Chapter 57 - Emily

**EMILY**

Arriving at _Poseidon’s_ thirty minutes late, Emily took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. _Is Oliver still there?_ Maybe she should have sent him a text saying she’d be late. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If the man had just wanted to return her clutch, he could have done it without a bouquet. He could have just asked her to come to the agency.

“No,” she muttered, raising her chin, “I did it right. He wants to win me over - for whatever reason - and I’m turning him down!” Surely he had already looked at his watch, wondering why she hadn’t bothered to arrive on time. He shouldn’t think that one or two bouquets would change how angry she was that he had tricked her with the contract.

Emily entered the restaurant and immediately felt the charm of the _Poseidon_: the scent of fine herbs and freshly fried fish was in the air, dimmed lights bathed the room in a warm, cozy atmosphere, and soft classical music underscored the elegance of the restaurant. On the tables, all covered with white linen tablecloths, were delicate vases of snow-white orchids, and the shadows cast on the walls seemed to sway gently, giving the room an almost magical air. This was the place for the wealthy - or those who wanted to feel elite for a few hours.

Emily’s eyes swept over the guest areas, past elegantly dressed couples and small groups lost in quiet conversation. She felt the glamour of the place almost pull her in, but at the same time she kept a certain inner distance - there was nothing romantic about her assignment. She just wanted to get her purse back - with her cell phone, credit card, and apartment key.

Just as she took a step to the side and looked around the room, a perfectly mannered employee approached her with a polite smile on his lips. “Good afternoon, madam. May I help you?”

Emily nodded and gave him Oliver’s name. The waiter gave her a reassuring smile and led her through the restaurant. Emily heard the gentle clinking of glasses, the soft murmur of conversation, and the muffled laughter of the patrons like a gentle melody around her. It felt pleasant and would have relaxed her if the reason for this meal hadn’t weighed heavily on her mind.

When she arrived at the table, she noticed that Oliver immediately jumped up and looked at her with a wide, friendly smile. His eyes sparkled, almost a little too confidently - those little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, adding to the mischievous expression, said more than his words. He probably really thought he could impress her, that she might even fall at his feet if he was charming enough. He was far too full of himself. But he had to be, after all it was his job to attract young, pretty women to work as hostesses for his agency.

Emily kept her cool, forcing herself to remain calm, even though she felt a slight uneasiness. She knew she had to show him strength, but at the same time she couldn’t be too dismissive. Whatever resentment she felt towards him, he had her in his grip and a contract with her. But whatever he hoped to gain from this meeting, he would soon realize that she was not easily impressed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Daron,” she said, extending her hand. “Do you have something of mine?”

He flinched for a moment, as if expecting a less distant response, but then recovered and gave a charming smile. “Yes, beautiful woman. You seem to have left something in the hotel room.” He smiled even more winningly. “Weren’t we on a first name basis?”

Emily raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips dismissively. The smile on Oliver’s face seemed to falter for a moment. She knew she was making him uncomfortable - and it gave her a certain satisfaction. Men like him expected a certain reaction, especially from women they thought were easily influenced. But she was determined to make it clear to him that she would not be so easily ensnared in his charming web.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick was kind enough to bring us your clutch this morning,” Oliver finally continued, as if he had prepared a little speech. “A girl from the dry cleaners found your purse in the hotel room, he told us. Mr. Fitzpatrick also has a few requests, so I wanted to meet with you urgently.”

Emily sat down and smiled politely. “May I have my clutch, then?” She nodded demonstratively in the direction of the golden bag on the table. Then she raised her hand to beckon to the waitress. “I’ll have the lunch menu, please. I have to be back at the office in an hour. Can you manage that?” she asked with a matter-of-factness that made Oliver’s eyebrows rise a bit. She had made it clear to him and the waiter that she only had a little time - a clear signal that she wouldn’t stay longer than absolutely necessary. And Oliver seemed to believe her. Apparently, he thought it was perfectly normal to work on a Saturday. She didn’t want to tell him that she was going home after the meeting. A little time pressure was surely the best way to show him that this hostess job was not a high priority for her. The waiter nodded. “Very well, I’ll pass it on to the kitchen.”

Oliver took her behavior less calmly. His gaze seemed to grow a little colder, but then he put on a smile that promised nothing good. He also ordered the lunch menu and gave her a meaningful look, as if to show her that he would not be thrown off his game so easily.

When the waiter left, Oliver pushed the golden clutch across the table with a deliberately casual gesture. “Please check that everything is in it. We can assume that nothing is missing, but still.”

Emily snorted softly and raised her eyebrow again. “We can assume?” she asked mockingly without touching the bag. Her cool mask remained unchanged and she enjoyed how Oliver visibly struggled to keep his composure.

He smiled and replied, “Yes, _we_. We, the DarEnd-Agency. I already told you, _Emily_, that Mr. Fitzpatrick received the clutch bag through the hotel. So it has passed through many hands and we cannot guarantee that no one has taken anything. Only you can know that.”

A slight, almost imperceptible twitch played around her lips as he emphasized her first name so clearly, and she knew he had noticed. Emily didn’t care. She was sure her boss, Alexander Fitzpatrick, didn’t really trust the agency either. Why else would he have made up the story about the hotel room? He couldn’t know that she’d actually stayed there - or could he? In any case, his story was very good for her financially. She only had to think of the thirty dollars she owed to the DarEnd-Agency. Unbelievable!

As she opened the small handbag and checked the contents, she quickly did the math in her head. They had agreed to meet at seven p.m. They had supposedly been together all night. She had ordered a lavish breakfast at seven, so she could surely book twelve hours. So now she was ninety dollars in the black - unless he made her pay for lunch herself. 

She rolled her eyes. With the prices here, she would probably be in the red again...