He was so much worse in person.

I didn’t tell my best friend Mia. Mia would have opinions, loud ones, and I was not ready for opinions yet. I was still in the phase where the decision felt like jumping off something and I hadn’t looked down yet and I would very much prefer to stay in that phase a little longer.

So, I went to bed.

I didn’t sleep for a long time.

When I finally did, I dreamt about the Sovereign Hotel, not as it was now, modest and struggling, but as it could be. Lights in the lobby. Every room full. My mother’s name was on the building in letters that deserved to be there. When I woke up from that dream, I knew I would do everything in my power to make it what I wanted it to be.

The next day, I woke up at 6 AM to an email from the Price Group.

‘Dear Miss Holloway, thank you for your application. Mr. Price will conduct your interview personally. Please attend our offices Thursday at 9 AM.’

I read it standing in my kitchen in yesterday’s t-shirt with my hair still in its sleep braid and my heart doing something complicated in my chest.

Mr. Price will conduct your interview personally.

Not HR. Not a junior manager. Not anyone with a normal job title and a clipboard and a standard list of questions.

Him.

I set my phone down on the counter. Picked it up. Set it down again.

He already knew who I was. Of course he did. The name Holloway in a hotel industry application that landed on his desk, he had known before he finished reading the first line. And he had called me in anyway.

The question was why.

A lot of years had passed in between that encounter and now.

Does he really hold on to grudges?

I was still thinking about that question on Thursday morning when I walked through his building’s front doors and the cold lobby air hit me like a held breath, and then the elevator opened, and the man who stepped out of it looked at me from across the marble lobby, and every careful, rational, well-organized thought I'd had about this morning dissolved into something I had absolutely no name for.

He was dressed appropriately, but it looked like he was not dressed; the suit was glued to his body, making it obvious it was made for him despite his attractive build, his eyes were blue, reminding me of the sea; I could get lost in them. My eyes moved from his eyes to his lips and then down to his throat.

I swallowed hard.

He was different from whom I met seven years ago.

Of course, he had grown.

This close, the photographs were even more useless as preparation than I’d already decided they were. He was so much worse in person. 

There was something about him in person, something in the way he looked at me, direct and entirely unrushed, like he had decided this moment was worth his full attention and he had no intention of pretending otherwise, that made me want to take a step back.

I didn’t.

I had prepared for this, but right now, the way he looks at me makes me unprepared.

I might have been prepared for the interview but the way he was looking at me was what I wasn’t prepared for.

And the instant attraction I felt?

No, I definitely wasn’t prepared.

I still walked to the reception; after all, that was the right thing to do.

I willed myself not to look at him again.

Ogling my maybe-boss wasn’t the right thing to do.

Especially not on the day of the interview.

“Miss Holloway," I heard him say. His voice. Low, unhurried, the kind of voice that expected to be heard without having to raise itself.

I turned.

“Mr. Price,” I said.

Something shifted at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. The suggestion of one. “You’re early," he said, his expression unreadable.

I do not find it funny when I can’t read people’s expressions. “You’re in the lobby," I replied back, my voice cool and precise.

“I wanted to see if you’d actually come in." 

I blinked. “Excuse me?” He was being sarcastic and I knew but that was the only reply I could think of. 

His eyes were scanning me; I wished I had worn my favorite dress and not this suit that makes me look like an old secretary.

Why was I bothered about what I wore?

“The Holloway name,” he said simply. “And my building. I gave it forty percent odds.” His eyes moved over me once like I was a delicacy he was waiting to devour, “also, considering…” he paused, his eyes moving to my lips.

I held my breath in return, considering what? He can’t tell me that he has not forgotten what occurred between us in the past.

“I was wrong," was all he said; he did not finish his earlier statement.

“Glad I could surprise you,” I said, giving him a fake smile.

With a serious face, he said, “ please accept my condolences."

I gave him a real smile this time, albeit faint, “thank-you.”

This time the almost-smile became something more definite; it was a wicked smile, though.

He gestured toward the elevator.

He and I alone in the elevator, wow! I held my breath as I stepped in.