I Trust You

He Can Smile?!

"Ma'am, this way, please." The limo driver says, smartly dressed in an all black tux, brown leather shoes and dark grey chauffeurs hat.

"Why, thank you kind sir." Grace answer, gently placing one heeled foot, then another, into the limo's soft carpet before scooting over to make way for him.

"Sir-" The limo driver sputters but snaps his mouth shut when Vincent throws him a dirty glare.

Grace spots a pair of black shoes stepping into the limo, followed by a fuming Vincent.

"What is this?" He asks, his lips tight as he eyes the luxurious limo I hired just the other day.

The door gently shuts behind him and the sparkling, black limo purrs as it smoothly moves from the parking bay.

"A limo." Grace beams, her eyes bright as she softly caress the leather chair. "It's beautiful isn't it? Much better than the picture online."

"Beautiful?" He sneers, his back straight as a broad against the plush seats. "I call it a useless and worthless expenditure."

"Well, I call it riding in style." Grace reaches over to the armrest, tugs it upwards and grins when she spots the refrigerator. "Drink, you look a little tense?"

A soft growl escapes his lips as he whips his head towards the window; his hand tightly fisted.

"Look," Grace sighs, putting the drink back. "We're trying to create an image here, we can't arrive in my ancient, but strangely beautiful, Volvo, what message would that send?"

"That we have other priorities on our list other than riding in pompously expensive cars." Vincent slowly turns his head to Grace, his eyes a chilling grey. "Who knows, the $560.99 that you used could have been better spent on world peace campaigns or whatever insane organisation is protesting today."

"Maybe, aiding the fight to stop premature Christmas decorating?"

"Exaclt-" Vincent's eyes slowly widen as his jaw slacks infinitesimally. "What?"

"It's a thing."

"It can't be."

"It was all over the news last year." Grace gapes, sneaking in a small sweet from the large candy bowl into her light pink, Michael Kors handbag. "Don't you watch TV?"

"I do but..you know what? This is irrelevant." Vincent grumbles. "My point is you threw away perfectly, good money."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." Grace grabs the small juice box from the refrigerator, completely ignoring the cold stare on her neck as she stuffs it in her handbag. "It's all a matter of perspective."

"I'm not even going to argue with you today."

"Good then you can listen." Grace stuffs a can of Pringles into her bag before taking out her large binder. "So, there's 2 rules you have to remember, okay?"

Vincent only nods, his gaze outside the window.

"You have to be nice, I don't want any of that scowling rubbish you do and no short, cold answers. You have to be charismatic and smooth, we're trying to gain the public's love not have you on TMZ's worst bachelors 2019 list."

"Fine."

"See, that's a short, cold answer." Grace points out, lifting her gaze from the binder. "You better leave that word outside the hotel."

"Okay, I get it." Vincent says, pushing his hair back, as he unbuttons the top button of his white vest, neatly tucked in his grey Givenchy pantsuit. "Can we just not talk?"

And by 'we' you mean me.Jerk!

Grace roughly shuts her binder before reaching for another juice box as her eyes scan the extremely cheap and necessary limo.

The limo houses 6 black, leather sofas, each on either side of the limo, the floor carpeted with cloud-soft carpets almost envelop your feet when you step on it. In the middle sits a small stand with the glass candy bowl on top of it and the refrigerator sits in between Vincent and Grace.

"How can this guy not love this?" Grace whispers under her breath, as she finishes off the juice and tucks the empty box under the seat.

After 5 minutes of bitter, heavy silence a gently voice comes from the limo's speakers.

"Sir, ma'am, I think this might help eases the tension."

And with that the man's voice softly sizzles out and a soft tune ,with a gently bass, plays from the speakers. After a few minutes the limo driver increases the volume, till the car gently vibrates to chilling piano.

Grace slowly turns her gaze to Vincent but quickly flinches back when she meets his cold stare. Shrinking in her seat, Grace covers her eyes as her feet tap the carpet, impatiently waiting for the limo to arrive.

"Finally." Grace sings, stretching her arms over her head, as she nods to the driver. "Never thought that ride would end."

Vincent steps out the car, shutting the door and cooly stares at the golden italics sprawled on the hotel's wall.

"Welcome to Roman's Hill." A young boy, with baby soft eyes and round face says, walking over to us. "Here's your complimentary drink."

Grace throws the boy a polite smile before taking the flute of champagne, Vincent only lifts his hand and moves towards the revolving doors.

"You're no fun." Grace groans, returning the flute and following Vincent inside.

Roman's Hill was ironically located on Roman Avenue, a quite road just off the main highway. When entering the first thing any sane human would notice, is the ginormous, bright chandelier that sits right at the centre of the intrinsically designed ceiling. The chandelier has over a 60 glass droplets hanging  from it's base, the droplets shine a bright, white light throughout the room completely illuminating it despite the sun being present just over the hotel walls.

The ceiling shows a battle between armoured men, dressed in shiny metal suits, holding swords towards their opponents who wear black suits and matching fedora's on their heads; dark, heavy guns clasped tightly in their hands

Grace blindly follows what vaguely seems to be Vincent as she keeps her eyes on the ceiling.

"This is beautiful." Grace whispers, her eyes darting to every section of the celling; trying to soak it all in.

"It is." A heavily accented voice says, breaking Grace out of her trance. "Hello, I'm Mr.Neita, the hotel manager."

"It's pleasure to meet you, Mr.Neita." Grace says, gently shaking his hand.

"And this must be the big, big boss, Mr.Maxwell?"

Come on, you can do it. Be nice.

Grace holds her breath as she waits for Vincent to answer.

"That is me." He laughs, firmly shaking Mr.Neita's outstretched hand. "It's an honour to meet the man who keeps things running."

Mr.Neita shakes his head, his dreadlocks swaying slightly as he gives us a Cheshire grin.

"Thank ya, it's a lot of work but I love what I do."

"He's Jamaican." Grace softly whispers, finally able to pinpoint the accent. 

"So, are you ready for the grand tour."

"Sign us up." Vincent says, a smile on his face, as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and follows Mr.Neita into the elevator.

Mhmmm, I like this Vincent better.

...............................................

Hey luvies,

I'm currently on Day 1 of living with my Gran, it's been fun, she made me chicken so I'm happy.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed this chapter and what is your first impression of Mr.Neita.

And don't forget to Vote, Comment and SHARE THE LOVE