The hallways of the Marquis Hotel were alive with the sound of hurried footsteps, soft laughter, and excited chatter as dozens of the female staff headed toward their quarters. The air was electric with anticipation, their voices carrying a mixture of admiration and giddy nerves as they discussed the man who had been the centerpiece of their dreams: Damian Cross.
"Can you imagine being in the same room as him tonight?" one of the floral assistants said, her voice brimming with excitement. "He has that aura, you know? Like he owns the world, and maybe he does."
A chef's assistant walking nearby chimed in, a sly smile on her lips. "It's not just his power—it's the way he carries himself. Have you ever seen a man exude that much confidence? He doesn't even have to try."
"He's brilliant, too," added a server, adjusting her stride to keep up with the group ahead of her. "I mean, the man built an empire from the ground up. Every time there's an article about him, they talk about how sharp and calculated he is. It's... intoxicating."
Behind them, a group of decorators laughed softly as one of their own suddenly swayed her hips in an exaggerated manner, walking ahead of the pack.
"Really, Clara?" one of her colleagues teased. "You think shaking your ass like that is going to get Damian Cross's attention?"
Clara turned with a cheeky grin, throwing a wink over her shoulder. "Why not? A girl's gotta be noticed somehow. Don't act like you're not thinking about it, too."
The comment elicited more laughter, and another woman, not to be outdone, pushed up her chest and adjusted her blouse to show more of her neckline. "Well, if he's going to notice anyone, it might as well be someone with a little... elegance," she said with a mock air of sophistication
"Elegance?" another woman quipped, arching a brow. "Sweetheart, Damian Cross doesn't care about elegance. He cares about confidence. You've got to walk into that room like you belong there—like you belong with him."
"Is that what you're going for?" a lighting assistant teased, gesturing at the exposed cleavage. "Or are you just hoping to distract him?"
The woman shrugged with a smirk. "Why not both?"
The playful rivalry between the groups only added to the excitement, each woman subtly trying to outdo the others. Some swayed their hips with more intention, while others adjusted their dresses to ensure every curve was highlighted. A few pulled out compact mirrors to check their makeup on the go, dabbing gloss onto their lips or smoothing out stray hairs.
"It's not just about how we look," one woman said, her tone thoughtful. "It's the whole package. Damian doesn't just notice beauty; he notices presence. You have to make him feel like you're worth his time."
"Oh, please," scoffed another. "He's a man. And men like him? They're used to having everything. He wants someone who'll keep him on his toes. You have to be a little unattainable."
"Unattainable?" Clara rolled her eyes dramatically. "Good luck with that. If Damian Cross even glances my way, I'm not playing hard to get."
As the groups reached the staff quarters, the conversations only grew louder. Women pulled dresses from garment bags, each one more dazzling than the next, as they traded comments and critiques.
"Do you think this color works for me?" one asked, holding up a deep emerald gown.
"It's perfect," another replied. "Green is the color of money, and Damian loves money."
"Try this," someone else suggested, offering a pair of sparkling earrings. "They'll catch the light when you turn your head. Subtle, but noticeable."
In another corner, a pair of women adjusted each other's outfits, tugging at straps and smoothing out fabric.
"Do you think it's too much?" one asked, glancing nervously at her reflection.
"It's never too much," the other assured her. "Tonight is about standing out."
Amid the laughter and banter, the shared goal was clear: to leave an impression. Each woman harbored her own secret hope of catching the attention of the enigmatic billionaire, even if only for a fleeting moment.
"Ladies," Clara announced dramatically, slipping into her form-fitting gown and striking a pose. "Tonight, we're not just staff. We're stars."
The room erupted in applause and laughter, the energy palpable
The ladies get their nails fixed, their eye lashes were seducing, they all stare at the mirror in front of them, they scream each others name from different rooms saying "aren't you ready?", it's almost time.
And as the minutes ticked closer to the start of the gala, one thing was certain: Damian Cross would be the center of attention, and none of them planned to let the opportunity pass unnoticed.