Oblivion: Surrender (2 page)

“Is there a problem?”
I ask, noting the anxiety in her voice.

Gabrielle’s dark curls bounce with her laughter. “N
ot exactly. It’s something Mr. Stevenson and I have been waiting for. If this meeting goes as planned, Caravana’s popularity will skyrocket overnight.”

“That’s excellent
.” I smile to match her enthusiasm. Internally, I scold myself, slightly embarrassed that I am not more up to date with Caravana’s news and trends. Looking through the stack of papers, I see they’re this morning’s emergency reports along with a couple of hand written specifications. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage the office by yourself for a week?” Gabrielle asks.

“Of course.” I confidently respond
. The question doesn’t slap me in the face, yet I wasn’t expecting to be left completely alone so soon. Even though I’d worked well on my own, Gabrielle’s wandering presence around the hotel was somewhat reassuring.

“I’ll be fine
” I reiterate though she still notices the slight tension in my posture. “You were given this internship for a reason, Alyson. You are quite capable of handling this office, I trust your skills. And besides…you wouldn’t be completely alone.”

Gabrielle’s
usual calm demeanor suddenly changes as she quickly walks into the back room. I arch an eyebrow in curiosity. Since I started my internship, I’ve never seen her act anything but fearless. I regard her strangely as she seems to fumble with a cabinet full of thick folders.

“Mr. Stevenson isn’t able to make the trip so he can assist you, should it be necessary
” she finally says.
Why do I note a hint of acidity in her voice
? I ponder if Mr. Stevenson purposefully chose not to attend the trip with her and I decide not to question her on it.

******

“I’m glad to have resolved your issue…Yes…Have an excellent day, sir.” I hang up the phone.
Phew!
My mind is thoroughly exercised from solving yet another minor dilemma without needing Gabrielle’s help after all.

Proble
m solving is what I need to learn in my own life. At least I have the satisfaction of helping others in the meantime.
Checking the time on my computer, I see it is 11:34am. The majority of my morning has passed by in a blink.  Stretching, I admire the elegant space that is the management office.

It is a
considerably large room with two modern computer desks, one on each end of the office. My desk is in direct perspective with the sleek glass entrance door while Gabrielle’s station is next to the back room.

Next to the entrance,
there’s a small black leather sofa adjacent to a couple of inexpensive book shelves loaded with hospitality magazines for guests. It serves its purpose as a well-equipped office though the lack of color in it is appalling.

The walls are a primary
off-white to match the dull gray carpet and Gabrielle doesn’t have any decorations, whatsoever. Her desk is made up of scattered sheets of paper, a few pens, and her computer. If it wasn’t for the donated paintings on the wall, I wouldn’t be able to work in a room that reminds me so much of a hospital.

I
asked her about it once, and she confessed this was not initially meant to be her office but refused to get into the subject with me. Our relationship as co-workers is kept strictly professional. She claimed it didn’t bother her if I personalized my own space, so I did. On the edge of my desk, there are two mementos that I always keep with me for luck and peace of mind.

The first
is a tiny porcelain figurine of a brown haired angel playing a violin. It was given to me by Ferdinand on my last birthday when I turned 24. The second keepsake is a framed figure of mom and dad on the beach a few weeks before their tragic yacht accident. Juliette was 17 when it happened and I was only 11. God I miss them. The phone conveniently rings.

“Caravana Hotel
& Resort, Alyson—”

“Ms. Barnes, I
expect you in my office in, ten minutes. Bring this morning’s data with you.” The voice is arrogant, curt, and husky. I pause for breath before responding.

“Is this Mr. Stevenson?”

He too pauses for a moment. “Who were you expecting?”

What? Is this a trick question?
“I was expecting Matt’s call, sir.” My voice is shy and sequestered even, compared to his frigid confidence.

Who
is Matt?” I think I hear a trace of a growl.

Sheesh he’s an ogre.
“Matthew Sanders, the front desk receptionist. We’re expecting an important business group today. He’s supposed to let me know when they arrive.” I almost grumble. I’ve never come across a big cheese that is possessive over his employees. On the other side of the line, I hear either a hoarse groan or a murdered laugh, but the sound is too muffled to make it out.

“
I will instruct Mr. Sanders to report to me when they arrive.” His tone is unyielding and authoritative. I shrug.

“Yes Mr.
Stevenson.”

We are both silent for a moment.
“What are you still doing? Your time is running Ms. Barnes”, he briskly hangs up the phone. Yes, sir…
jerk
I repeat to the empty phone line. Maybe the nickname isn’t so misplaced after all. Gathering my belongings, I stride past the front desk where lanky, ginger- haired Matthew Sanders winks at me and questions where I’m headed with his chin.

I wish
flirty Matt as he’s known around the hotel, wouldn’t be so forward with me or with the other female receptionists. He respects Gabrielle because she has the authority to get him fired.

Just then, the front desk
telephone rings and Matt’s face contorts almost gruesomely. Mr. Stevenson must be calling him. Matt gives me thumbs up, and I smile helplessly as the glass elevator consumes me.

*****

I know that Mr. Stevenson’s office is located on the 3
rd
floor of Caravana Hotel--exactly where on the 3
rd
floor though, I’m not sure. Gabrielle only mentioned that Mr. Stevenson’s office was kept separate from the accounting wing but did not show me where it was located. As I look for Mr. Stevenson’s office in the open hallways of Caravana, I indulge in its spectacular air.

Looking down from the highest floor
, the enchanting décor of the hotel’s lobby is plainly visible. Sleek white couches complement aquamarine walls, the impeccable natural stone flooring reflects hints of green and blue, brought on by the modern glossy finish and lively furniture. The glare of the lights adds a subtle sparkle to every item. In the middle of the two piece lobby, there is a privacy wall from which individual plasma televisions air subtitled news reels.

Elegant lamps on small marble tables complete the lobby’s look
, which extends to a public coffee counter and then a restaurant. Soaking in the view, I finally see Mr. Stevenson’s office. It’s the last door next to four other offices, and unlike the rest of the hotel, these doors are wooden. For privacy, I presume. Mr. Stevenson’s door is cracked open, but there’s barely any light emanating from it. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for best or worse.

I knock on the door. “Come in and
don’t turn on the lights and have a seat.” Mr. Stevenson calls from inside. Upon opening the door, I’m paralyzed by the Asian sex deity in a gray, tailored suit. He’s sitting in a white modern office chair, drumming long fingers on his thigh.

His free hand is stroking his chin in a slow and daunted fashion.
I feel the familiar wetness soaking my panties, and I swallow hard at what’s happening to me. This is my
boss
, the
owner
and
jerk
I’m experiencing mental orgasms for.

Chapter 2

M
r. Stevenson’s room is roughly the same size as the management office with the addition of two large couches and a conference table on the other side of the room. It is illuminated by the glare of a digital overhead projector and by the casement windows with an extraordinary view to the hotel’s courtyard and outdoor swimming pool.

On the screen, I think there is a sample of a marketing report analysis chart
, but I’m too overwhelmed by the abrupt flood of emotions to make a move. Despite the dimness of the room, I can tell that Mr. Stevenson’s eyes are a unique shade of blue I’ve never seen. They remind me of beautiful sapphire gems.
Breathe Ali!

“See something you like?”
he suddenly asks.

“I’m sorry?” My exclamation is almost a squeak.
Damn.
Way to make a fool of yourself with the big cheese. I hope that the darkness is able to hide my rouge blush.

“French M
acaroons,” he says.
What?
I knit my eyebrows together. Mr. Stevenson points to a plastic bag on his desk. His expression is amused. “Coconut flavored.”

Macaroons
.
My boss is the living statue of David, I am a vehement sex addict, and he’s offering me candy of all things in the world. I am desperate to lick my dry lips. His long finger reaches into the bag of rainbow ovals, gracefully swirls between the luscious sweets, chooses the firmest one and approaches it to his sculpted mouth. Mr. Stevenson’s lips part in slow motion like a predatory animal savoring its meal before biting into it.

“
They are a souvenir from Paris. Would you like to try one?” His eyes suddenly darken as if he is hiding some unspoken thought. I swallow hard. He just made the habit of eating into an expert animal hunt and a work of art at the same time and expects me to break the spell by talking. It takes me more than a second to recover my voice.

“No
, sir, thank you.” I clear my throat. Mr. Stevenson’s gaze becomes impatient. “Sit”, he orders. I obediently comply and pull my chair closer to his desk. It is plush and comfortable. There is a metal name plate on the desk: CARTER STEVENSON, COO of CH&R.

‘Carter
.’
I vocalize his name in my head. The tip of my tongue traces the roof of my mouth, igniting the signals from my brain to my sex. It is no less sophisticated than the man staring at me with a restless expression. Damn my thoughts. “We do not have all day, Ms. Barnes. Surely your constant mind travels have to do with improving Caravana?”

I feel my cheeks burn up
with embarrassment again. I don’t mean to want to fuck you instead of focusing on my job. It’s not something I can help. “Yes sir.” I whisper, nervously looking through the stapled documents in the folders. Carter repeatedly taps his finger on the desk. The sapphires gems shift to Artic oceans in a heartbeat.

“
You are probing my patience. Perhaps all you need is some initiative”, he declares. Carter ducks his head in a large drawer, and I can hear the jerk muttering almost inaudible curse words under his breath. Ass, I want to mutter under mine.

You are honoring your nickname and earning a few more.
Lifting his head to meet my gaze, Carter’s new expression is no longer impatient but comical. Unruly black hair brightens his statuesque features, and his lips quirk into a cynical smirk.

My pulse thumps in my ears
. Carter Stevenson truly exceeds the definition of handsome. From underneath the desk, he’s pulled out a dainty crystal hourglass. My eyes widen larger than saucers. Carter inverts it and sets it in front of me.
Seriously?
I raise an eyebrow at him. His face is completely serious. “Begin speaking Ms. Barnes, you have a visual of fifteen minutes dissolving to tell me this morning’s reports.”

Oh I could…
Kick him in the groin for being so demanding. And knock myself out in the process for still wanting him on the desk. Looking down at my reports, I begin resuming the most recent information. Carter’s hands expertly glide over his keyboard, taking thorough notes as we speak. His erect posture finally seems satisfied with my behavior. “Tell me what you know about Sol and Leisure Properties”, he asks.

“Their daily occupancy rate was just below 70% last night
.”

“
That’s it?” he seems surprised.

“Yes.
With the annual business conference coming to the state of Florida this year, the majority of executives have been booking with us instead of the competition. I believe we have a good chance to impress the official committee and become their sponsoring hotel.” I hand him a folder of documents with the names and information of the business guests we are expecting over the next month and the potential revenue.

He nods at
each one of them with a pleased expression. “Did Gabrielle leave any other documents like this?” Carter flips through the pages. I’m prideful. “No sir, I created those documents this morning.” I answer. Carter sharply raises his head and our eyes momentarily lock.

My insi
des clench deliciously. Maybe it’s just my frantic pulse, but for a split second, I think I see a beautiful glimpse of timidness in those endless oceans. In the same instant however, the look is gone and nowhere to be found.