7. Only around intimidating, successful businessmen.
Dinner wrapped up quite nicely.
I stood up from the table with a heart full of warmth and a zoo of butterflies in my stomach.
"I can walk you to your room." He offered gently.
God, this man is going to be the death of me.
"You don't have to." I said softly.
"I'd like to." He insisted.
"Okay." I whispered.
He gestured me to walk first before falling into stride next to me.
We walked side by side down the softly lit corridor, the plush carpet muting our footsteps. The hotel was quiet at this hour.
I was very aware of the space between us. Not too close, not too far. Yet enough to make me nervous and warm.
"Thank you for dinner." I spoke, rubbing my arm.
"Thank you for coming." He replied smoothly.
We reached the elevator. The doors slid open, and we stepped inside. The confined space heightened everything—the awareness, the quiet, the way my pulse seemed to echo in my ears.
He stood just beside me, close enough that I could sense his warmth, but not touching.
"Which floor?" He asked.
"Seventh."
He pressed the button.
The doors closed with a soft chime.
The silence inside the elevator was different. Heavier, charged. I folded my hands in front of me, staring straight ahead.
"Are you always this nervous?" He asked gently.
"Only around intimidating, successful businessmen."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I don't mean to be intimidating. I guess it comes with my position."
I risked a glance at him. His expression was relaxed, amused, but there was something attentive in his eyes, like he was watching me just as closely as I was trying not to watch him.
"Well," I said softly, "you do your job very well."
The elevator hummed as it climbed, the seconds stretching.
"And you?" He asked. "Do you always downplay your own presence?"
My eyebrows knitted together. "My presence?"
"Yes," he said, turning more fully toward me now. "You walk into a room and people notice. You just pretend not to see it."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I think you're giving me too much credit."
"No," he replied easily. "I pay attention."
The elevator slowed, then came to a stop with a quiet ding.
Seventh floor.
The doors slid open, breaking the moment. I stepped out first, suddenly aware of my heartbeat again. He followed, unhurried, hands in his pockets.
"My room is this way." I said, gesturing down the hall.
"Good," he said, falling into step beside me. "I'm on the same floor."
That sent a fresh wave of nerves through me.
We walked in silence for a few moments, the hallway lights casting soft shadows along the walls.
"It was nice having dinner with you." He said.
"Likewise. Thank you, again, for the invitation." I said graciously.
"Of course." He nodded.
We stopped outside my door. I reached into my bag, fingers suddenly clumsy as I searched for my keycard.
I found it, swiped it once. Too fast. The light flashed red.
I tried again, slower this time.
Green.
I exhaled, embarrassed, and turned back to him. "Thank you. For walking me back."
"Anytime." He replied.
We stood there, just a second too long. His gaze dropped, then lifted again, lingering in a way that made my chest feel tight.
"Good night, Ayra." He said quietly.
"Good night... Daxton."
———
I woke up slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The morning felt beautiful. Different than the usual mornings.
My mind immediately went to last night. The dinner. How beautiful, how captivating each second had been. How nice it was seeing him beneath the layers of professionalism and authority. How he had spoken so gently to me the entire time, and walked me to my room.
The day's activities weren't scheduled to start until after noon. I had hours to myself, a dangerous luxury, given how my thoughts kept circling back to him.
I showered, letting the warm water settle my nerves, and changed into soft, pale pink pajamas. My hair was still damp when I curled up on the edge of the bed, coffee table in front of me, laptop open. Still my mind wandered elsewhere.
A knock at the door startled me.
I glanced at the clock. It was only 9 am.
When I opened the door, I found a hotel employee standing with a tray in his hands. "Good morning, doctor."
I blinked. "Good morning... I didn't order breakfast."
"I know. It has been sent for you." He replied.
I was surprised. "From who?"
He didn't reply, only extended the tray towards me.
I took it, watching him leave immediately.
Weird.
Stepping back inside, I placed the tray on the table, the sight making my mouth water.
Waffles drizzled with chocolate syrup, topped with strawberries and marshmallows. A steaming cup of coffee sat beside them.
I froze for a second.
My stomach fluttered. This... this was exactly what I had mentioned last night, casually, almost in passing, when Daxton and I talked over dinner.
That was when I noticed it. A cream coloured card resting against the coffee cup.
I picked it up, hands slightly trembling. It was handwritten.
Good morning, Ayra. I hope this starts your day as sweetly as you made mine last night. – Daxton.
My cheeks heated up instantly, heart skipping a beat.
This had to be a dream.
I pinched my forearm to check.
Nothing happened.
It was real.
The Daxton Anderson had sent me breakfast with a handwritten card. Where was my life heading to?
I looked back at the tray. The waffles smelled heavenly. The coffee steam curled in delicate swirls. Every little detail felt deliberate and thoughtful.
I sat down and took a bite, savoring the chocolate melting on my tongue, the freshness of the strawberries and the softness of the marshmallows.
The card caught my eyes again. I traced the tiny handwriting with my finger, trying to memorize it.
This was him. Daxton. A man who ran a billion-dollar company, who everyone whispered about behind closed doors. And somehow... he remembered a small, fleeting comment I'd made. And acted on it.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of it sink in.
I finished the last bite of waffle, took a final sip of coffee, and smiled to myself.
If last night was a spark... breakfast felt like the first gentle glow of a fire.
———
By the time I reached the conference hall, the early-morning quiet of the hotel had long disappeared. Delegates in crisp suits and polished heels bustled about, clutching folders, sipping coffee, exchanging greetings. The space hummed with energy and ambition.
Daxton wasn't immediately visible. A pang of disappointment hit me. I wanted to thank him, for the thoughtful breakfast, the card and for last night.
I scanned the room discreetly, pretending to adjust my notebook, smooth my hair. Nothing. Not a glimpse.
I took a seat near the middle, hoping he might arrive late. I told myself it didn't matter. That he was a busy man with plenty of things to take care of.
Yet, every single time, someone walked into the hall, I hoped it would be him.
The first session began. I focused on the discussion, contributed when appropriate, but my mind kept wandering to last night. His hand near mine in the elevator. The way he had smiled at me. The quiet intensity of his gaze.
During the break, I tried again, pretending to check my emails while scanning the room.
He had appeared, finally. But he wasn't alone. A group of executives surrounded him. He spoke to them and then listened to each one.
His presence dominated the room effortlessly. He didn't notice me. Not yet.
I sighed quietly, keeping my gaze on my notebook. I really wanted to talk to him.
But the chance never came.
Lunch approached, and still, we were miles apart, on opposite sides of the hall, separated by clusters of attendees, screens, and the swirl of voices. I kept stealing little glances, but he was always out of reach, his attention elsewhere.
A dull ache of frustration crept in, mingled with the thrill that he existed in the same space, even if we weren't yet connecting.
I straightened my back, reminding myself to focus. It was a professional setting. He was a CEO. I was a doctor. Nothing more needed to happen today.
Yet, all I needed was one moment to say thank you.