Pulse and Petals

Evara

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I tapped my fingers on the table, glancing at my watch for what felt like the hundredth time. I couldn't afford to be late again, not after the debacle with Mr. Icicle back at the board room. So, I decided to set up shop in the restaurant itself, hoping to get some work done while I waited.

Nick, bless his soul, was cool about it. He showed me to the restaurant and even managed to snag the best table in plain sight. His reasoning? So that when his brother showed up, he wouldn't have to search for me for hours and get pissed about that too.

He had offered to stay and keep me company, but he's swamped with work and needs to be somewhere else. So he left, leaving me to navigate this meeting with his brother on my own. He did wish me good luck though. I couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension wash over me. I knew I was going to need it. Earlier, I hadn't taken Jack's cryptic warning seriously, but now I realize he wasn't kidding.

I sighed, trying to focus on my work but finding it difficult with the anticipation of Mr. Grumpy rotten tomato's arrival weighing on my mind. Despite our rocky start, I couldn't deny the flutter of nerves in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again. Nope. No flutters. Flutters should shut the fuck up. He is bad news.

As I glanced around the restaurant, taking in the elegant decor and people all around, I couldn't help but wonder how this meeting would go. Would he be as cold and distant as he was before, or would he surprise me with a warmer demeanor?

I shook my head, trying to push aside my doubts and focus on the task at hand. Whatever happened, I was determined to make the most of this meeting and hopefully, finally get back on track with my work.

I watch as he approaches from a distance, my curiosity piqued by his attire. No longer clad in his suit, he's now in a pair of... scrubs? My brows furrow in confusion. Is he a nurse? A doctor? It seems incongruous with the image of the stern businessman I had in my mind.

But then again, why wouldn't he be wearing scrubs if he's indeed a doctor? I shake my head, pushing aside the questions for later. Whatever his profession, it doesn't change the fact that I'm here to seal the deal.

As he draws closer, I can see the determination etched on his face, the same steely resolve that I've come to expect from him. Despite my lingering questions, I square my shoulders, steeling myself for the meeting ahead.

No matter what his role is, I'm hell-bent on bagging this deal. And if that means facing off against Mr. Time-is-money himself, then so be it. I'm ready.

I stand up as he approaches, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling inside me. "You're early," he observes, his voice cool and composed.

"I spent the last three hours here," I reply, trying to hide the fact that I've been anxiously awaiting his arrival.

He looks almost apologetic for a moment, but his expression quickly returns to its usual impassive state. He gestures for me to sit down and he settles into the chair opposite me, his posture straight and his expression still devoid of any emotion.

He breaks the silence with a question, his voice as neutral as ever. "Are you hungry?" he asks, his tone businesslike. "What would you like to have?"

I take a moment to collect myself, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus away from the tension in the air. "I'll have red velvet cupcakes, please," I decide, my mouth watering at the thought of the sweet, indulgent treat. Whenever I'm under a lot of pressure, nothing soothes my nerves quite like the comforting taste of red velvet cupcakes.

He nods in acknowledgment, his expression still emotionless. "Sure. What else?," he replies simply, signaling the waiter to take our order.

"Umm. Nothing. Thank you." I reply, hoping to keep things simple.

He orders some kind of chicken dish with a fancy ass name that I don't know of for himself.

As we wait for the food to arrive, the tension in the air seems to lift slightly. I take a deep breath, feeling a small glimmer of hope that maybe this meeting won't be as uncomfortable as I feared.

I engage in conversation, aiming to steer it toward the practical aspects. "So, what are your requirements for the wedding?" ask, hoping to delve into more concrete details.

Quickly, I open my laptop, showcasing some of our successful wedding plans, hoping to impress him. As I scroll through the photos, I sneak a glance at him, searching for any sign of approval.

To my relief, he seems satisfied with the presentation. "I'm willing to work with you," he finally admits, his tone neutral but not unfriendly. "But I should tell you, I'm only here because my cousin is traveling for an important business meeting. He wanted me to see if we're making the right choice with the wedding planner."

I nod, understanding his position. "Of course," I reply. "I appreciate the opportunity to prove myself."

His expression softens slightly, and he leans forward, his gaze intent. "Alright, let's get down to business," he says, his tone brisk but not unkind. "We need to plan the engagement party, and it's going to be held in a nightclub. I'll be in charge of everything for this event, so I need you to make sure everything runs smoothly."

I nod, feeling a surge of determination wash over me. "I understand," I assure him, eager to prove myself worthy of his trust. With a renewed sense of purpose, I dive into the details of planning the engagement party, determined to make it a night to remember.

Lost in explaining my ideas for the engagement party, I suddenly realize our food has arrived. Mr. Icicle's gaze lingers on me, his expression unreadable. I meet his eyes briefly, trying to gauge his thoughts, but his expression gives nothing away.

I clear my throat, breaking the silence that as settled between us. "Thank you," I say to the waiter as he sets down our plates, hoping to ease the tension that hangs in the air. It's becoming a familiar pattern-the tension that settles whenever his eyes are on me.

He nods in acknowledgment, his attention still fixed on me. I shift uncomfortably under his unavoidable gaze, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

"Is everything alright?" I finally venture, unable to bear the silence any longer. His lips twitch slightly, as if he's about to say something, but then he shakes his head and looks away.

"Everything's fine," he replies curtly, his tone giving nothing away. I hate that. But there's something in the way he avoids my gaze that tells me otherwise. I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this meeting than meets the eye.