The Fox in the Henhouse (4)

The inn's dining area was a humble space, doubling as a reception. It was late noon, and the warmth of the sun filtered through the dusty windows. Gregory sat at the desk in the corner, rifling through the logbook absently, his thoughts clouded by the earlier morning encounter with Lena. He couldn't shake the memory of her—her sultry attitude, her sharp words, and the way she looked in that skimpy dress. He shifted in his seat, trying to refocus his mind on his tasks, but he couldn't get her out of his head.

From the kitchen, Martha was busy cleaning up. Every now and then, she would peek into the reception area, watching Gregory with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion. She could tell that something had shifted in him ever since Lena had arrived. He's been distracted, dazed even. That woman's poison. Martha's thoughts churned bitterly. The smugness Lena carried around like a cloak was unbearable, and she couldn't stand how Gregory, who was usually so composed, was falling under her spell.

Suddenly, Lena was there while they were minding there own business. She sauntered in like she owned the place, wearing the same dress that Martha gave her from last night, which, even after a night's rest, still clung provocatively to her body. Martha still could not understand how she changed a simple dress to something that looked like that. Meanwhile Gregory glanced up and immediately felt his throat tighten, his pulse quickening. The dress, though simple, hugged her curves in all the wrong—or right—places, depending on who was watching. His eyes lingered a little too long on the outline of her legs before he snapped out of his daze.

"Gregory," Lena purred, striding confidently up to the counter, "where can I take a bath in this place?"

Gregory blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her directness. "Uh... the bathhouse," he mumbled. "There's a public bathhouse just down the road. You can, uh, get everything you need there—towels, soap, shampoo."

Lena's eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a scowl. "A public bathhouse?" she repeated, incredulity lacing her voice. "What kind of place is this? No private bathroom? No wonder this place feels so rundown." She gestured dismissively around the inn. "This place is practically falling apart."

Gregory's face flushed with embarrassment. He wanted to say something to defend the inn, but the words stuck in his throat. She's right, he thought, ashamed. It isn't the most modern place, but it's all we have.

From the kitchen, Martha listened, her blood boiling as she heard Lena's insults. How dare she talk about this place like that? Martha fumed. She's been nothing but rude since she got here, and now she's tearing apart the inn too. The audacity of the woman seemed boundless, and it infuriated Martha that Gregory wasn't standing up for himself—or the inn.

Lena, noticing Gregory's silence, smirked, sensing his discomfort. "Typical," she said under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, before shifting gears. "I'll need a towel and some essentials—soap, shampoo—and bring the dress I gave you last night. I want that back."

Gregory looked confused for a second, and Lena rolled her eyes. "You know, the dress I handed over to you to wash? Surely you haven't forgotten."

It took a moment for Gregory to catch up, but then it clicked. "Oh, right. The dress. Yes, um... I'll—uh, I'll get it for you." He flushed even deeper, remembering how he had washed that skimpy little number with his own hands late last night. He'd tried not to think about her while doing it, but his mind had wandered anyway. "As for the towel and... and the soap," he added hurriedly, "you'll get those at the bathhouse. They'll provide them."

Lena arched an eyebrow. "And I suppose that's supposed to make up for the fact that there's no private bath here?" She let out a small laugh, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What kind of place doesn't offer private amenities? How charming."

Gregory squirmed under her gaze, but before he could respond, she waved him off, clearly unimpressed. "Just get the dress."

He hurried off to fetch it, his heart pounding. She's impossible, he thought, though he couldn't deny the strange allure she held over him. Why am I so rattled around her? His mind raced as he walked away, his footsteps quickening in his haste to escape her presence, even for just a moment. Yet as he thought of her waiting there, all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of desire.

Back in the reception area, Lena watched him go, her smirk widening. Men are so predictable, she thought, lighting another cigarette. All I have to do is say a few words, and they're falling over themselves. She took a long drag, savoring the control she had over him.

Martha, from her vantage point in the kitchen, saw Lena's smirk and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. That woman, she seethed. She knows exactly what she's doing. And Gregory's too damn foolish to see it. Martha turned away, scrubbing harder at the counter than necessary. She wanted nothing more than to give Lena a piece of her mind, but she couldn't. She had to stay professional. It's her job, she reminded herself. Lena may be a horrible guest, but she's still a guest.

When Lena noticed Martha's presence, she motioned her mouth in way that looked like she blew a smoke ring and smiled devilishly. "Martha, darling," she cooed, her voice laced with mock sweetness. "While I'm at the bathhouse, why don't you go ahead and clean my room? I'm sure it's a little... untidy."

The condescending tone was unmistakable, but there was something sultry in the way Lena spoke, as if she was deliberately trying to provoke her. Martha stiffened, her grip on the towel tightening. How dare she?

But Martha simply nodded, her face a blank mask hiding the turmoil inside. "I'll take care of it," she replied, her voice strained but polite. It's what I'm paid to do, after all.

Lena chuckled, clearly pleased with Martha's submission. She blew another puff of smoke before saying, "Good girl," like she was speaking to a pet. That sent Martha's anger spiraling, but she kept her head down, focusing on her work. I'll do my job, but she won't break me, Martha thought, seething inside.

As Gregory returned, holding Lena's freshly washed dress in his hands, he seemed more composed, though there was still an awkwardness in his demeanor. "Here's your dress," he said, his voice a bit too quiet.

Lena snatched the dress from his hands, inspecting it with a critical eye before finally nodding. "Not bad, Gregory. You've got some skill with laundry." She winked, making Gregory flush yet again.

"I, uh, I tried," Gregory muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable under her gaze.

Lena gave him one last, sultry smile before turning on her heel and heading toward the door. "I'll be at the bathhouse if anyone needs me," she called over her shoulder, swaying her hips ever so slightly as she walked out, knowing full well Gregory was watching.

Martha, still fuming, muttered under her breath as she watched Lena leave. Good riddance. At least now I won't have to look at her smug face for a while. But even as the door closed behind Lena, Martha could feel the tension lingering in the air, like the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to everything Lena touched.

Gregory, on the other hand, watched Lena's retreating figure with a mix of admiration and guilt. I shouldn't be feeling this way about her, he thought, but he couldn't help it. There was something about Lena that was intoxicating, something that made him want to be near her, even when she was cruel. What is it about her? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

As soon as Lena was out of sight, Martha turned to Gregory, her eyes hard. "You need to snap out of whatever spell she's put you under," she said bluntly. "That woman is toying with you which even I could see while you're making a fool of yourself by falling into her crap."

Gregory opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He knew Martha was right, but he couldn't stop the way Lena made him feel. God help me, he thought, as Martha stormed back into the kitchen. This is going to be a long day.