Chapter 3 - LEO
Ifeel sick. I don’t remember ever feeling this nervous before.
I try to push away the nausea as I stand on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, looking up at the imposing glass and steel spine of the building, telling myself this is normal.
First-day nerves. Everyone gets them. My reflection stares back from the revolving door — tired eyes, borrowed confidence, a jacket that still smells faintly of our apartment’s lemon scented detergent.
This is smart for me as I usually dress like an unemployed guitarist from an unsigned rock band.
Due to my lack of variety in clothing, I’m pleased we have a uniform so I don’t have to worry about what to wear every day.
Sarah still made a fuss though, making sure I was presentable.
Gotta make sure I look good for the imaginary career that she thinks will fall onto my lap on the first day.
But I can’t think about that right now, I need to get through this first day.
The mail room can’t be that bad. It’s honest work. A beginning.
Come on Leo, it’s time to get in there.
I step inside where the lobby is already alive: rolling suitcases, clipped conversations, the soft music hotels use to convince you nothing bad ever happens here.
The reception desk gleams like it’s never known fingerprints.
This place screams we only accept the rich who want to spend a limitless amount of money here.
A place I certainly don’t fit. I slowly approach the young lady, with long blonde hair, perfect make up and slightly too much perfume who sits like a perfectly trained doll behind the reception.
“I’m here to sign in,” I tell her.
She smiles automatically. “Name?”
“Leo Jones.”
She types, nods, slides a temporary badge across to me. “Mail room is down the service corridor, second left,” she says as she points toward a large door to the side of the foyer with a sign above it saying ‘Service Entrance Only’.
I thank her and use my keycard badge on the electronic lock and walk through and follow the discreet beige hallway that feels like the hotel’s bloodstream — necessary but unseen.
Noise leads me to the mailroom and as soon as I step inside, the smell of cardboard and coffee hits me.
A guy about my age looks up from sorting envelopes. He’s got kind eyes, messy brown hair, and the relaxed posture of someone who has already accepted this job is a fact of life. The way he bounces over to me reminds me of a springer spaniel.
“You must be the newbie,” he says. “Leo, right?”
I blink. “Yeah.”
“I’m Danny.” He grins, reaching out to shake my hand. “Welcome to glamorous hospitality.”
I chuckle and immediately relax. I like this guy and get the sense I will fit right in.
“Come on, Leo. Let me show you how to be the best mail room guy on the payroll,” he says as he pats my back and guides me over to the sorting area.
An hour or so passes as he shows me where to clock in, how to log packages, which bins are for guests, which are for staff, which are for things you’re better off not asking about.
“Most important rule,” he adds, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “never open anything marked ‘private executive correspondence.’ You’ll either get fired or traumatized.”
I manage a small laugh, but file away the information. The last thing I need is to lose this job because I don’t listen.
As we work on splitting the mail into the correct bins, he fills the silence with gossip like it’s part of the training manual.
“So,” he says casually, “you probably already heard about him.”
I hesitate. “Who?”
Danny snorts. “Ethan Taylor. Owner. CEO. Human stress disorder,” he says, cackling.
My stomach gives a small, strange turn. I hate having bosses.
I don’t do very well with authoritative figures.
I get defensive and feel the need to argue.
I’m much better on my own, dictating my own terms, but I’m aware here I will have to bite my tongue.
But I doubt I will have anything to do with this Ethan.
Why would he need to talk to the mail boy?
“He’s really intimidating, but cool. He built the place up in, like, five years. Scary smart. Doesn’t yell much, which is worse.”
“Why?”
“Because when he’s quiet, someone’s getting fired.”
Great. A silent assassin. I suppose it’s better than being yelled at.
Danny moves onto other topics like our home lives, where we live, hobbies, all that kind of getting to know you mundane stuff, but it helps pass the hours by, because honestly this job would kill my brain if I had to do it in silence.
We finish the morning sort faster than I expected.
“Come on,” Danny says. “I’ll show you the rest of the place before lunch, so you know where you’re going.”
We take the service elevator, and stand in silence as it hums softly while it climbs. Each floor reveals more offices, more quiet urgency. People moving with purpose and dressed better the higher we go. Employees who look like they belong and could rule the world.
Then the doors open on the top floor. As we step out the air changes. It’s quieter. Cleaner. It feels oppressive, like sound itself knows better than to linger.
“That’s his floor,” Danny murmurs, nodding toward the long glass corridor ahead. Wow. I have only ever seen offices like this in those magazines you get at the doctor’s office.
“Try not to be up here much. Especially not alone,” Danny says, and I can’t help but fidget, wanting to leave this floor as soon as possible. I just don’t belong here.
“Why?” I ask.
“He doesn’t like traffic of the human kind. Or strangers. Basically people in general.”
Danny isn’t painting the best image of this guy. I’m shocked he leaves the house if he hates interaction with humans that much.
We’re about to turn back when movement catches my eye.
A man steps out of one of the offices.
“That’s him,” Danny whispers.
Tall. Dark suit. No tie. His black hair is perfectly styled, with the crispest close-shaved beard I have ever seen. I just know those clothes feel soft and he smells of a thousand dollar aftershave.
I remain studying him, fascinated that he’s so much younger than I imagined — early thirties, maybe less. Controlled in every movement, like the building itself learned how to walk and decided to wear a human shape.
He speaks to someone and I can’t hear. He lifts one hand in an authoritative way, sending a slight chill down my spine.
The whole office area feels like we are under his control with one flick of his hand.
I’ve never seen such a commanding presence.
I’m a little jealous. Ethan is the epitome of alpha male.
I continue to watch as he talks to this guy who looks like he wants to leave as soon as he can. But I watch Ethan.
No raised voice.
No wasted motion.
Authority, distilled.
I hold my breath, anticipating some kind of argument is about to ensue between them.
“Told you he is intense,” Danny whispers like we are not supposed to be here.
The other man nods shakily and rushes away, his eyes remaining on the ground as he dashes past us. Ethan remains standing there, his gaze focused on the glass wall, like his mind has wandered offline.
He turns his head slightly, profile sharp against the glass walls, and for half a second I forget how to move.
He is very handsome. And I’ve never said that about a guy.
But this guy is something else. It’s like he’s not real.
There’s something unnerving about how still he is.
Like he’s not reacting to the world, only allowing it.
Danny lightly bumps my arm and I realize I’m staring like some creep. “Hey. Don’t let him catch you staring. New people make him… suspicious.”
I tear my eyes away and we retreat to the elevator, and only when the doors slide shut do I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
“He’s different,” I mutter.
Danny chuckles. “That’s one word for it. He knows everything that goes on here. Nobody knows much about him. He’s a mystery for sure.”
The elevator descends, but my thoughts stay upstairs.
Something about Ethan lingers — an uncomfortable curiosity, like the first note of a song you don’t recognize but already know it will get stuck in your head.
I tell myself it’s nothing.
Just another powerful man in a city full of them. It’s only because this is the first time I have seen one up close in their own territory.
Still… when the doors open, my pulse is faster than it should be.
And I can’t explain why.