Two weeks later, Olivia and Tristian found themselves aboard a luxurious private jet, the hum of the engines a soothing background to their contrasting states of mind. Olivia, seeking refuge from the world, attempted to steal a nap, while Tristian was immersed in a magazine, flipping through glossy pages.
The calm was soon interrupted by a flight attendant gliding down the aisle, a tray balanced delicately in her hands, adorned with two elegant glasses of white wine. She offered the tray to Olivia, who accepted a glass and gulped it down in one swift motion, annoyance etched across her face as she returned the empty glass. Her gaze fixed on Tristian, arms folded, radiating anger.
The flight attendant, undeterred, turned her attention to Tristian, who was oblivious to her flirtation, engrossed in his reading. Olivia's irritation grew as she watched the woman lean in closer to Tristian, her intentions evident.
"It seems you aren't interested in the wine. I could offer you something else," the hostess said with a sultry smile, her gaze lingering on Tristian's face and then his chest.
Tristian raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming. "Oh really? And what could that be?"
The hostess, taken aback by his response but quickly regaining her composure, leaned closer. "I could take away your stress and make you the happiest man on earth."
Tristian's laughter filled the cabin, and he glanced knowingly at Olivia, who scoffed in disgust at the scene unfolding before her.
"I don't think my fiancée would appreciate it," he finally remarked, his tone light yet pointed. The hostess, realizing she had overstepped, hurriedly retreated, leaving Tristian chuckling softly to himself.
Olivia's frustration bubbled over. "You're not only a perv but also an ass hat!"
"Quit calling me names; you don't know anything about me," Tristian replied, his tone teasing.
"Oh really? I could easily guess, seeing what you just did in front of your fiancée."
"Are you jealous, shrimp?" he asked, a laugh escaping him.
"As if!" She turned away, folding her arms defiantly as Tristian returned to his magazine.
Hours passed, and Tristian couldn't resist stealing glances at Olivia. When he finally noticed her asleep, a smile crept across his face. He closed his magazine and approached her, admiring her features her tousled hair, plump red lips, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His gaze lingered on her neck, observing the soft pulse of her heartbeat. After a coupled staring, he pulled away, standing two paces away from her.
"Olivia, we are here," he called gently
She stirred, her eyes still closed. "I know he's hot, but he's arrogant," she mumbled, still lost in her dreams.
"Who?" Tristian asked, amusement dancing in his voice.
"Tristian or whatever his name is," she replied, her tone laced with disdain.
"Oh really? So you think he's hot?" Tristian teased.
"He can't be that fine and arrogant."
Suddenly, realization dawned on her, and she jolted awake. "Welcome back to earth. I see you were dreaming about me," he quipped.
"Fuck you!" she shot back, her irritation palpable.
Tristian chuckled, walking away. "We are going to be staying in a hotel."
Olivia muttered to herself, "You just had to dream about him!" She followed him, her anger simmering.
When they arrived at the hotel, Olivia's jaw dropped at the sight before her, an opulent lobby designed like a cathedral, adorned with golden plaques and statues. The magnificent water fountain in the center shimmered in the light, its beauty overwhelming.
"Is this heaven?" she breathed, awe filling her voice.
" Nope, it's a hotel," Tristian replied, his tone dry.
"Ugh," she groaned, "I wasn't talking to you, Big Guy."
They approached the receptionist, their four bodyguards trailing behind them, carrying their bags.
"Welcome, Mr. Blackwell. The presidential suite is prepared," the receptionist announced with a professional smile.
"Presidential? I am not sleeping in the same room with you," Olivia exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Yes, you are," Tristian stated matter-of-factly.
Turning back to the receptionist, Olivia demanded, "Can I get another room? Like another presidential or an executive suite?"
Tristian interjected and leaned towards her, "Don't be dramatic; nothing will ever happen between us."
"You must be dreaming if you think me not wanting to stay in the same room with you means I want something to happen between us, I.....
Tristian cut her off with a playful smirk. "Good! Then you have nothing to worry about. Besides, you could always take the couch if you don't want the bed." He winked at her playfully.
Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation, her frustration palpable. "The men will show you the way; I have a meeting to attend to," he added, dismissing her concerns with a wave of his hand.
"You're leaving me alone?" she asked, incredulity lacing her voice.
"Oh come on, don't tell me you miss me already," Tristian teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Miss you? I'm in a foreign country, sleeping alone in a room!" she protested, her voice rising in annoyance.
"You're safe, shrimp," he replied, walking away with a nonchalant shrug.
Olivia sighed dramatically, muttering to herself, "I blame my parents! They want me to be part of the business, but he's already abandoning me."
She turned to the men who had been silently observing. "Lead the way, gentlemen."
Two of the men moved ahead, guiding her while the others trailed behind, their presence a constant reminder of Tristian's influence and her own growing frustration. As they walked through the awe-inspiring hotel, Olivia couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped in a situation she hadn't chosen.
Inside the elevator, she watched the numbers light up, counting down the floors. Her mind raced with thoughts of Tristian—his arrogance, his charm, and the undeniable chemistry that simmered between them, even when she wanted to deny it.
As the doors opened to the presidential suite, she stepped into a lavish living space, complete with plush furnishings and breathtaking views of the city skyline. Her heart sank slightly while lost in her thought.
"Make yourself comfortable," one of the bodyguards said, breaking her reverie.
"Yeah, right," she muttered under her breath, feeling the weight of her own expectations. "I guess I'll just wait here until the hotshot decides to grace me with his presence again."
As the door clicked shut behind them, Olivia plopped down on the luxurious couch, her mind swirling with conflicting emotions. She glanced around the suite, trying to focus on the beauty surrounding her rather than the infuriating man who had brought her here.
"Just breathe," she told herself, taking a deep breath as she settled in for what was sure to be a long, complicated day.