The Name's Willow. Just Willow
1232 Words
Willow snapped out of it.
She'd been staring. Full-on, unblinking, completely obvious staring — at a man she'd known for all of three minutes.
Real smooth, Willow.
She cleared her throat and straightened up, scrambling for something normal to say.
"So — I'm Willow. Willow Yang." She gave a small, hopefully not-too-awkward wave. "My best friend Joy rented your company's car and hired you as the driver, so I guess that makes me your boss for the evening."
She said it with a bright smile, very much hoping the ground would not swallow her whole.
Her phone buzzed again.
Joy: A regular car wouldn't do you justice and you know it. People at these galas are ruthless — they judge you the second you pull up. You needed something impressive.
Willow: Okay fair point, but a Rolls-Royce, Joy? I haven't even gotten a promotion yet and you're already bankrupting me. Do you know what this must cost??
Willow glanced around the interior again. Because honestly — this had to be the top-of-the-line model. She'd never seen one this immaculate. The leather was flawless, the trim was perfect, and there was a faint trace of cologne in the air — something expensive and understated that she couldn't quite name.
How much does it cost to rent something like this? She winced.
Joy: Stop being so dramatic. You want to make an impression, don't you? Maybe you'll even snag a rich guy while you're at it 😉 And don't worry — I'm covering it. Consider it my gift.
Willow: You absolute queen. I take back everything bad I ever said about you.
Willow let out a breath. If Joy was paying, then the wallet crisis could wait.
In the front seat, Ethan processed what he'd just heard.
So she'd gotten into the wrong car.
She genuinely, truly, one hundred percent believed he was a hired driver.
His eyes went still for a moment.
Willow Yang.
He turned the name over in his mind. There was something almost amusing about it — she'd introduced herself with this little explanation, like she was making sure he understood exactly who she was. Completely earnest. Not a trace of pretense.
His mouth curved slightly.
Interesting.
"Alright, let's go!" Willow tucked her phone away and looked up. "The Grand Azure Hotel, please."
The Grand Azure Hotel.
Ethan's hand paused over the ignition.
That was Forest Gu's gala venue.
He'd received an invitation himself — had zero intention of going. These events were always the same: the same faces, the same conversations, the same careful dance of who wanted what from whom. Tedious.
But now...
He glanced sideways at the woman beside him, already rummaging through her tote bag with the focused energy of someone mentally rehearsing their evening.
He picked up his phone and typed a message to his assistant.
Ethan: Clear my afternoon meeting. I'm attending a gala.
The reply came in seconds.
Kevin: Understood, Mr. Lu.
Kevin Liu stared at his phone screen for a full three seconds after sending that.
A gala?
Mr. Lu never attended galas. He'd turned down invitations from people who ran entire industries. He had a standing policy of avoiding these events entirely — and he'd already confirmed a meeting with the Billtec CEO this afternoon, which Kevin had spent two weeks arranging.
And now he was canceling it. For a gala.
Kevin glanced at the time, then back at his phone.
What on earth happened in that parking garage?
Back in the car, Ethan's long fingers found the ignition. The Rolls-Royce purred to life, easing smoothly out of the underground garage and into the afternoon light.
Willow immediately started looking around the interior with undisguised curiosity, twisting slightly in her seat to take it all in.
This was her first time inside a car like this. She'd seen them in movies. She had not expected them to smell quite this good.
She shifted forward just slightly — just enough to get a proper look at the driver without being completely obvious about it.
Completely obvious about it.
He was, objectively speaking, unfairly handsome. Strong jaw, sharp features, the kind of bone structure that made you think a sculptor had been involved somewhere. His gray shirt and black blazer were pressed to within an inch of their lives — not a single crease, not a single wrinkle.
He looked nothing like what she'd imagined a driver would look like.
"Are all the drivers at your company this..." She searched for a diplomatic word. "...polished?"
Silence.
Ethan didn't respond. He kept his eyes on the road, expression unchanged.
Willow squinted at him.
Is he mute?
She looked at his hands on the steering wheel. Long fingers, clean nails, skin that had clearly never seen a callus in its life.
This man does not have the hands of someone who drives for a living. He had the hands of someone who got weekly manicures. Which, fair enough — good for him — but still.
"Hey, how long have you been doing this?" she asked, unable to help herself.
Ethan glanced at her briefly. "Not long," he said.
Two words. Low, unhurried, with a voice that landed somewhere between quiet and dangerously magnetic.
Willow blinked.
Oh. So not mute.
She hadn't expected that — the voice, or the way it seemed to fill the car without any effort at all. Like still water over smooth stone. She caught herself staring again and quickly looked out the window.
Get it together, Willow.
"Must be nice," she said, aiming for casual. "Flexible hours, no one breathing down your neck. Meanwhile I'm out here going to a gala I don't even want to attend, in a dress I borrowed, in a car I definitely can't afford."
She sighed.
"Normal people go to parties to have fun. I'm going to this one to work. There's something deeply wrong with that."
Her manager's grand plan echoed in her head: Go. Network. Make connections. Land the contract. Get promoted.
Easy for him to say — he'd already latched onto the front desk receptionist and was probably not thinking about contracts at all tonight.
And the worst part? Willow didn't even know their company's minimum bid. How was she supposed to negotiate anything?
"The cherry on top," she muttered, "is that I can't even expense the car rental. My boss is sitting on a fortune and he can't reimburse one single car. One. Car."
Ethan listened to every word.
The corner of his mouth moved — barely, just barely — in something that might have been the beginning of a smile.
So that's what this is about.
She hadn't rented a car to impress anyone. She'd done it because she felt like she had no choice — showing up empty-handed to a room full of people who measured everything felt like walking into a fight unarmed.
He understood that logic better than she knew.
And her company won't even reimburse her for it.
"On top of everything," Willow added, "the client they want me to impress basically threw out all our previous work and started fresh. New director, new rules, new headache. A whole week of overtime. For this."
She gestured vaguely at the world outside the window.
"So yes. I am going to eat every single piece of lobster at that gala. Every. Single. One. It's the least they owe me."
- Writer
