"Zaven Cove," the words on the front page succinctly encapsulated the project's essence. Its success seemed imminent, setting the Eclair Corp on a soaring trajectory beyond measure. Yet, never did it cross my mind that the architect behind this expansive endeavor would be a young man, let alone Uncle Michael's own grandson.
"And?" Zayn's inquiry punctuated the air, his tone echoing with an underlying purpose. Seated across from him, my visage remained devoid of any reaction.
"Be my consultant, and grandfather will handle the funding." The nonchalant manner in which he portrayed it as an opportunity for me irked me slightly.
A slight frown tugged at my expression, concealed beneath my customary calm facade. Uncle Michael interjected with a sigh. "I need your guidance on where to invest my resources. That's your role as my consultant."
"We're done!" I declared, my dissatisfaction evident even as I maintained a stoic demeanor.
"My grandson is asking for your assistance, not me," Uncle Michael added with a grin. Zayn once again seized my attention. He was requesting my help, yet his words bore the veneer of a proposition rather than a plea.
A tentative pause hung in the air before Zayn resumed, his demeanor reverting to the authoritative stance he had displayed earlier. He placed his glass on the table, leaning back in his seat, fingers entwined—a display of authority.
"State your terms," he declared, his gaze intent and unwavering. Given the transformative potential of this project, only a fool would shy away.
"5% equity stake in the project." The veneer of cool indifference he had adopted earlier momentarily wavered. It seemed my proposition was audacious from his perspective, perhaps even unexpected.
Sipping my water calmly, I awaited his response. Zayn hesitated, visibly contemplating his answer. "I..."
"No?" I began to rise from my seat, my gaze shifting between the two Eclair gentlemen. With a nod of farewell, I indicated my intention to leave.
"Wait!"
My steps paused as Zayn's voice reached me, arresting my movement. He appeared deep in thought, his eyes closed momentarily before he took a steadying breath."... Very well," he acquiesced.
Meeting his gaze head-on, I received his next words. "A meeting will convene in three days. I expect your presence."
This was a trial, a test of my mettle—right within my domain. Clasping the bundle of papers, I nodded. "Have a pleasant evening. You have my contact information, Mr. Eclair."
A slight quirk of uncertainty colored Zayn's features. Checking his phone, he confirmed, "Actually, I don't—" but his sentence trailed off as he realized he did possess my number. With that cleared, I made my exit, preparing to return to my condo. The forthcoming days would offer ample opportunity to explore the city.
Forty-five minutes earlier...
Ensconced within a Michelin-starred restaurant, Zayn found himself leisurely sipping from his glass, his fingers lightly tapping the surface of the counter. Observant of his surroundings, he noted how some individuals, particularly women, appeared tempted to approach him, but the air he exuded seemed to discourage their advances. Most opted to maintain a cautious distance—neither too near nor too far. As long as they caught a glimpse of his countenance, it seemed to suffice. While he bore them no ill will, he found their intentions and presence somewhat vexatious. Over the years, he had been a spectator to their calculated tactics and ulterior motives.
His gaze shifted toward an older gentleman seated at a considerable distance, calmly sipping wine near a large window at the far end of the room. An aura seemed to envelop this imposing figure, warding off those who contemplated drawing near.
This formidable individual was none other than his grandfather, Michael Eclair.
This restaurant rendezvous had been orchestrated to facilitate a meeting with his grandfather's consultant—a revelation that surprised him. Until now, his grandfather had been the sole backer of his past ventures, no matter their level of risk. Zaven Cove, his latest project, was poised to receive his grandfather's financial support as well. Although the project carried an inherent risk due to its pioneering concept, he remained confident in securing his grandfather's endorsement.
To unlock the funds for his project, however, his grandfather had stipulated a condition—an unexpected one at that. According to him, Zayn needed to acquire a specific individual as his consultant. This stipulation had caught him off guard. As he swallowed the final drop of his drink, preparing to rejoin his grandfather's side, a glint of a jewelry from the corner of his eye seized his attention. Turning in the direction of the glimmer, his heart skipped a beat.
Before him stood a young man, likely between the age of nineteen and twenty-one. Tall and magnetic, his demeanor was a blend of enigmatic aloofness and poised elegance. Although he couldn't discern the individual's thoughts from a mere glimpse, an air of calm and sophistication surrounded him.
The distance between them obscured a clear view of the young man's visage, yet Zayn couldn't ignore his undeniable beauty. Despite encountering numerous beautiful individuals—regardless of gender—at his age, there was an inexplicable allure that set this person apart. His gaze involuntarily trailed after him, lingering even after he had settled at a table.
'Could this be the consultant?'
Rising from his seat, Zayn steadied himself and approached the table in question. Their eyes met in a fleeting yet magnetic exchange, rendering his thoughts momentarily incoherent. The young man possessed an otherworldly air, akin to an immortal traversing the mortal realm. Their eye contact, however brief, evoked a myriad of emotions before the stranger diverted his gaze. Adorned in a gentle cream-colored turtleneck and a resplendent gold watch, his fair skin appeared luminous. The earring gracing his left ear added a subtle gleam to his gaze, while the understated grey pants accentuated his lithe legs.
A sense of relief washed over Zayn as his body—seemingly guided by its own volition—settled into a seat beside his grandfather. He inwardly sighed, grateful that his grandfather remained engrossed in his water glass, evidently preoccupied.
Amid intermittent furtive glances, he noticed that the individual seated across from him had detected his surreptitious observations. This time, their eyes lingered on one another, mutual scrutiny replacing evasion. As Zayn's gaze roamed the other's features, he was equally subjected to a visual dissection.
Snow-white hair cascaded like a river down the young man's back, evoking an aristocratic elegance. His lips, a rich shade of crimson, beckoned a tantalizing curiosity. Yet, it was his eyes that held the stranger in thrall—a pair of azure orbs, one slightly darker than the other, each emanating an ageless depth of knowledge and secrets.
In this moment, the stranger was not merely beautiful; he exuded an ethereal essence, an embodiment of the extraordinary.