Chapter 6

The boardroom vibrated with tension as Dashiell, a panther stalking its prey, scanned the executives. His words sliced through the air, sharp as a blade. ‘The report’s a disaster,’ he growled. ‘Stagnant occupancy, plummeting satisfaction, and complaints filling the internet like a graveyard. We’re bleeding money, drowning in mediocrity.’ Executives squirmed in their plush leather seats, accustomed to Dashiell’s bluntness but never unfazed. ‘This isn’t a leisurely stroll.’ Dashiell’s voice rose. ‘We’re in a sprint, and our competitors are leaving us choking on dust. They offer personalised experiences, innovative services, and hospitality that makes us look like a dusty motel.’ Fear pulsed through the room. Dashiell wasn’t criticising, he was demolishing their complacency, brick by brick. ‘We need a revolution,’ he thundered, his eyes blazing. ‘We shed this mediocrity and become the pioneers of hospitality.’ The executives exchanged uneasy glances. The young Mr Kellan was undeniably more ambitious than his father, a key factor in his rise to CEO. Yet, right now, some were questioning that decision. Just then, Dashiell’s assistant broke the tense silence, his voice a hushed whisper against the hum of air conditioning. ‘Mrs Kellan is here, sir.’ A flicker of surprise, then amusement, danced in Dashiell’s eyes. ‘Mrs Kellan, huh?’ he drawled. ‘So, the little sparrow has flown back to the nest, has she?’ His smug smirk deepened, the thought of Elodie crawling back to him, begging for forgiveness, igniting a spark of perverse pleasure in his chest. He would make her wait, let her stew in the regret of her decision to divorce him. After all, a little suffering never hurt anyone, did it? Dashiell sent away his executives with a dismissive wave of his hand. He sauntered into the CEO’s private bathroom, his heart humming with anticipation. Facing the mirror, he straightened his tie, ensuring every fold was perfect. His fingers grazed his jawline, detecting the faintest hint of stubble. ‘Tsk, tsk,’ he muttered. ‘The great Dashiell Kellan, caught neglecting his grooming routine.’ But even that minor imperfection couldn’t dampen his mood. He was Dashiell Kellan, the epitome of success and charisma. A little bit of stubble only added a touch of rugged charm, wouldn’t you say? He emerged from the bathroom, his steps deliberate and measured. He pictured Elodie fidgeting nervously in the room, her face pale with regret. He would be merciful, of course. Perhaps a generous cheque would ease her pain, or maybe even a recommendation for a new job. After all, a man of his stature couldn’t leave his ex-wife completely destitute, could he? His lips curled into a smirk as he reached his office, the anticipation of watching Elodie crumble before him fuelling his every step. That smug grin melted faster than a dropped ice cream cone on a hot summer day when his assistant announced, ‘It’s Mrs Miriam Kellan, sir.’ Dashiell’s heart did a little flip-flop. Miriam, his mother, a whirlwind of floral scarves and unsolicited advice, was the last person he needed to see after the messy business with Elodie. He envisioned a barrage of questions, tearful recriminations, and enough guilt-tripping to fuel a small nation. Before he could brace himself, Miriam sashayed out of his office, looking like a fifty-year-old who’d discovered the secret to eternal youth. She wrapped him in a hug that could rival a boa constrictor’s squeeze. ‘Darling!’ she exclaimed, her voice as bubbly as a glass of champagne. ‘I just got the most fascinating book for El, “The Art of Unlocking Your Inner Goddess.” Where is she?’ Miriam’s smile faltered slightly as Dashiell’s face remained impassive. ‘Actually, Mother,’ he started, choosing his words carefully, ‘we’ve reached… a fork in the road.’ Miriam’s eyes widened like cartoon saucers. ‘A fork?’ she echoed. ‘Did you finally realise you couldn’t handle her intellectual prowess and decided to run away with your tail between your legs?’ Dashiell choked on his non-existent coffee, momentarily speechless by his mother’s bluntness. He’d expected tears, not playful jabs at his masculinity. ‘It wasn’t like that, Mother,’ he protested. ‘And I didn’t run away. In fact, she’s the one who initiated the divorce.’ ‘She did?’ Miriam inhaled sharply. ‘Oh dear, this is what I was afraid of.’ ‘Afraid of what?’ ‘Why do you think I arranged the marriage, Dash?’ ‘Because the doctor said I was probably going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life and you were afraid I’d die alone.’ Miriam nodded. ‘Exactly.’ ‘But now I’m not. I’m not in a wheelchair anymore, Mom, and I’m not alone. In fact, I—’ He was about to bring up Selene’s name when Miriam cut him off with an exaggerated sigh. ‘El, that poor girl probably had enough of being stuck with your grumpy, workaholic self and decided to high-tail it out of your life.’ It was Dashiell’s turn to sigh. ‘I don’t think that’s what happened, Mom.’ Miriam, the hopeless romantic that she was, immediately shared her own interpretation of her son’s divorce. ‘Dash,’ she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, ‘this is just like Jane Eyre! Remember? After she left Edward’s dark and brooding manor, driven away by his arrogance and deceit?’ She put a hand to her heart and sighed dramatically. ‘Poor El, she’s penniless and now jobless and homeless. Just like Jane. She must be having a terrible time.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Now is your chance to be the hero, Dashiell! Go find her, bring her back! Show her the love and devotion she deserves!’ Dashiell hesitated. He knew Miriam had never been a fan of Selene, whose recent return to his life had only exacerbated his mother’s dislike. He opened his mouth to broach the subject, but Miriam cut him off with a dramatic flourish. ‘No,’ she declared, her voice firm. ‘I don’t want to hear about that… that woman. She’s not right for you, Dashiell. She’s calculating, manipulative… she’s everything Elodie isn’t.’ She clutched her chest, feigning a heart attack. ‘Oh, Dashiell, you’re giving me palpitations! Please, promise me you’ll forget about her and focus on winning back your rightful love.’ Dashiell sighed, defeated. He knew arguing with his mother was a losing battle, especially when she decided to play the heart-wrenching card. ‘But Mother,’ he relented, ‘where would I even begin to look for her?’ Miriam’s eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘Oh, Dashiell, sometimes you can be so dense! Ask Alfred, of course! He knows everything about everything. Besides, Elodie wouldn’t have gone far without her beloved books. I bet she’s holed up in some quaint little bookstore, surrounded by her literary friends, waiting for her knight in shining armour to arrive.’ She winked at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Now go, my son! Don’t waste another moment! Remember, love conquers all, even a bad case of male arrogance. And who knows, you might even get a chance to re-enact the famous scene from Jane Eyre, with you as Rochester and Elodie as your Jane!’