An Inconvenient Attachment

Chapter Ten

"A business trip?" I asked, a bit confused. "I'm confused, Mr. Abilon. There were no business trips scheduled for this month."

"The one for next month, with the Russian trading company was moved to the end of this week, through to the middle of next week. Two days, to be exact," he said simply. "The plan was just changed, I got off the phone with them a few minutes ago."

"That means--"

"Yes, you have to join me on the trip. I'll need you there taking notes on the meetings and finishing the business proposals," he chimed in. "We leave Thursday, I will personally pick you up, be ready by 5."

"In the evening?"

He looked up at me from his work. "In the morning."

I replayed the conversation over and over in my hand, standing before my empty suitcase. I had never gone out of the country before, when I attended business trips with Mr. Angeline, they always managed to stay within the United States but Russia? That was a big jump.

To be more specific, we were going to Moscow, Russia. I'd seen pictures of the beautiful destination in travel magazines standing in line at the grocery store but actually being able to go there, that was another story. A big part of me wanted nothing but to jump up and down and squeal like a school girl and another part of me continued to stress over what to pack. The more rational side of me decided to focus on the task at hand and I slowly began packing.

I packed my usual attire I wore to work for the meetings, pajamas, of course, and some comfy clothes to enjoy in when I get to sit in my own hotel room. The idea of getting somewhat of a vacation was like a dream and the fact that it was going to be a reality was even more amazing.

Moscow, here I come!

. . .

When Mr. Abilon finally arrived that morning I was beyond exhausted. I wore a sweater and sweats, my hair in a messy heap at the top of my head, my glasses barely hanging onto my nose and my eyes were barely open. I don't usually wake up at four in the morning and it didn't help that I got no sleep thinking about the trip.

Abilon exited his sporty black Lamborghini, clad in a neat suit, hair neatly slicked and beard trimmed. He looked me up and down. "Not a morning person?"

"I'm surprised you're a morning person," I grumbled, allowing him to load my bags in the back. "I got no sleep."

He chuckled lightly.

"Don't laugh, knowing you, you probably run on two hours of sleep and black coffee," I said sliding into the passenger seat and, somehow, figuring out how to shut the door.

"Very close," he commented, revving the engine. "Four hours of sleep."

"Even I know, that's not healthy," I added and he only scoffed for a second and the rest of the ride was silent.

Even in his private jet it was quiet, well, then again, I spent most of the flight sleeping. It felt like an absolute eternity until we finally landed. It was very wise of me, also, towards the end of the flight to change into proper professional attire for when we landed, the Russian trading company was there to welcome us.

They were kind enough to drive us to our hotel which made me more than ecstatic. Trust me, I was excited to be here in Russia, but I desperately wanted to take a shower. The drive to the hotel was relatively quick and I was shocked to see the beauty of the thing up close. I kept my mouth shut most of the time, mainly because they all conversed in Russian, even Abilon. I didn't mind watching the scenery as we had passed it by.

It took twenty minutes to get out of the car and another twenty minutes to finally say goodbye to the fellas and enter the hotel.

"I'm sorry, but what?" Abilon sneered at the worker. "How is it that one of the rooms, that I reserved, is gone and now replaced with a one bed hotel room?"

"I'm sorry sir, but we only have one room open," said the woman, her voice thick with an accent.

"I don't care what you have, I reserved two rooms and I expect two rooms," he snapped back.

. . .

And there we both stood, our bags to the side, both of us standing beside each other, staring at the one queen-sized bed in the room, two chairs to the side, a TV, and a bathroom. We both stood there, our attention to the bed. One, single, bed. Finally, after a moment, he rubbed his temples tiredly, his other hand on his hip.

"I can sleep on the...chair," I chimed in, still staring at the bed.

He sighed heavily. "No need," he grumbled. "I can take the chair."

I sighed deeply too, this was not how Moscow was suppose to be. I was very looking forward to my own hotel room in a foreign country, to drinking a glass of wine in the massive bathtub, to the crazy insane view of the city below but it seems I couldn't even get that.

Sharing a hotel room, with your boss, in a foreign country, what could go wrong? I zoned out for a moment, still staring at the bed. I could really use a shower but, with Abilon here, I really didn't want to. Abilon made the first move, grabbing his bags and setting them over by the pair of chairs, finally snapping me out of my trance.

"Mr. Abilon, really, I can manage finagling the chairs to sleep on them," I said, snapping out of my stare down with the bed. "It isn't a concern."

"I may be a hypocrite for saying this, but, I know better than to allow a woman to sleep on a couch—or chairs for that matter," he replied lightly. "It is no longer up for discussion."

So much for a vacation.