Pulse and Petals

Evara

I'm standing in what looks like a fancy lobby, surrounded by plush couches and towering floor-to-ceiling windows. I hate it. Not the couches, mind you-they're comfy as hell-but those damn windows. My acrophobia kicks in full force, and I can't bring myself to glance outside. Heights just ain't my thing.

Instead, I fixate on the indoor plants in the corner, their lush green leaves a welcome distraction from the dizzying view outside. If only I could take them home with me, maybe they'd help calm my nerves.

Lost in my thoughts, I'm startled when a tall, slim-kinda muscular guy with brown hair appears in front of me. He's dressed in a sharp suit, looking every bit the businessman. "Can I help you with something?" His voice is deep, sending a shiver down my spine.

I blink up at him, feeling like a lost lamb in this fancy-ass lobby. "Uh, yeah, I'm here for a meeting with Mr. Carson and Ms.Davis," I manage to stammer out, hoping I don't sound as flustered as I feel.

The stranger stands there, all calm and collected, his presence kind of intimidating. But hey, I'm Evie, and I don't get intimidated by anyone. At least, not outwardly. Inside, I might be freaking out a bit, but nobody has to know that.

"You must be the wedding planner," he says in that deep voice of his, and I nod, trying to muster up some of his coolness. "Yes, that's me! I'm sorry, are you Mr. Carson? I didn't recognize you," I reply, hoping I don't sound too rattled.

"Oberoi-Carson," he says, his voice authoritative and dripping with confidence. My heart sinks. Oberoi-Carson? What the hell? Did I miss something? Did I note down the wrong name? Fuck. This meeting is already going downhill, and we've barely even started.

But before I can spiral into full-blown panic mode, he continues, his tone still cool as a cucumber. "I'm not the groom." Relief floods through me like a tidal wave. Well, that's one crisis averted. Time to regroup and get back on track.

"Weren't you supposed to be here at 11 am? It's 11:15," he says, his tone cool and slightly accusatory. "You're fifteen minutes late."

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of those minutes pressing down on me. "Yeah, I know, and I'm really sorry about that," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "There was a technical issue with the elevator, and I got stuck for a bit. It threw off my timing."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Technical issue with the elevator, huh?" he repeats, skepticism dripping from his words.

I nod earnestly, hoping he'll cut me some slack. "Yeah, seriously. It was like something out of a horror movie. But I'm here now, ready to get down to business."

"Why did nobody inform me?" His tone is angry, scary even. But I don't think he's talking to me. Maybe he's just thinking out loud. Still, this guy is a scary big man who is really pissed.

"I'm not sure I know the answer," I reply awkwardly, offering up an apologetic smile.

He looks at me then, and for a moment, I feel like a deer caught in headlights. "Your meeting is in there," he says, his voice clipped. His eyes dart towards the door, hands shoved in his pockets.

Before I can thank him or even process what's happening, he's already walking away. "Thank your lucky stars if you make it out of here without crying," he adds over his shoulder, his words echoing in the hallway.

I stand there, feeling utterly confused. Why would I cry? I make people cry, not the other way around. But there's something about the way he said it.

He walks towards it, and I quicken my pace to catch up, my mind racing with questions. Why do I suddenly feel like I'm walking into the lion's den?