Chapter 22 BUSY SCHEDULE
I nodded as I watched him walk away to take a call and then head upstairs, stopping at the top to gaze at me.
"My office is at the end of the hallway. Sort out what I requested and come up in half an hour to print the contract. I have a printer in the room," he spoke quickly, then disappeared.
I stood for a moment, looking around. Was there really a basement in that cabin? I smiled at my naivety, knowing he was joking about that.
I took the breakfast things to the kitchen, washing the dishes. Upon returning, I tidied up the living room and grabbed my notebook, which was still open on the book screen, exactly where I had stopped reading.
“So, he didn't touch it.” I whispered, intrigued. Or he read it and returned to where he was. My more suspicious side whispered in my mind. Pushing these thoughts to the back of my mind, I grabbed the company computer, searching for the selected files and examining and filtering emails. I sent the main ones to Mr. Morgan, as I always did, and autonomously resolved those that were under my responsibility.
The corporate phone wouldn't stop ringing, so I put on the headset to optimize the calls while continuing with the activities on the notebook. Mr. Morgan's schedule was packed; many companies wanted a set time with him. They knew about the business potential of SoundStory Press, which was in a period of expansion, attracting the attention of the film and theater industries and even renowned film costume designers seeking partnerships to tell their stories.
Mr. Patrick's empire was admirable, with a remarkable potential to cross borders. Sharp and precise, the publisher's name had already been featured on several business magazine covers, leading economic columns, and winning several awards. In addition, SoundStory Press was known for launching successful writers through the innovative SOUNDSTORY method.
Upon completing all the tasks he requested, I knew I would need to dedicate the afternoon to reviewing the contract according to his demands. One hour had passed since he went upstairs. I headed towards the office, knocking on the door and waiting for his response.
“You may come in,” the CEO said, keeping his eyes fixed on the desktop computer.
“Mr. Morgan, am I interrupting?” I asked cautiously, noting his grim expression. He simply shook his head.
“Can I print the documents?”
“Yes, Mrs. Elisabeth,” he replied curtly, without looking at me. “I noticed you sent everything I asked for. I have sent the schedule for the in-person meeting with the Cubans by email. We will have to travel to Cuba.”
“I'm sorry, sir. Cuba?” I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “Why?”
Smiling, Patrik leaned back in his office chair, spinning it to face me.
“They have the best cigars!” He shrugged.
“You want to go to Cuba for cigars? I can order them directly, saving you precious time. Besides, your schedule is tight, with no available slots,” I said firmly, turning to grab the papers that had just come out of the printer and stapling them.
“Good thing I have a fantastic secretary who will manage to fit my schedule so that this trip happens!” He exclaimed excitedly, getting up and standing behind me. His warm breath could be felt near my neck.
I shivered, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up. The heat from his body seemed to touch mine. I swallowed hard, lacking the courage to turn and face him.
“If you'll allow me to ask, Mr. Morgan, what is it about Cuba that requires so much of your attention?” I maintained a formal tone, although my body betrayed the slight tremor that ran through me as soon as his hands gently touched my neck, moving up to the tips of my hair.
Taking another step forward, he nuzzled his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply. His hand moved up my arms, his nails brushing against the goosebumps on my skin.
“There's an interesting film production company there. Although they are new, they are talented; they just need good guidance and investment,” he whispered in my ear, biting the tip, and I shivered.
“I understand. Isn't it risky, since they are inexperienced?” I remained in place without reacting, not wanting to admit that his slight approach was comforting.
“Apparently, I have been drawn to the inexperienced,” Patrik teased, putting his hands on my waist and pulling me back slightly, where I felt his erection brush against my buttocks.
“Mr. Morgan...” I warned him, making him chuckle softly, and I turned to face him.
“Mrs. Elisabeth!” he exclaimed, tilting his head to the side and smiling charmingly. “I believe this trip will be interesting for both of us. I hope you have some beautiful tiny bikinis to get a tan; you need it!”
I frowned, irritated by his comment.
“I'm going to work, Mr. Morgan. There's no need to wear such vulgar clothing!” I replied harshly, squeezing the papers in my hands and moving out of his reach towards the door.
“That answers my question.” I turned to face him, finding him leaning against the desk with a smug smile on his lips.
“Answer to what question?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You don't have tiny bikinis!” He provocatively scanned me from head to toe. “Don't worry, I'll arrange everything. Just make sure to fit this trip into my hectic schedule.”
“Mr. Morgan, I will not wear this type of clothing, or lack thereof,” I replied hastily. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll make some calls to reschedule your meetings and ensure a spot on the agenda for your trip.”
“We'll see about that, Miss!” Smiling, Patrik sat back in his chair, turning back to his computer.
I hurried out, grabbing the office phone and making a series of calls just to open up space in the schedule and secure his trip, even if it meant being tormented by him.
A delicious smell of food wafted from the kitchen. I hadn't heard any noise from pots. I shivered. Were ghosts cooking?
I laughed at my own thought, walking lightly towards the kitchen, which, to my surprise, was empty, with the food ready on the table and the dishes set. I looked around, searching for any signs of life, heading to the kitchen door that led outside. Furthermore, I opened it, looking for anyone who could have prepared all that.
“What are you looking for?” I jumped, putting my hand on my chest and trembling. Patrick was relaxed, with his hands in his pockets, looking at me curiously. “Did I scare you?”
“I... Yes, I was looking for the person responsible for lunch today.” I looked back again, not seeing anyone. “I didn't hear any noises in the kitchen or see any signs of life other than ours.”
“Maybe it was the spirit of my kidnapped victim who made our lunch.” He teased, coming towards me and closing the door behind me. “You're going to end up catching a cold out there.”
“This is not funny. Did you order our lunch?” I asked seriously, making him laugh.