Chapter Five- Why are we in A Freaking Hotel?

I finally hop into a taxi, sinking into the seat, but that prickling feeling still lingers. I glance over my shoulder, just once more, to find the shadowy figure gone. I tell myself it's nothing, just paranoia after an intense first day. By the time I get home, I feel drained yet, the events of the day keep replaying in my mind.

I turn the key in the lock and the door creaks as I step into my tiny apartment, a space that's as modest as it is cozy. The living room doubles as a kitchen, with a rickety table cluttered with dishes I keep meaning to wash.

This apartment is lightyears away from the life I used to know. My family's house where I used to live was very swanky. Huge chandeliers, sprawling rooms, and views overlooking the city from every angle.

But somehow, this feels like home now. There's something strangely comforting here, even if my subconscious screams in mild horror each time I open the freezer and see just two ice cubes and half a forgotten sandwich staring back at me. Luxury isn't exactly in my budget these days, but hey, at least I can proudly call it mine.

I toss my bag onto the couch and flop down beside it, instantly regretting the move when my back aches in protest.

My stomach growls, reminding me I barely ate the lunch Mr. Crane had ordered, too distracted by his intense glares and way-too-cryptic comments.

I drag my feet into the kitchen, looking for something quick and easy to eat. My brain is too fried for any actual cooking. I grab a sad-looking sandwich from the fridge and take a bite, wrinkling my nose. The bread's going stale, but I can't bring myself to care. After today, I could eat a brick and not notice the difference.

Between bites, I remember the look on Mr. Crane's face when he told me he found me "entertaining." I roll my eyes, muttering to myself, "Glad I could be the court jester, Mr. Crane." If this job doesn't work out, maybe I have a future in slapstick.

Why didn't I think of this comeback earlier? Not like I'd actually say it to his face though.

After a few more bites of the sandwich and several judgmental glares at my fridge's content, I drag myself to the couch, grabbing my laptop. Time to check if his schedule came through. Just as I open my inbox, a new message pops up from an unknown sender.

Just three words: "Stay alert, Aria."

My breath catches. The subject line is blank, and there's no reply option. I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of it. My stomach twists. Is this some kind of prank?

My eyes dart around the room as if somehow expecting to find a hidden camera planted in my humble abode. I shake my head, taking a deep breath. "Get a grip, Aria," I mutter, though my pulse still races. It's probably just some weird glitch, maybe even spam. I shut the laptop with a click, trying to convince myself that's all it was.

But then, as I sink back into the couch, a strange sense of familiarity floods over me. Not about the email, but about this very situation—me, crammed into a tiny apartment, with odd messages from nameless people, and an overly suspicious mind.

It almost feels like something out of one of the old mystery novels I used to read when I was younger. The difference? In those, the heroine always had a sidekick, someone to help her decode cryptic messages and find hidden clues. Meanwhile, I have my couch, a half-eaten sandwich, and a schedule from my boss.

I groan, stretching out, trying to shake off the weird chill from the email. As I lie back, my mind drifts to the note I saw this morning. I take a deep breath and let my mind wander to the old days.

Once upon a time, I'd have had a full team around me—friends, a stylist, even a chauffeur on speed dial. But now, my "team" consists of a shower that never fully heats up, and the faint sound of the woman from next door practicing the tuba.

Just then, my phone pings, yanking me out of my thoughts. A new text message from an unknown number:

"Tomorrow's meeting, 10 a.m. sharp."

Another message follows immediately,

If you bring coffee. Do NOT spill it this time!"

I close my eyes, stifling a laugh. Of course, it's Mr. Crane. Only he would find a way to jab at me through a message. I type back, keeping it simple:

Yes, sir. Will work on my grip strength.

Almost instantly, another text pops up:

"No excuses, Miss Cole. I don't tolerate mistakes."

I roll my eyes at the message. But I can't help the small thrill that runs through me. After all, if I'm going to work for a "ruthless" CEO, at least I have one who knows how to keep me on my toes.

Curling up in bed, I try to push it all out of my mind. Tomorrow is another day, and I need to bring my best game. Or at the very least, my steadiest hands.

As the morning sun creeps in through my window, I groggily open my eyes, squinting against the light. My stomach twists in a mix of nerves and excitement as I remember that I'm due at work again. Today's official, with the whole team introduction and a boss who's likely keeping track of every move I make.

After downing a quick breakfast—a yogurt and some of the world's driest granola—I head to my closet, pulling out a plain black dress and blazer. I run my hands over the material, feeling a pang of longing. A year ago, I'd have reached for high-end designer wear without a second thought. But here I am, staring at my reflection in a bargain blazer that fits… almost right. I take a deep breath. This will have to do.

When I get to the building, I take a quick detour to the coffee shop and grab a quick cup of coffee. I make sure I down everything and throw the paper cup into the trash before proceeding to Crane group of Companies.

As I arrive at the office, Mr. Crane's already waiting by his desk, flipping through a set of documents with a scowl so intense, I nearly lose my nerve. The scowl lifts the moment he sees me, replaced with that scrutinizing, cool gaze he seems to reserve just for me.

"Miss Cole," he says, barely looking up. "Nice of you to make it."

"Good morning, Mr. Crane." I keep my tone bright and unwavering, despite my thudding heart.

His gaze flicks over me, lingering slightly on my blazer. "Black. Predictable."

My jaw tightens, but I give him a small smile. "It seemed like the safest option."

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing, his lips quirking slightly as he passes me a file. "This," he says, "is your survival guide for today."

I open it, finding a list of names and roles, a few company procedures, my employee ID card with the same passport photograph on my driver's license and a floor plan. "Is a map given to every new hire so they don't get lost?"

"Only the ones I expect to stick around." His tone is light, but his eyes hold a glint of something unreadable. "Think of it as an investment."

I nod, trying not to show how his words affect me. He's still my boss. But something about his comment feels… personal, almost encouraging. I brush it off and focus on the file. At least I know where the break room is now.

As the morning unfolds, I'm introduced to everyone on the team. I have met three of them earlier in the conference room before. Each person greets me with a curious expression, clearly having heard about the "new girl" who apparently managed to entertain Mr. Crane himself on her first day.

I wonder how they knew. News sure does get around here quickly.

Around noon, I'm at my desk, sorting through a stack of papers, trying to draft a new schedule, when my phone rings. It's Mr. Crane.

"Miss Cole, meet me downstairs in five minutes. We're heading out."

There's no explanation, just his smooth, commanding tone, and then he hangs up. I scramble to gather my things and head for the elevators, my pulse racing as I try to anticipate what he has in mind.

Downstairs, a sleek black car is already waiting, and Mr. Crane stands by it, looking as intimidatingly handsome as ever in his dashing business suit. He doesn't say a word as I approach, just opens the door and motions for me to get in, his eyes giving nothing away. I slide into the back seat, and he follows, settling in next to me with that same steely composure.

The driver pulls away, and the silence in the car feels thick, charged with something I can't quite place. I steal a glance at him, but he's staring straight ahead, fingers drumming lightly on his knee. Just when I start to wonder if he'll say anything, he turns his head, those piercing eyes catching mine.

The car rolls smoothly along the streets, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound in the silence around us. I sit as straight as I can, hyperaware of every inch of space between us, or rather, the lack of it. Mr. Crane seems unbothered, his gaze focused out the window, one arm resting casually on the seat between us.

Then, as if he can feel me watching, he turns his head slightly, those sharp eyes locking onto mine. "This thing we're doing, Miss Cole, it's… unconventional," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that settles somewhere deep in my chest.

"Unconventional…?" My voice betrays me, coming out in a barely audible whisper. My cheeks feel like they're on fire, and my mind is suddenly flooded with all the scenarios I know I shouldn't be imagining—especially when he's this close.

His gaze lingers, assessing. "Yeah. I think we've already discussed this yesterday Miss Cole. Is that a problem?"

"N-no, of course not," I stammer, trying to keep my cool. But I can feel his eyes tracing every reaction, the heat prickling down my neck. His eyes narrow just slightly, amusement flickering there, like he's enjoying watching me squirm. It's maddening.

Just stop staring already, you nitwit!

Then, without warning, the car slows and comes to a stop. I glance out the window, and my heart skips a beat. We're in front of an upscale hotel, its polished glass doors gleaming in the evening light.

What the- ?

My mind instantly races to all kinds of assumptions, most of them probably wrong, but I can't seem to help it. I glance at Mr. Crane, trying to read his expression, but his face is as impassive as ever.

He dismisses the driver with a nod. "I won't need you for the next two hours. I'll call when I'm ready."

I blink, trying to keep my breathing steady as he opens his door and steps out, turning back to hold the door for me. "Miss Cole," he says, with that usual commanding tone, "let's go."

"But what are we doing here?" I say, barely able to find my voice.

"You'll know as soon as we're in. We should be done in less than an hour and you'll have fun while doing it. So, let's go in."

My jaw drops and hangs open in awe. 

Have fun while doing what?

Why are we in a freaking hotel?