Eight
EIGHT
LEORA
A s I stroll back from the beach, the sun kisses my skin with a gentle warmth, and the salty breeze carries a sense of freedom.
I reach the hotel in less than three minutes, and I'm reminded of how close it is to the beach.
What a life.
The hotel looks beautiful as it rises against the blue sky—its pristine, white exterior gleaming in the sunshine. The bellhops welcome me with smiles that match the bright day. When I catch the eyes of the girls behind the check-in desk, they too share in the day's radiance with beautiful smiles. However, as I approach the desk, something unexpected captures my attention—a laminated paper with the words:
Join our team as the Marketing Manager at Hotel Ayoub d'Or - A Golden Opportunity!
Is this a sign?
God, is that you?
If it is, please let this be an opportunity and not a lesson, please and thank you.
"What’s that, Clara?" I ask the brunette hotel receptionist.
She lights up. "Oh, Miss Davis. I thought of you when I saw this." She remembered our conversation from two days ago. I was walking through the lobby, my head buried in my phone, looking through applications when we bumped into each other. She asked me why I looked so stressed and that’s when I started word-vomiting to her. She now knows about my failed job and my failed relationship. You could say we’re best friends.
"You should apply for it," she continues, and as I stare at the paper behind her, I start to realize I should apply for it. It’s a great opportunity. The only thing is that I might not have the correct experience, or live in the correct country, but hey, I’ve already received a bunch of rejections; another one won’t hurt.
"Yes, I should."
She hands me the paper, and as I touch it I feel a glimmer of hope rekindling within me.
A sudden thud and a surprised cry from Clara makes me turn around to find an older man on his hands and knees.
I don’t think for a second before I run up to him. I can see that he's struggling to get up, and his breathing is labored.
"Sir, are you okay?" I ask, extending a hand to help him up. He looks up at me with a grateful expression and nods weakly, his face pale and his eyes slightly unfocused. He must be in a lot of pain.
I try to keep the panic at bay, worrying he may have hurt himself more than we can see. I turn to face Clara and find her face contorted in utter horror, her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing comes out.
"Call an ambulance, Clara," I say.
"No, no, I'm okay," the man insists before a coughing fit interrupts him.
"Are you sure?" I ask while helping him move towards a chair.
"Yes, I'm fine, but may I please have a glass of water?" he requests, and Clara rushes off to retrieve one for him.
As he settles into the seat, he grasps my hand and says, "Thank you, Mademoiselle."
"Is this yours?" A large man joins us by the chair, and when I say large, I mean huge, as in the Mountain from Game of Thrones, huge. My neck cranes as I look at him and then at the paper in his hand
The job ad.
"Oh. Yes, thank you."
The older gentleman scans it. "Are you applying for the job?"
"Ehm, y-yes. Or at least I’m thinking about it," I say with a smile.
"Then why don’t we sit down and have an interview?"
"What do you mean?"
Then the mountain man speaks up, "He’s the owner of the hotel, Mademoiselle."
I’m at a loss for words, and I look back at Clara silently mouthing, "What?" She replies with a soft nod.
How in the world is this happening today? First the job application, and now I save the owner of the hotel. Okay, save is probably too extreme, but he could have broken a hip or something.
God, if this is all you, don’t be playing jokes. I can’t handle more of them.
"I’m sorry, I don’t understand."
"Jacques?" The owner of the hotel calls, and mountain man looks at him. "Can you help me to the sofa and get our applicant whatever she wants to drink?" Jacques’s eyes snap to mine. He looks at me as if he’s waiting for me to answer.
"Just a black coffee would be great, thank you." Why did I say that? I hate black coffee.
The older man across from me exudes kindness. There’s weathered lines surrounding his dark eyes and mouth, evidence of a happy life, and his smile carries a reassuring warmth. Yet, I still can’t shake the self-consciousness that lingers within me.
I’ve managed to take five sips of my coffee without spitting it out—that’s a win in my book.
"What’s your name?" he asks, looking at me curiously.
"Leora," I finally croak out, taking another sip.
"Leora, that’s a beautiful and unique name," he says with a smile.
"Thank you," I reply, feeling a little more at ease.
"My name is Antoine Ayoub." The warm smile is still on his lips as he continues, "Tell me about yourself, Leora. Where did you work before? " Antoine asks, leaning forward slightly.
I take a deep breath. "Well, I used to work as a marketing assistant. I was responsible for handling campaigns and overseeing projects. I have experience in event planning, and I’ve also worked in retail. Retail was fun, but oh my god, people really do anything for a sale." I laugh nervously, scolding myself for that last part. I need to stop myself from rambling, which I tend to do when I'm nervous. I take another sip of my nasty coffee and try my best not to scrunch my nose in disgust.
"I don’t speak French, and I know I haven't worked as a manager before," I add, feeling a little self-conscious, "but I’m driven, and I'm always eager to learn."
"Everybody speaks English here, so there’s not much of a barrier there." Antoine leans back in his chair and smiles at me reassuringly.
"Regarding your previous work experience. While it’s certainly valuable, what's more important is who you are as a person and how you approach your work. You strike me as a driven and determined individual, and with that kind of attitude, I have no doubt that you'll be able to learn. Am I right?"
"I think so," I respond with a nod. "I’ve always considered myself a quick learner, and I'm eager to take on new challenges."
"I'm glad to hear that, Leora. I value individuals who are eager to take on new challenges. Let's move forward with the discussion, I’m excited to learn more about you"
I almost want to cry at his words. No one has ever spoken to me like that. No one has ever reassured me the way he just did.
"Tell me about yourself. What’s important to you?" he says, regarding me with genuine interest.
I pause for a moment. How do I answer that? No one’s ever asked me this, especially not during an interview. What if I say something wrong and ruin everything? But on the other hand, is there a wrong answer?
Antoine’s eyes search mine. He gives me a small smile that lights up his eyes, encouraging me to answer.
"I value people." I say, finally. Antoine's eyes flicker as he nods at my response. "I believe authenticity is important and having a kind heart."
Antoine nods, seemingly pleased with my answer. A sense of warmth spreads through me as I realize that I might have found someone who truly understands me and my values.
"That’s a beautiful answer. Your parents must be proud." I stiffen at the mention of my parents.
My parents have never been proud of me. I never had any parents to be proud of me. I was unwanted from the start.
"They passed away when I was little." Lies. My mum passed away when I was born, and my biological father couldn’t handle the pressure of raising me alone, so he left me at the age of three. I don’t know much about them, more than that my father was white, born and raised in New Jersey, and my mother was half Hispanic and half white. I’ve probably gotten my brown wavy hair from her side. They apparently met in highschool where he knocked her up. So, after he left I was raised in foster care, in a household of ten and had to fend for myself a lot, but I was lucky I happened to have great neighbors. I always say that Adeline and her family saved me. They took me in whenever I needed it. They fed me, played with me, and kept me safe.
A sad expression comes across his face; it looks like recognition.
Maybe he lost someone too?
"I’m sorry to hear that, dear."
"It’s okay, I’m now surrounded by people who love me."
He nods at that before asking me a new question, moving the conversation away from the sad stories. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Taking another deep breath, I share my hopes and dreams with Antoine, hoping to paint a picture of my ideal future. "To be completely honest, Antoine, I just want to be content in my life. I want to wake up every morning and feel like I have a purpose, like I belong somewhere. I want to be able to go to work and feel like I'm doing something right and that my work is valued and needed."
I look up to find Antoine studying me with a sweet smile on his lips. He nods, and then his eyes gleam in a way I can't make sense of.
"That sounds like a beautiful life," he says, his voice warm and genuine. "I hope you get it all one day." The sincerity in his words makes me feel a bit more at ease.
Just before he rises to leave, Antoine flashes me a playful smile. "And who knows, it might happen sooner than you think."
After our conversation earlier, Antoine promised to think about everything we discussed and get back to me later in the day. It's been three hours now and I'm still waiting for his call. Adeline and Sophie are still out shopping, and I know from experience that they can be out all day, which means I know better than to think they will be home anytime soon. So, I'm left alone with my thoughts and keep replaying our conversation in my head.
One part, in particular, keeps nagging me. Antoine mentioned that the role would be here in Nice, and I'll have to stay here for at least a year. He did say that the possibility of remote work could be discussed after that. It's a fair arrangement, but the thought of leaving everything behind and moving here still makes me nervous.
Although, come to think of it, what would I be leaving? I have nothing holding me back. No family, no job, no boyfriend. Why wouldn’t I agree to this?
You have your friends, a voice in my head whispers. But if I don’t seize this once in a lifetime opportunity, I think they will disown me. Just then, my phone vibrates and interrupts my inner battle. I quickly answer, "Hello?"
"Hi, Ms. Davis. It's Antoine." I can sense the smile and excitement in his voice. It's clear that he has some good news to share.
"I wanted to call you personally to offer you the job, if you're still interested," he continues.
"Really? Yes, of course I am," I answer eagerly while doing a happy dance.
"Bravo! I'll get an agreement together for you to sign," he says. I can't help but feel a surge of excitement, but then reality hits me
"Wait, am I even allowed to work here? I don’t have a work-permit."
"Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure everything is handled." He pauses for a moment before speaking again. "But I have one more offer, a slightly odd one," he says, his tone serious. "Could you please come by my office in an hour? I think this matter is more of a face-to-face discussion."
My heart skips a beat at the mention of another offer, and I put aside the comment about it being slightly odd .
What could it be? Is it something even better than the job he just offered me? The suspense is almost too much to bear.
"Sure," I reply, trying to sound as composed as possible.
After repeatedly asking every staff member I come across for directions, I finally find someone who agrees to help me—Pierre, the concierge.
Together, we ascend the stairs, as there's no way I'm taking an elevator thirty floors up. However, Pierre seems to be growing increasingly agitated. He’s been shooting angry glances my way since the sixteenth floor. Granted, I'm also exhausted and drenched in sweat, but I didn't force him to accompany me on the staircase. He could have easily taken the elevator and left me to my own devices.
Eventually, we arrive at a door with a lock—guests aren't permitted to access the office floors. Pierre leads me through another set of stairs behind the keycard-locked door.
As we walk through the office, I can't help but marvel at its beauty. The space is filled with natural light and the walls are adorned with gorgeous artwork. The floors are covered in rich mahogany, adding warmth to the atmosphere and the furniture is sleek and modern. I feel a little intimidated, like I don't belong here. That feeling is only intensified when we're met by Camille, who looks like she's stepped out of a fashion magazine. She greets me warmly and introduces herself as the assistant to both Mr. Ayoubs.
There are, apparently, two of them.
"Thank you, Pierre," she dismisses him and I follow her. We approach a closed door and I hear muffled voices coming from the other side. "They’re waiting for you." She knocks on the door and then guides me in.
Upon entering the room, the voices become clearer and I hear someone yelling, "Are you kidding me? I told you I would handle this myself!"
My heart sinks a little at the tension in the room, but then Antoine spots me and his face lights up. I immediately feel relief at seeing a friendly face.
He opens his arms. "Welcome, Leora."
The relief quickly disappears when the angry man in the room turns around, and I feel as though someone has poured ice-cold water down my back.
"You!" We exclaim at the same time
In front of me stands none other than the handsome asshole, Lucas.