Chapter 5 Soft Power and Stares

Zolina's POV

The sound of heels clicking on the slick white floors of my apartment building's reception could be heard as I exited the elevator. The reception area had few people around. Some are leaving to go to work, some returning after a long night out during the weekend.

And now here I was, feigning confidence on the outside but feeling nervous and jittery because today- a Monday- was my meeting with the one and only Eros Esposito. God, how I hated Mondays, literally.

Evara had called the previous day to tell me that her brother had agreed to the meeting and was ready to listen to my proposal. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Eros' willingness to listen and think of helping me was suspicious because of our previous unfortunate encounter. I almost didn't want to go but I knew I needed this. So I pulled up my big girl pants and got dressed for the meeting with the devil's spawn.

I was dressed in a white oversized button-down shirt layered with a sleeveless knit sweater vest paired with a high-waisted, tailored grey wide-leg trousers with a front slit at the hem and my Pointed-toe yellow boots. Not forgetting my accessories, of course, and my portfolio. Overall, my outfit was smart yet casual.

As I was about to pass the receptionist desk, Amal, the ever-beautiful, ever-joyful middle-aged receptionist at my building, called me with that bright smile on her face. I wish I were that cheerful on a Monday.

"Good morning, Zolina," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Looking like money today!"

I laughed nervously. "You think so?" "I know so. You're going to crush whatever it is you're headed to. I can feel it."

"Thanks, Amal." Her words wrapped around me like a warm hug. I needed that. I waved at Khalid, the security guard, on my way out. He tipped his head politely, his usual stoic self.

The cab was already waiting, parked just outside. I climbed in, folding my long trousers carefully as I settled into the backseat. My fingers tapped against my Dior bag as anxiety crept back in. "You okay?" the driver asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. "Yeah... just nervous," I admitted with a small smile. He smiled back. "Whatever you're headed for, just walk in like you already own the place."

We pulled up to the Archeion Building-a massive architectural marvel of glass, steel, and clean lines. It towered over me, almost mocking. It was beautiful. Intimidating. I walked in, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, and approached the front desk.

The receptionist, who barely looked up from her perfectly manicured nails, gave me a cold once-over. "Name?"

"Zolina Lanconi." She dialed a number quickly and muttered into the phone. After a second, she hung up and gave me a curt nod. "You can go up. Thirtieth floor. Private." I ignored her attitude. I'm here for business, not petty drama.

The elevator ride up felt eternal. Every second dragged. I took a deep breath, fixing the folds of my top and checking my lipstick in the mirrored doors. As the elevator dinged open, a young man greeted me.

"Ms. Lanconi? I'm Elias, Mr. Eros' assistant. He's expecting you." He looked surprisingly young and sharp, definitely not the stereotypical secretary. I almost raised an eyebrow, but I caught myself. No judgment.

"Nice to meet you," I said with a polite smile. He gestured toward the massive matte black double doors at the end of the hallway. They were imposing-sleek, silent, powerful. Just like the man behind them.

He knocked twice. A deep voice answered from the other side. "Come in." Elias opened the door, leaned in, and said, "Sir, your 11 am has arrived." There was a brief pause before I heard the words, "Let her in." I cleared my throat, stood a little taller, and smoothed down my outfit. Confidence, Zolina. I pushed the doors open and walked in.

The office was something out of a movie-floor-to-ceiling windows that made up an entire wall behind him, overlooking the city in all its glory. I spotted the Burj Khalifa instantly. The view from his office was better than mine, and that irked me just a little. Jealousy? Maybe.

He sat behind a massive desk, dressed in an all-black, tailored Armani suit that fit him like a second skin. Calm, powerful, unreadable. His eyes lifted from the screen he was scanning, and they landed on me. "So," he said, lips curving into something between a smirk and a challenge, "we meet again."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. His voice was smooth-dangerously confident. "And this time," I said, matching his tone, "on better terms, I hope." He stood slowly, walking around the desk and leaning casually against it, arms crossed. His eyes scanned me, not inappropriately, but with a kind of cool, calculated curiosity.

"You clean up well," he said. "Not that you needed to." I blinked. Was that a compliment? "Thanks. I had a meeting to prepare for," I replied, clutching my Dior bag a little tighter. He gestured toward the seat in front of his desk. "Sit, let's talk." I sat down, trying not to fidget.

"So, Alpha," he said, taking his seat across from me. "Tell me why I should believe in it." That was my cue. No more nerves. I took a breath and launched into the pitch I'd rehearsed a hundred times. I told him about my vision for Alpha-a fashion house that merged high-end minimalism with Nubian heritage and contemporary design. I told him how I'd already built a small buzz through Instagram, how I was hands-on with every design, and how I intended to scale.

Throughout, his face remained unreadable. He listened, chin resting against his knuckles, saying nothing until I finally paused. "You've got ambition," he said. "But do you have resilience?"

"I moved to a new country to start from scratch with money I made myself. I didn't come this far to quit." For the first time, his expression shifted. It wasn't a smile, but it was close. "Fair enough," he said. The meeting continued-questions, projections, and ideas. I answered everything honestly, even when I wasn't sure if I was impressing him. But by the time it ended, I felt lighter.

He stood again, offering me a handshake. "I'll think about it." I took his hand. "That's all I ask." He didn't let go immediately. His eyes held mine just a little longer than necessary. "You're different," he said quietly. I didn't know what he meant. But I didn't ask. I simply gave him a small nod and turned to leave.

The echo of the matte black doors closing behind me felt final, yet my hand still tingled where Eros's larger, warmer one had held it just a beat too long. You're different. The words, low and deliberate, vibrated in my ears, competing with the frantic thud of my own heart. I took a steadying breath, the cool air of the hallway a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere I'd just left.

The assistant materialized silently beside me. "Ms. Lanconi, I'll escort you back to the elevator."

"Thank you," I managed, my voice thankfully steady. I fell into step beside him, the click of my boots the only sound in the hushed corridor. My mind replayed the meeting – his sharp questions, my impassioned answers, that unreadable intensity in his dark eyes. And then the handshake. The lingering touch. The cryptic compliment.

We reached the elevator bank. Elias, the assistant whose name I just learned, pressed the call button. The polished steel doors slid open soundlessly. As I stepped inside and turned to thank him, I saw Eros standing at the end of the hallway, framed by the open doorway of his office. He wasn't moving towards us; he was simply watching me. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, his expression still unreadable, but his gaze was fixed solely on me.

Elias, sensing the shift, murmured a polite, "Have a good day, Ms. Lanconi," and stepped back.

The elevator doors began to close. Panic, exhilarating and terrifying, fluttered in my chest. Look away. Smile politely. Look away. But I couldn't. My eyes locked with his across the narrowing gap. The air crackled, thick with unspoken words and the memory of his touch. His gaze wasn't challenging now; it was... assessing. Possessive, almost. Curious in a way that felt far more personal than professional.

Just before the doors sealed completely, shutting him from view, I saw the faintest curve lift the corner of his mouth. Not a smirk. Not quite a smile. Something darker. Something promising.

Click.

The elevator descended, but the image of Eros Esposito watching me, that almost smile playing on his lips, was burned onto my retinas. The cool confidence I'd projected moments ago felt like a flimsy shield now. My skin felt hypersensitive, and the memory of his handshake was a brand. "I'll think about it," he'd said about my business. But the look he'd given me as the doors closed... that hadn't been about Alpha. That had been about me.

I was supposed to hate him, not react to his touch and stares. Was this his way of getting revenge for what happened at the event? I'm not sure but he can't be trusted. I have to be alert and aware of him.

I leaned against the cool elevator wall, clutching my portfolio like an anchor. The exhilaration of the pitch was now tangled with a dangerous, thrilling undercurrent I hadn't anticipated. The meeting was over, yes. But the game, it seemed, had just taken a much more intriguing, and infinitely more perilous, turn. What did he want? And why did the thought send shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with fear? The descent felt like falling.

As I walked out of Archeion, heels tapping against the marble floor, I felt both terrified and exhilarated.

This wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning.