Chapter Six
I wake up to the sun filtering through my windows, soft rays creeping across the floor and onto my bed. My eyes flutter open, and a jolt of panic shoots through me. I’m disoriented, lost in time, and the only thing grounding me is the frantic search for my phone.
I shove my hand between the bedsheets, toss pillows aside, and glance under the bed. Nothing. My heart races as I rummage through my bag, check by the door, even pat myself down, wondering if it’s somehow stuffed into my bra from last night’s chaos. Still, no phone. Ten whole minutes pass, and I’m no closer to finding it.
It’s gone and it could be anywhere. My memory is hazy, and I’m unsure if I had it with me when I left last night. The night I’m certain will stay with me for far longer than I’d like. My frustration builds until I finally spot my watch sitting on the bedside table. It’s 10:00 a.m.
TEN IN THE FREAKING MORNING.
I’m two hours late.
My stomach drops. I launch myself out of bed and into the bathroom. There’s no time for a shower, so I splash cold water on my face, furiously scrubbing away the remains of sleep and last night’s tension. My toothbrush is jammed into my mouth before I can even register what I’m doing.
In a matter of minutes, I’ve brushed, rinsed, and pulled on the first dress my hands landed on, a plain, dark green linen dress that somehow still looks decent in a rush. I grab a pair of skin-coloured tights, and slide into my favourite Charlie Stone low-heel-shoes, their worn leather hugging my feet like old friends. No time for makeup or breakfast. I’m out the door, my hair barely tamed, blowing wildly in the morning breeze.
The cobblestone streets are slick from an early morning drizzle, and I nearly trip as I fast-walk toward the shop. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts, the weight of my lateness pressing heavily on my chest.
As I approach the coffee shop, I see a handful of customers sitting on our tables outside—some regulars, others new faces I don’t have time to properly assess. Mondays are always busy, but thankfully we have extra help until midday.
I brace myself as I enter, my eyes scanning the familiar interior. There’s a comforting hum of activity—the soft clink of ceramic mugs, the murmur of voices, and the steady sound of the coffee machine. I expect the worst, envisioning Tatiana’s angry scowl as she wonders why I didn’t answer my phone or show up on time. But to my surprise, she is smiling. I meet her gaze as she stands behind the counter, chatting animatedly with a customer.
Her cheerful expression is the last thing I expected to see, but I’m not complaining. As soon as she catches sight of me, she waves and calls out my name with a bright, almost relieved tone.
“Olivia!” Her voice is light and friendly, as if my tardiness hasn’t thrown the entire morning into chaos. It’s a reaction I didn’t anticipate, and for a split second, I’m thrown off balance.
I rush to the counter, gripping its edge, still catching my breath.
“Tate, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, words tumbling over each other. “I had the craziest evening. Seriously, don’t ever let me go out on my own again. It was a complete disaster. I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s brunch, and on top of it all, I lost my phone somewhere–”
“Olivia–” Tatiana interrupts, her voice calm but firm.
“I know, I know. I’m a mess. But I’ll close tonight so you can leave early if you want–”
“Olivia!” Her voice sharpens, and she’s staring at me with wide eyes, head tilted to the side.
“What?!” I ask, confused and a little defensive.
And that's when I hear the quiet chuckle from the customer sitting by the counter.
“Cinderella! Now it does fit you. Leaving the ball right before midnight!” Adam says, a wide smile spreading across his face. His playful tone sends a shiver down my spine, though not in the way I’d like. After what happened last night, I can’t look at him the same way anymore. Sure, he’s still ridiculously handsome, but that’s about all he has left for me.
"Adam, what a surprise,” I manage to say, my voice betraying more shock than surprise. My stomach twists. I wasn’t expecting to see him here again at all.
“You weren’t answering my texts or calls.” His smile fades. “I had to come check if you were alright. Sounds like you’re not, though.” His voice lowers, a note of concern slipping in. “So, I gave you a disastrous evening? Let me make it up to you.”
“Adam, it’s fine,” I say, my voice steady despite the tension tightening in my chest. “There’s no need to make it up to me. I wasn’t feeling well, so I decided to leave. It’s nice of you to come all the way here, but it’s unnecessary—” I’m cut off by the sudden ring of his phone.
“Would you excuse me?” he asks, already answering the call as I nod stiffly. “Hey, Nate,” Adam says, turning away but still standing right in front of me. “I’ll be there in ten minutes…no, not far. I’m at the little coffee shop near the hotel…Yeah, the pretty one…Olivia runs it, actually…Olivia James…my friend from last night…Yes, Miss James.” Adam chuckles, completely unaware of the tight knot forming in my stomach. “Don’t you have people to do that for you?…Sure, count on me. See you soon.”
He hangs up, flashing me a sheepish smile as if trying to remember where we left off. I decide not to remind him, though my pulse quickens after hearing Nathan’s name.
“That was my brother, Nathaniel,” he says, as if I didn’t already know. “He took you home last night, remember?
I wish I didn’t.
“Apparently, I’ve been promoted to his delivery guy.” He rolls his eyes. “Could you take his order?”
I force a smile.
“Absolutely,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual, even though my mind is spiralling. “What does he want?”
“He said to be creative. So, whatever you think is good,” Adam says with a grin plastered on his face.
“You men never know what you want.” I walk behind the counter, and feel my heart racing faster now.
“Trust me, we do.” He laughs.
There’s something about his tone that makes me glance back at him, but I push the thought aside. I quickly pack Nathan’s order, trying to stay focused, but my hands are shaky. Adam doesn’t notice, thankfully. I hand him the bag, and soon after he’s on his way out, the door chimes softly behind him.
As I glance around, I see Tatiana making her rounds, delivering coffee to our everyday customers, most of whom are glued to their laptops, sipping and snacking throughout the morning. It’s a calm, late morning—the kind I usually love—but today, being sleep-deprived and my head all over the place, I just need quietness and some alone time for a few minutes.
I catch Tatiana’s eye and signal that I’m heading to the back, where my tiny office with a street view feels like a safe space to breathe. I step inside, close the door behind me, and lean against the desk, exhaling deeply.
I reach into the pocket of my dress, hoping to feel the familiar shape of my phone, but its emptiness reminds me once more that I lost it. With a sigh, I slump into the chair at my desk and stare out the window, as if the answers to my problems might fall down on me like autumn leaves falling onto the pavement. For a moment, the crisp air and the rustle of trees outside distract me, but then it hits me—I can track my phone with my laptop.
Energized by the thought, I abandon the week’s planning I should be doing instead and power up my laptop. As I’m preparing to track my phone, an email notification pops up on my screen, catching me off guard. My heart skips a beat as I open the email
Next time, think about setting a passcode other than 1234 to keep your phone safe. I only went through it to find your email address, don’t worry.
I sigh in relief, but freeze when I see the signature below:
Nathaniel Martens
Chief Executive Officer | Botanic Hotels International
[www.botanichotels.com]
Luxury, Nature, and Sustainability Worldwide
My mind processes the brief message a couple of times, but with enough information for me to feel stupid.
Chief Executive Officer | Botanic Hotels International
I lay back in the chair and look at the screen for a couple of minutes, reading his e-mail a few more times. CEO. Is this a joke? I knew from our previous conversations a time ago that he was a manager at someplace; he never mentioned a chain of hotels, especially not the one I proposed to go on the first time we met. Before further thinking of it, I reply to him.
To: Nathaniel Martens
Subject: Thank you
Hello, Nathaniel. Thank you for finding my phone. Please, let me know if I can send someone over to pick it up, plus your address, of course.
Best regards,
Olivia James
I hit send, my eyes glued to the screen. Is he playing with me? I'm shaken out of my thoughts as a new email enters my inbox.
From: Nathaniel Martens
Subject: You're welcome
Are we back to formalities? I see your shop closes at 8:00 p.m., I'm sending Peter at 8:30 p.m. I’d much prefer to return it personally.
Sincerely,
Nathaniel Martens
Chief Executive Officer | Botanic Hotels International
[www.botanichotels.com]
Luxury, Nature, and Sustainability Worldwide.
Did I read that right? Did he just decide what to do with my time? No matter how many times I read his response, it doesn't change. I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen.
The audacity.
He’s sending his personal driver like I’m...what? At his beck and call? A flurry of emotions arise in me—annoyance, curiosity, confusion. These two sides of him that I still can’t decipher keep me on edge.
"Olivia, you okay back there?" Tatiana’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I shake my head, snapping back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be right out!” I shout back, quickly logging out of my laptop and shoving thoughts of Nathaniel aside. But they manage to linger, revolving around my head.
I walk back to the front of the boutique. It’s a typical day here in our little world that’s supposed to be comforting, but today it all feels like background noise, drowned out by Nathaniel’s emails echoing in my mind.
Throughout the day, I move through the motions: taking orders, chatting with customers, and helping Tatiana restock. But no matter how hard I try to focus, my thoughts keep drifting back to him. Thinking about the man I once thought I could forget. How part of me isn’t sure if I’m able to.
As I glance at the clock, I catch myself counting down the minutes.
7:30 p.m.
7:45 p.m.
I can’t help but wonder—am I really going to sit here and wait for his driver? Apparently .
Do I enjoy this? The idea that he has this power over me?
8:00 p.m.
Tatiana walks up to me, her bag slung over her shoulder.
“I’m going to head out now, Liv. Thanks again for covering the close today. I know you had a rough start."
"No problem, Tate. You’ve covered for me more times than I can count.” She gives me a warm smile and hugs me before heading toward the door.
"I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay too late, okay?"
“Yeah, I won’t,” I say, knowing full well I’ll be here until 8:30 p.m., thanks to Mr. Nathaniel Martens, CEO of Botanic Hotels.
“Oh, and don’t worry too much! I’m sure your phone is somewhere in the flat. Take your time looking for it,” Tatiana says cheerfully as she opens the door. I nod, even though I know my phone is nowhere in the apartment. A detail I don’t want to dive into right now. I force a smile and wave as she leaves.
As the door closes behind her, I lock it and flip the closed sign. The shop feels quieter, the usual evening calm settling in. I wipe down the counters, collect the last of the mugs, and start closing up. I’m deep in my closing routine, but I can’t shake the anticipation building in my stomach.
8:20 p.m.
The shop is spotless. I’ve tidied everything and double-checked the register. It’s oddly peaceful when the lights dim, with only the soft hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence.
8:30 p.m.
I step outside into the cool night air, locking up the door behind me, and that’s when I see it: a sleek, black car parked right out front.
Peter, Nathaniel’s driver, steps out of the car as soon as he spots me. He’s composed, his posture stiff, his expression neutral.
“Good evening, Miss James,” he says with a slight nod.
“Good evening, Peter,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“It’s my pleasure, ma’am,” he says as he opens the back door of the car with a practiced grace.
The ride is quiet, smooth, and almost too short. Before I know it, we pull up to the hotel’s grand entrance. Peter steps out and opens my door. With a silent nod, he motions me inside.
The lobby is as opulent as I remember, with its lush greenery draped over golden accents and rich, earthy tones that make the space feel both luxurious and grounded. The air is filled with the faint scent of dried roses—the hotel’s signature fragrance, soft yet lingering. Everything about this place is designed to overwhelm the senses, yet it manages to do so in a way that’s almost soothing.
Peter is still beside me, almost protective. Without a word, the receptionist comes to meet me. Her expression is flat, almost as if my presence is unwanted. She points me toward the elevator on the right, giving me a last-minute fake smile.
The moment I step inside the elevator, my pulse quickens. The doors slide shut, and the space seems to shrink around me. Peter pushes the button for the top floor. The ride up feels agonizingly long, my heartbeat syncing with the soft whirr of the elevator’s ascent. The higher we go, the more my mind races. God, the anxiety this elevator gives me.
When the doors finally open, I’m met with a hushed, softly lit hallway, the kind that feels like it’s holding its breath. There’s only one door at the end. No noise, no movement—just an empty corridor. My footsteps echo as I approach the double-door, my hand rising to knock, but the doors open and there he is—Nathaniel, standing in the doorway, composed and magnetic, waiting for me.
His tailored suit hugs his broad shoulders perfectly, the rich, deep brown fabric not only complements his features, but seems almost made for him, enhancing his presence in the room. His dark blue eyes lock onto mine with intensity, making me feel like he is seeing far more than I let on. And maybe he is . He did know where I live, after all.
“Olive,” he says, his voice as smooth and controlled as ever. “Come in.”
I hesitate for a second before stepping inside. I move past him and his scent—warm, faintly spicy, and undeniably him— wraps around me like a veil. The door closes with a soft click, and I realize Peter didn’t follow me in. It’s just the two of us now.
Nathaniel walks toward me. I take in the suite as I move deeper into the room—much larger than my entire apartment. The lights are dimmed so low that the room is mostly illuminated by the soft glow of the moon outside, by the twinkling city lights that filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The atmosphere feels intimate, almost too much.
Nathaniel stops in front of me before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out my phone. He takes a last look at it before handing it to me.
“You left this in the back seat last night,” he says. The screen flashes, the familiar image of Juan Valdez appears as my lock-screen stares back at me.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend as I take the phone from him, my fingers brushing against his briefly.
There’s an instant of plain silence. He studies me for a moment before continuing, his voice sharp but measured.
“Peter is downstairs, waiting to take you home. Whenever you’re ready.”
His words catch me off guard. After everything—the tension, the silence, his I prefer to return it personally —this is it? A handoff and I’m dismissed? The abruptness of it makes me blink in confusion, and before I can stop myself?—.
“Oh, that’s it?” I say.
Nathaniel’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if he’s both surprised and amused by my reaction. For a split second, I catch a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, maybe. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that familiar, unreadable mask.
The question lingers between us. My heart beats a little faster as I meet his gaze, and in that moment, I realize I’m not ready to leave—not yet.
“I’m sorry–were you expecting something else?” he asks. A light smirk forms on his face.
“Not really, but I could’ve sent someone for this,” I declare, the annoyance slipping into my tone. My time feels wasted.
“Or I could’ve sent Peter,” he replies, agreeing with me, a grin cutting through his otherwise serious face.
“Exactly,” I coincide.
He cocks an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with something I can’t quite place.
“You sound disappointed,” he teases, stepping closer. The space between us narrows, his presence almost suffocating.
“I’m not,” I say, my words coming out quicker than I intend. I slip my phone inside my bag and glance down, avoiding his gaze.
“But you are,” he insists, his voice softer now, but still firm. His right hand reaches under my chin, lifting my face until my eyes meet his. His touch is warm, but it sends a chill through me. I swallow hard, trying to maintain my composure under his intense gaze.
“You know,” I start, struggling to keep my tone casual, “I don’t remember giving Peter my address last night.” My eyes are fixed on his, trying to read him. “Yet, somehow I ended up right at my doorstep.” Nathaniel raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I mean,” I continue, “I distinctly remember giving a different address. Funny how that worked out.” My words are light, but the edge beneath them isn’t. For a second, his eyes flash with something—amusement? Annoyance? It’s hard to tell.
“You’re welcome, Olive,” he says, his voice low and smooth, as if he’s choosing each word with precision. “It’s a good thing we got you home safely.”
The ambiguity. I hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “And how, exactly, did you manage that? You know, getting me home safely?”
Nathaniel’s lips twitch, almost like he’s holding back a smirk.
“I take responsibility for the things that matter to me.” He steps a little closer, his presence almost too much, too close to me in the dimly lit room.
“So, you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” I ask, my voice steadier this time, challenging him. He shifts. Is that what I think it is? A crack in his composure. The smooth, unflappable exterior Nathaniel wears falters. For a moment, the composed mask slips.
He leans in closer, his breath warm against my skin.
“I don’t know what you want me to say—other than you're welcome,” he murmurs, his voice softer than I expected.
“You’re free to go if you don’t feel comfortable.” There’s a pause, and his gaze flickers, turning into something vulnerable. “I understand if you want to leave, even if…” the back of his left hand slides down my arm slowly. His eyes drop to my lips, making my heart race. “…I’m dying for you to stay.”
His words send a jolt through me, the change in the conversation anchoring me, making me forget what I even asked in the first place. My back tingles. His voice is commanding, yet with a tenderness I recognize too well from those late-night calls. The voice that used to melt me. A sweet tone wrapped in control, a grip so hard to escape.
I look deep into his eyes, trying to see past the facade , but before I can second-guess myself, I shut off the part of my brain that’s screaming at me to leave. My hand rises of its own accord, brushing lightly over his wrist, moving his right hand from my chin to my neck. As he wraps his fingers around me, his eyes widen, and a slow grin spreads across his lips.
He doesn’t need any more permission. Nathaniel reads and understands me in ways that unsettle me. His grip tightens, firm but controlled. He pulls me in, his lips crash against mine, and I give in, feeling how a part of me never left a part of him.
I put my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, and before I know it, his arms are around me, lifting me off the ground. I gasp, surprised by the suddenness of it, and a soft giggle escapes me as he carries me effortlessly. My legs instinctively wrap around his torso, my head sinking into his neck, inhaling his scent—penetrating my senses.
He pushes open a door, and I barely register the room we’ve entered. He sits down on the edge of a bed with me falling on his lap.
“Sweet Olive,” he whispers, his voice low, laced with affection as he kisses me again, softer this time. Nathaniel pulls back, enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath coming out in shallow puffs. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, brushing lightly, reverently, as if I might disappear if he isn’t careful. There’s a raw emotion in his eyes, unguarded, almost fragile, making my heart twist and leaving me breathless.
“I missed you,” he murmurs. His thumb brushes over my lower lip. “More than I thought possible.”
I blink, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head, silencing me with a soft kiss. He’s savouring the moment, and at the same time, creating a memory I won't be able to forget.
When he pulls away, his eyes search for mine. “Stay with me tonight, Olive."
The words catch me off guard. My heart skips a beat, and for a second, I don’t know what to say. I hesitate, not because I don’t want to, but because this side of him, this softness, could make me fall for him again. I can see the longing in his eyes, and something stirs deep within me. He kisses me again, slow and tender, as if he’s taking his time with every touch. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the two of us in the dimly lit room, lost in the moment. His hands glide over my body, not demanding, but exploring as if he were gently registering how my skin feels under his touch.
When he finally lays me down on the bed, it’s like he’s handling something precious, fragile. His lips press soft kisses along my neck, trailing down my collarbone as his fingers trace the curve of my waist. Every touch is deliberate, filled with a kind of reverence that leaves me feeling admired.
“You're breathtaking,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice laden with deep emotion. His eyes roam over me with an intensity that makes every centimetre of my body tingle under his gaze. It’s as if he’s searching for every detail in disbelief, captivated by the sight of me.
I find myself lost in the moment, in him, in the way he’s treating me like I’m the only thing that matters. There’s no dominance, no control, just him, raw and real. And it’s more overwhelming than anything I’ve ever felt before.
We move together slowly. The room filled with nothing but the sound of our breathing and the faint hum of the city outside. His hand runs up my tights, pushing my linen dress to my waist, his fingers tracing the seams of my knickers right between my legs.
“Is this, ok?” he asks for my permission, his regard is sweet, and gentle.
“What is?” I smile, almost conceding. The tone of my voice is playful, granting him access to me. His eyes narrow and he grins.
“This,” he says, moving the base of my underwear to a side, his fingers enter me. I close my eyes, taking in the feeling. His fingers move smoothly until they are fully inside me. His head drops to my hip, and he starts pumping in and out of me, I open my eyes and moan at the pleasure he is giving me mixed with the look of his eyes; a perfect combination of admiration and lust. The view of him is addictive, and I can only give in entirely to him.
Scanning my face, his eyes move to my lips. I can feel his temptation to savour my mouth. He hesitates before his lips meet mine in the lightest, almost tentative kiss. I barely have time to register the warmth of his touch before he pulls back, leaving my breath suspended between us.
My eyes meet his, the intensity of his regard enough to make my heart skip a beat. He looks at me as if he’s searching for something, or maybe he is taking in my reaction.
He kisses me again, slower, lingering, sending a shiver down my spine. He pulls back once more, holding my gaze, and the corner of his mouth curves faintly. He knows the effect he has on me.
Before I can think anything else, his lips are on mine again, deeper and more sure. His fingers leave my body abruptly, making me gasp in his mouth, and his hand slides to the side of my face. His thumb brushes my cheek as he kisses me with a quiet desperation. Time seems to dissolve in his arms, his touch, his scent. The look on his face is everything I didn’t know I needed.
His lips leave mine, and he draws a path of passionate kisses over my jaw, my neck, landing between my breasts. His touch builds heat inside me, making my toes curl at the feeling of his wet kisses over my skin. His hand roams to my breast, grabbing it firmly while his fingers try to explore the interior of my dress. He pulls back and unbuttons it, exposing me to him.
His fingers brush the lace of my bra, and he looks at me. I hold his gaze and bite on my bottom lip. He smiles, pulling the fabric down. His lips kiss my breast before sucking on my nipple deeply, his eyes remaining locked with mine. His wet tongue draws circles, making me moan. He takes my nipple between his teeth and smiles widely.
Why are you so hot, Mr. Martens?
He lets out a chuckle and I wonder if I said that out loud, or maybe my face is showing subtitles at this point. He grabs my breasts with both hands and moves his face down my torso, kissing his way to my hips and my thighs. His right hand follows the path of kisses across my body, caressing my thigh and landing in the back of my knee, bending my legs.
He fixes his eyes with mine and I feel his hot, wet tongue brushing my sex over my lace knickers. I moan at the feeling, at the irresistible look in his eyes, holding my gaze as if to avoid missing any detail of me. A right we didn’t allow ourselves the first time we met.
The way he takes me revives a memory, and I don’t want to break his touch. I grab his hair and pull him to meet me closer, my lips demanding to kiss him, but he resists. Instead, he strongly grabs my legs, anchoring himself between them, giving me an unspoken pleasure. He awakens a part of me that I’d forgotten lived within me. A part of me that only reacts to him.
When I look down at him, he looks messy. A strand of hair hangs over his forehead and past his eye. He senses my gaze and pauses, looking at me. He climbs on top of me, resting his head over my belly while his hands grab my waist. He breathes in.
“Are you ok?” I ask.
“Beyond that,” he says.
“You’re super ok?” I joke.
“I’m levitating and grounded at the same time. Does that make sense?” He pushes himself from me, but remains kneeling on the bed while my legs are partially bent to each side of him.
“Hmm, I’d love to say it doesn’t, but it sounds like the way I feel. And I always make sense.”
He lets out a silly little laugh.
“Then I guess we make sense.” He says.
As we lose ourselves in each other, I realize this is what I’ve been missing, this connection, this vulnerability, and at the same time, this roller coaster that is Nathaniel Martens.