After about half an hour, we finally arrive at the Grand Hotel Continental. The driver steps out, opening the door for me, and I carefully lift my dress as I exit the car, feeling the slight chill of the evening air. I ascend the grand steps leading to the entrance, each step heightening my sense of awe—and anxiety. The hotel looms above, majestic and intimidating.
As I reach the top, I see Max pacing near the entrance, his posture tense and his gaze scanning the crowd. When he spots me, he stops and strides toward me, his expression softening. He's wearing black trousers and a white jacket with a red bow tie, his hair slicked back and his beard neatly trimmed, accentuating his cheekbones and full lips. He looks... striking.
"Cyntia... You..." He stumbles over his words, his usual poise slipping for a moment. "You leave me speechless. You look really... Well, you look very... nice. Beautiful, actually."
I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, and for a second, I struggle to keep my voice steady. Did I actually just impress him? "Thank you, Mr. Manner. That's very kind of you," I say, trying to play it cool. "Though I do see you in a suit almost every day."
"Yes, true." He chuckles, and there's a hint of warmth in his eyes that I haven't seen before. Extending his hand, he says, "Shall we go in? The banquet will start soon."
I take his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm, and we walk toward the entrance together. Christian really did a great job on me, I think, feeling a flicker of confidence. The makeover cost me nearly half a month's salary, but with my smooth skin, polished nails, and styled hair, I feel like a completely different person.
The hotel is breathtaking—immense and elegant, with a Victorian grandeur that's almost surreal. A massive crystal chandelier illuminates the entrance hall with a dim, warm glow, casting delicate patterns on the polished marble floor. Columns line the corridor, decorated with intricate carvings, and small arches lead into various rooms filled with guests. I can't help but stare, my eyes drinking in the opulence. What am I even doing here?
We stop at the reception to leave our coats and announce our names, and then continue down the corridor. Max leads me over to a group of executives from FfiSSX, a company renowned for their cutting-edge research. They engage Max in conversation, discussing the latest market trends, while I stand by, unsure of my role. I notice their slightly glazed expressions and suspect they're not on their first drink.
Suddenly, Max squeezes my arm, and I glance over, meeting his wide-eyed gaze. He's trying to communicate something, his polite smile becoming more strained by the second as the executives bombard him with questions. I hesitate, then step in with what I hope is a professional tone.
"Excuse me, Mr. Manner, but we need to attend to that meeting we discussed. Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us, I wish you a pleasant evening."
I give a slight bow, and we smoothly slip away. Max sighs in relief, muttering, "Cyntia, I don't recall scheduling a meeting."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you rather go back to your 'friends'?"
"No! Thank you for the rescue," he laughs. "They've been trying to work with our company for ages, but it's too costly. They're desperate to get in touch, but we've said no so many times... I didn't think they'd corner me here."
I chuckle, feeling a bit bolder. "Glad I could be of service. So, what's the plan now?"
"Well, we're here to make connections, ideally with the right people. Think of this as... strategic networking." He looks at me, an amused glint in his eyes. "Don't worry. You're doing fine."
"Do I seem worried?" I ask, realizing too late that my tone sounds a bit defensive.
Max laughs. "You ask in a worried tone if you seem worried? How about we get a drink and take a walk? Let's get a feel for the place."
"That sounds... perfect." My nerves are still jangling, but his laughter calms me slightly.
We head over to one of the refreshment stations, where a girl is performing an impressive cocktail show, flipping shakers and bottles in the air to a round of applause. Max orders a White Russian for me and a Piña Colada for himself, and we take our drinks, strolling into the main hall.
As we walk, I spot a few paparazzi near the entrance, snapping photos of arriving guests. A surge of panic rises in my chest, and I instinctively turn my head, not wanting to be seen. Please don't let them notice me.
But just as I'm about to ask Max about the press, something—or rather, someone—else catches my attention. Clad in a black dress that clings to her every curve, with a plunging neckline down to her navel, red stiletto heels, and a matching handbag, Elena struts into the room, her head held high. Her long black hair is styled in a high ponytail, and her makeup is so flawless she could be mistaken for an Angels model. Heads turn as she walks in, and I feel my stomach twist.
Without thinking, I clutch Max's arm. "What's Elena doing here?"
YOU ARE READING
My hardcore Boss
General Fiction"Oh my God! It's him! My boss is a porn actor!" Cyntia, a timid and reserved secretary, is constantly subjected to subtle criticism from her colleague Elena, whose beauty and confidence constantly make her feel uncomfortable. Her life takes an unexp...
