Chapter 3

I nervously smooth out the slight crinkles on my lavender Ferragamo blouse, and cross my hands daintily on my lap. 25 years worth of facing the man, and I still get antsy and cringe whenever the mere thought of him rolls into my mind.

"Miss Gilbert? He's ready to see you. This way please." The red-haired girl, who couldn't be more than 22 years old, gestures to the door. I eye her short and tight bandage skirt, almost see-through blouse and sky high heels. Must be his flavour of the month.

Squashing that bitter thought, I square my shoulders, and approach the dark wood door. The silver name plate shines in the harsh fluorescent lighting, polished meticulously by one of the 60 cleaning staff peppering the premises every morning. Mr Grayson Gilbert. CEO, G Enterprises.

I knock gingerly, and force my feet through the door.

"Finally. Does your indiscretions know no bounds?" A booming voice rings out. "I asked for you 45 minutes ago! Took your own sweet time, didn't you?"

I pause at the door, facing the divider screen in front of me, nervously biting my lips. The feeling of dread threatens to take over me while I mentally prepare myself for what is going to happen once I step into his view.

"By all means, move at a glacial pace. You know how that absolutely thrills me." My dad barks. "I do seem to have all the time in the world, don't I?"

I hurry to the other side of the divider, and present myself in front of him. A giant of a man, my dad stands at 1.9 meters tall. Despite being sixty-five, he makes up for his age with his muscular physique and full crown of hair, nary a white strand or bald patch in sight. The only tell is the 2 deep frown lines which have been permanently carved in between his brows.

I can still remember the time when he wore a pleasant smile on his face, welcoming me into his warm hug every day when he came home from work. A long, faraway memory. I can't help but feel a tinge of sadness at the thought.

"So." His loud voice pulls me abruptly back to the present. I put on my game face and look at him, shuddering inwardly while bracing myself for the cruel words that will soon come. He hunches over the mountain of papers that adorns his desk, squinting at the words, and examines something on his computer screen closely.

"Have you managed to settle the deal I told you about 2 days ago?" He peers over his glasses slightly, momentarily breaking his vision from the thick stack of paper he clenches tightly in his hand. Of course he won't bother with any niceties. "I told you to update me with progress every day, haven't I? Why is it so hard for you to obey such simple instructions?"

I take a deep, silent breath, and force myself to calm down. No good will come if I butt heads directly with the man. I am stubborn, but I am not stupid.

"I am still trying to get close to him, Father." I speak slowly, afraid that a single wrong word will set him off. No one has ever experienced the full extent of his quick and ferocious temper as much as I, since almost everything I do seem to give him reasons to shout at me on an almost unerring daily basis. I definitely plan to prolong the temporary calm of the moment as much as possible. "But he is a very... friendly man. I need more time to get his attention."

"You are useless!" He slaps his hand loudly on his table. Some documents fall from the mountain of papers and litter the floor. "How is it that I have such a worthless daughter who cannot even contribute a teeny tiny amount to the business? And you wonder why I have not yet formally introduced you to the society even though you have certainly come of age." He stands up and stomps in front of me. "I would really like to know what I have done in my previous life to deserve a child as ungrateful and entitled as you."

I keep my eyes on him, tears edging the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over. No. I will not let him have that satisfaction.

"Why don't you send your little slut currently perched outside your door to do it then?" I retort, unable to reign in my temper anymore. If someone need proof of my genetic relations to the man, our tempers would be the inarguable evidence. "I'm sure she will perform much better than me, in all manners of the word, as I'm sure you already know."

I turn and start to march out of the room, when I am pulled back by a firm grip on my arm. Slap! My cheek instantly flare up in a bright shade of crimson as I let out a loud gasp.

"How dare you speak to me this way! Who do you think you are?" My father glared menacingly at me. I am sure he will not hesitate to whip out a second slap, gauging by the level of his anger. "I am your FATHER. You'll do well to show me some respect!"

I scowl at him, reflecting almost the same amount of disdain he is wearing on his face. If the tension in the air is not so suffocating, the similarities in our expressions would almost be comical.

"Respect, like trust, is earned. I can't just magically hand it over. But I'm sure this is a concept you will never comprehend."

I spin on my heels, slightly pleased to get in the last word, and rush out as fast as I can, cradling my sore cheek with my right hand.

I step eagerly into Lava, beelining for the bar. What a serious, no nonsense, crappy day. My pounding headache forces me to rub the bridge of my nose every few steps, no thanks to the impossibly crowded spreadsheet I was staring at all day. None of my calculations made sense, and I blame the non-reply I got from Elena. I refuse to swallow my dignity and send her a message again. I generally hate persistent women who couldn't take a hint, and God forbid I turn into a male version myself.

Elena. What a pretty name. She seems to hover around my every thought, rendering me completely unable to concentrate as I plough through my annual investors' report these past few days. Damn her and the disease she infected me with. I certainly hope this is just a fad, a temporary insanity on my part.

I down my bourbon in 2 big gulps. Maybe the memory of her will fade in a few days. Who am I kidding. It had been a grand total of 10 days since I last saw her, and I still find myself glancing anxiously at my phone every few minutes. I brought it with me everywhere, even to the loo. I am acting like a lovesick puppy, I suddenly realise.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I motion to the bartender to bring me another double shot, preparing to cradle my poison and hide in the dark shadows of the VIP lounge while I drink away the images of the long haired beauty.

Sipping the caramel-colored potion wistfully, I ponder calling some girl for a much-needed distraction. Just when I am scrolling through my phone list, I notice a heady fragrance. I sniff.

Hell, I'm smelling her scent around me now? I swear I'm turning psycho!

I look up from my drink and narrow my eyes. Matthew Donovan, the son of D & M Inc, one of my fiercest competitors, is strutting purposely towards my table. A girl with long chestnut brown hair, large doe eyes and carrying the unmistakable smell of citrus shampoo clings on his arm. The girl whom I have been thinking of for the past almost 2 weeks. The girl who ignored my messages. Now I know why.

"Salvatore! Fancy seeing you here! Have your falling sales finally driven you to drown your sorrows alone?" Matt sneers, holding Elena around her waist possessively. I thought I saw the slightest flinch on her face, but it disappeared as fast as it happened. "Have you met the lovely Elena Gilbert, golden princess of G Enterprises? Isn't she gorgeous?"

He smirks at her as if she is one of his latest addition to his obscene vintage cars collection. I could feel him trying to detect a hint of envy from me, as he gauges my reaction from the corner of his eyes.

Besides being business competitors, Matt, having almost as impressive a track record as me in charming members of the female gender, has listed me as one of his challengers in the dating field. He is constantly trying to shove his latest conquest into my face, in a truly crass "my girl is better than yours" fashion. Too bad I don't give a shit.

Until now. I watch her as she looks at me with slight panic in her eyes. "Miss Gilbert. Pleasure to meet you." I struggle to keep my voice and face cold and detached. She extends her hand and smiles timidly, "Pleasure to meet you too, Mr Salvatore."

Gone is the witty girl who left such a deep impression on me the other night. No radiating confidence, no playful expression in her eyes, no smart retorts. The girl standing in front of me is like her weaker twin, one who is meek, unable to make her own decisions, and only speaks when spoken to.

Unexplained fury rose inside of me. I have no idea why I feel so disgusted and irritated by Elena at this moment. "Excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be. Enjoy your night." I bang my glass on the table and storm out of the club, every step making me angrier and angrier.

Is the girl I have been thinking about just a mirage? A figment of my own imagination? I kick a random pebble in my path as I head to my bright red Ferrari. My next kick lands on one of my tires. As if I am not already seeing red. I channel my ridiculous anger towards the poor car.

I jerk the car door open and am just about to step in when I feel a small tap on my shoulder.

I whirl around and come face to face with a pair of bright brown eyes, tears shimmering at their corners.

"Hey." She whispers.

"What?" I snap, feeling my irritation come up to the surface when the subject of my annoyance stands in front of me.

She falls quiet. I peer at her, patience wearing thin.

"Now, if you don't mind, Bree is waiting for me." I bark at her, throwing out a random name from my long list of "girlfriends". She steps back at my voice, and speaks up, a renewed fire in her eyes.

"I want to thank you for not disclosing that we've already met." She clears her throat, holding her head up high now. "That's all. I'd better get back, Matt is waiting for me." She throws my words back at me, gives me a small wave, and saunters haughtily off in her black stilettos, which elongates her already slim and petite frame. I couldn't help but check out her behind, as I watch her retreating back with perplexed eyes.

This is intriguing. I frown, too surprised and confused by her sudden change in attitude and the less-than-30-minutes encounter to remember my anger. At the same time, I find myself wanting to find out more.

Who are you, Elena Gilbert?