,” she says, eyes narrowing slightly. “So… you have another appointment with him?”
The words are polite, but the tone isn’t. There’s something sharp beneath it. Resentment, maybe or irritation even.
I blink. “I was asked to come today.”
Her eyes drag over me slowly. Like she’s checking for inconsistencies.
“I wonder what business you have with Mr. Vale,” she murmurs, barely under her breath, but I'm sharp enough to hear it. Then, louder, “Weren’t you here two days ago?”
“Oh…” I force a small smile. “You’re probably mistaking me for someone else. I’m sure it wasn’t me.”
Her brow lifts. “It’s you,” she says flatly. “Aren't you Leyla? Leyla Blackwood?”
Idiot! How could you forget, Alora?
You came as Leyla.
“My bad,” I say quickly, recovering. “I have a bad memory. Yes, that's me. Is Mr. Vale ready to see me?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Sit,” she says curtly. “Mr. Vale will see you when he’s ready.”
She turns toward the desk, already dismissing me. As I sit back down, unease curls in my stomach.
If this is how his staff treats Leyla… I can only imagine how Lucien Vale does.
*****
Time goes by and not in a quick kind of way.
The waiting area smells faintly of citrus cleaner and something colder underneath; money. My neck aches when I shift. At some point, my eyes close without permission.
When I wake, my mouth is dry. I check the wall clock behind the reception desk.
Nearly two hours, gone. I jerk upright, embarrassment flashing hot through me. I look at her direction and she seems like she hasn’t moved since then.
“Excuse me,” I try keeping my voice even. “Is he even in the building today?”
She looks up briefly. Not to my face but to my reflection in the glass behind me. Then back to the screen.
“Yes.”
I wait. She doesn’t add anything. “Then may I ask why I’ve been sitting here for almost two hours without being called in?”
That gets her attention. She leans back slightly, assessing me now, lips curving in something that almost resembles amusement.
“Mr. Vale’s time is… selective,” she says. “He sees people when it suits him.”
“I have an appointment,” I reply. “He scheduled it himself.”
She shrugs. “Appointments aren’t guarantees,” she pause. “Especially for people who don’t usually… work normal hours.”
Oh.
My jaw tightens.
“Excuse me?"
“You’re actually free to leave if the wait is too much.”
My fingers curl at my sides. I feel the spark; hot, fast, and familiar. The one that wants me loud and reckless.
So I smile.
“I’ll wait,” I say and turn away before she can respond. But instead of sitting, I pull my phone from my bag and dial.
Leyla answers immediately. “Please tell me you didn’t assault anyone.”
“Not yet,” I mutter. “But she’s baiting me.”
“Alora,” Leyla warns. “You do not react. This isn’t about pride.”
“You know I know how to fight.”
“Yeah and that’s the problem.”
I glance back. The receptionist is watching me pretend not to.
“Jeeezzzz! I hate this place.”
“I know, but you don’t explode there. This isn’t one of those situations where your temper saves the day. Remember this is for George, not you.”
I press my forehead to the glass wall. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Absolutely not,” she says immediately. Then a beat. “…Okay. Maybe a little. You’re bad at waiting, so it's endearing.”
“Endearing?” I scoff. “I’ve been sitting here like a forgotten furniture.”
“And I'm sure you already slept through it.”
“That’s beside the point.”
She exhales. “Listen to me,” Leyla says. "I need you to breathe. I really need you calm. Not hot-headed. Not today, please.”
I close my eyes.
“Fine,” I say. “But if I snap...”
"You won’t,” she cuts in. “Because you’re smarter than me.”
I snort. “Undebatable.”
She chuckles. “Call me if he says anything weird.”
“When,” I correct.
Leyla sighs. “When.”
I end the call and slide my phone back into my bag.
Immediately... the door opens, and Lucien Vale steps out.
The room shifts instantly, like the air straightens itself. He doesn’t look at the receptionist first but at me. The way his gaze settles, slow and unhurried, tells me that he’s been watching.
A faint smile touches his mouth. “You slept for an hour, twenty-nine minutes,” he says calmly.
My breath stutters.
“You favor your left side when you’re tired,” he continues. “And grip your bag like you’re planning an escape.”
“I was told to... wait,” I stammer.
“I know,” he says. “I told her to let you.”
The receptionist goes still. Lucien looks at her. “That will be all.”
She nods instantly.
He turns back to me.
“You’re different today,” he says. “Less compliant.”
He steps past me, close enough that I feel the heat of him without contact.
“Come in,” he says, already turning back toward his office. "I don't have all day.”
Then, over his shoulder, almost casually: “And next time, don’t sleep at my place of work.”
Immediately the door closes behind us, he slides a folder across the desk with my name boldly written on it.
Alora Blackwood.
Lucien watches my face.
“How long,” he asks softly, “were you planning to pretend to be your sister?”
- Writer
