A Case in Red

Chapter 04

I watched the man walk further and further away from me while I still tried to process the information I had just received. I stared at the back of his navy-blue tuxedo as he moved through the crowd of guests and yet still stood out. At that moment, I wished I could swallow needles, step on shards of glass, or pull out my hair with tweezers. The one person whose attention I didn't think I wanted that night was, ironically, my very first contact at this opening. The owner of the hotel himself—the businessman I coveted a contract with—and who likely now saw me as an overly presumptuous woman.

I tried not to let the desperation show on my face, but emotion was getting the best of me. I was nervous. I don’t know if it was because every hair on my body stood up just from hearing his voice, if it was because I made the mistake of refusing a drink, or if it was the fact that I had flaunted my international relations firm, which felt tiny compared to the massive global hotel chain he managed. I wanted to leave right then, but I’ve learned that when you make a mistake, you must fix it as quickly as possible.

I composed myself. I ran a hand through my hair and, with strategically confident steps, headed toward the lobby where everyone was gathering to hear Mr. van Dorn’s words. I moved through several people, who made way for me without much trouble, and did what I could to stand in the front row so he would know I was there—present, interested, and regretful.

Conrad was surrounded by men who shook his hand proudly and smiled as if they shared the taste of his victory. But they definitely didn't know what Conrad van Dorn’s success tasted like. And I wanted to find out. Mr. van Dorn smiled at the crowd of guests waiting for his speech, and his gaze crossed mine once more. He looked me up and down—quick, but noticeable. I took the opportunity to study his appearance better, now that I could see his entire body. The navy-blue tuxedo perfectly complemented his fair skin and created an interesting contrast with his beautiful, striking blue eyes. He was tall, perhaps 6'3", with broad shoulders and thick thighs that were clearly defined even in his dress slacks. His hair was a dark golden blond with a few strands of white, neatly combed and styled in a classic cut that gave his overall appearance a youthful edge. His face didn't look like that of a 53-year-old man. It was well-preserved.

— Good evening — his firm voice echoed through the hall, and everyone fell silent to listen to him. He was respected, perhaps even feared. He didn't need to speak loudly to be heard, and I admire that in a man. I recognize Conrad’s type: someone who doesn't need to introduce himself, who doesn't need to ask for permission to enter a room. — I want to thank everyone who came to honor my grand opening — he looked at me once more, as if to make it clear that the thanks were mainly for me. A joke about the unfortunate remark I made before knowing who I was talking to. Conrad doesn't seem like the type of man to be funny or joke about awkward situations; nonetheless, I felt relief. If he was taking my arrogance with a sense of humor, I still had a chance to make a more cordial introduction.

— Wow, he’s gorgeous — a female voice spoke behind me, too loud for someone who should have been paying attention to the speech. I can’t blame her; his beauty is something to talk about, and a selfish desire inside me wanted my eyes to be the only ones competent enough to recognize such a specimen. Unfortunately, Conrad was so extraordinarily handsome that even a blind person would regain their sight just to behold his beauty.

I could spend hours listening to Conrad’s melodic voice echoing through the hall. I confess I was enchanted even by his subtle gestures: the way he gestured while speaking, how his suit seemed perfectly tailored to his visibly athletic frame. I paid enough attention to notice there was no wedding ring on his finger, which made me realize my research on Conrad might have been wrong in several aspects. Of course, some things would have been easier if I had known his appearance from the start, but someone like him doesn't have his image plastered all over social media or news outlets, even if his name is among the top ten on the list of the world's richest men. I wish that, at the very least, they hadn't included in all the online information the "fact"—which I now know is untrue—that Conrad was a married man. I would have asked Raquel for a bolder dress and painted my nails red. Of course, a woman like me doesn't need much to get attention, but I wanted to attract Conrad, and a man like Conrad deserves a greater effort.

I couldn't help but fantasize about a future contract between my company and Mr. van Dorn. It would elevate my work to an international level, and I was willing to do anything crazy to achieve it. While the owner of the Maison Rubra delighted all his guests by telling them about his family legacy and how proud he was to continue such a heritage, I was creating scenarios in my head where we would go back to that bar and have a pleasant conversation about how much value I could add to the hotel if he hired me as his international relations professional. I would delicately run my hand along his forearm, keep my head sensually tilted, and make sure to use a soft, seductive tone of voice, as I was accustomed to doing. When I woke from my daydreams, Conrad had already finished his speech, and the guests were beginning to disperse through the hall again.

In a matter of seconds, I was no longer near him. He had already turned his back once more and was walking away, receiving pats on the back and exaggerated smiles from guests who probably wanted the same thing I did: a chance to pitch their companies to the world's greatest hotel mogul. The difference between all those people and me is that they never had to work hard to get what they wanted, so they knew nothing about the art of the deal. I consider myself a true witch when it comes to entrepreneurship; so, if you compare me to all these businesspeople, you'll see that none of them master the art of persuasion as I do. I could convince a president to give up his republic if given the chance; these people can't even convince their own children to eat vegetables.

Many people got in my way; everyone wanted to congratulate Mr. van Dorn on his admirable achievement. I needed more than just a few exchanged words; I needed his valuable time. So, I gave up on chasing him and focused my gaze on one person who could give me exactly what I wanted: the blonde with the clipboard I had seen earlier.

She was alone, talking to one of the waiters, as if she were scolding him for not properly serving some of the hundreds of influential people there.

— Excuse me — I lightly touched her shoulder, and those huge, exhausted eyes stared back at me.

— Can I help you? — she tried to sound friendly, but the stress of organizing an event of that magnitude prevented her from sounding as nice as she would have liked. The lipstick she wore had already faded from her lips, a wrinkle had formed on her forehead, and her fingers were white from gripping the clipboard so tightly.

— I hope so — I smiled, about to convince the woman to let me be alone with Mr. Conrad once more.