**Chapter 2: The Retreat** As the town car glided to a halt in front of The Retreat, I couldn't help but admire the façade of the beautifully restored building, its plaster gleaming under the morning sun. It had been a labor of love to transform the once crumbling structure into a beacon of elegance over the past year—a highlight of my work that I cherished deeply. Fritz, my ever-reliable driver, stepped out and moved to the rear door, where Mia and Shantel, Griffen Industries' astute Chief of Staff, waited. As I joined them on the curb, we walked toward the entrance. A security guard stood watch, his presence a stark reminder of the importance of this venture. This project demanded vigilance, and I had no intention of leaving it unattended. I approached the guard with an air of authority. “Gage Griffen, CEO,” I offered, extending my hand. He took a moment to register my introduction, surprise flickering across his face. “Cliff Wallace. Nice to meet you, sir,” he replied, his handshake firm. “Likewise,” I replied, stepping past him and into the cool, marble-floored interior of the building. It was surreal; so many people now worked under me, and yet, I found myself occasionally feeling like a stranger rather than a leader. Only fifteen years ago, I had been anxiously trying to hire my first employee, consumed with the weight of responsibility for someone else’s livelihood. The stakes had multiplied since then, and now, thousands looked to me for direction and security. We moved toward the front conference room, entering a space that was still undergoing its finishing touches. A stark white desk occupied the center, accompanied by a few folding chairs, which I was sure Ms. Elkins would soon replace with something more fitting for her vision. Shantel opened her leather briefcase, meticulously sorting through a stack of papers while Mia busied herself, distributing steaming cups of coffee and arranging a tempting selection of pastries on the table. Being a few minutes early, I fished out a crumpled piece of paper that had been tucked beneath my windshield wiper the previous day. I had worked late into the night, hesitant to disturb the sender at such an ungodly hour. Now, with the clock pushing close to nine, it seemed an appropriate moment to reach out. I smirked at the cartoon doodle scrawled on the back of the note, dialing the number with a sense of anticipation. As the phone rang, I heard another ring reverberate from the hallway outside. Raising an eyebrow, I paused as the ringing ceased. “Hi, this is Farrah,” a voice chimed through the doorway, then echoed from my phone. A chuckle almost escaped me; I could feel Mia and Shantel’s eyes darting in my direction, their curiosity piqued. “Farrah, this is Gage Griffen,” I replied smoothly. “I’m on my way right now. I should be a few minutes early…” she trailed off as the conference room door swung open. Farrah lowered her phone, placing it in her purse. “I’m so sorry. Is my watch off?” Her nervousness was palpable; a wild strand of curly hair slipped from behind her ear, and the cold February air had left her cheeks flushed. “You’re right on time,” I assured her, holding up the crumpled paper. “I believe you left this on my car.” Her eyes shifted from the paper to my face, and I watched as the color drained away from her cheeks. “Um, so I…” she stammered, fumbling for words. “I think I’ll just be going now. Sorry to have taken up your time.” “Wait,” I commanded, furrowing my brows. “Where are you going?” Her shoulders sagged, and her voice dropped to a defeated whisper. “I’m assuming I’m fired, right? Your car must cost more than my yearly salary.” “That's irrelevant,” I interjected sharply. Her full lips parted in surprise, and I felt an unfamiliar tightening in my gut. “What?” she breathed, her expression betraying a whirlwind of emotions. “I was just calling to say that the door ding is no big deal…” I found myself mumbling, the unspoken “after all, I'm a billionaire” hanging in the air, left unsaid. Why was I rambling? The nerves she exuded were infecting me, and I despised it. Clearing my throat, I gestured back toward the table, redirecting us to the matters at hand. While Shantel guided Farrah through the onboarding documents, I sipped my coffee, my attention split as I responded to emails buzzing through my phone. When they reached the section detailing her compensation, I glanced up, curious about her reaction. Farrah's hand flew to her mouth in disbelief, only to retreat quickly, her fingers trembling slightly. Good. She was impressed. I prided myself on offering employees a salary that reflected their worth; it motivated them to pour their dedication into their work. And if they chose to leave, I wanted them to know there would be no better offer elsewhere. A call from my brother Tyler buzzed into my pocket, and I excused myself to take it. “Everything okay?” I asked, knowing he and his new wife had just opened a boutique apartment building for seniors, with residents finally starting to move in. “We’re great!” Tyler’s voice crackled with excitement, rushing through his words. “Every room is rented as of this morning!” “That's fantastic!” I responded, caught up in his enthusiasm. “How about I take you and Henrietta out for drinks to celebrate?” “Do you actually have time for drinks in your busy billionaire schedule?” he teased back. “I never said when. Mia can pencil you in for… what, eighteen months out?” “Very funny,” Tyler chuckled. “We’ve got a community get-to-know-you party tonight, but how about Thursday? Should I invite Rhett and Liv?” “Only if Rhett doesn’t bring his woman of the week,” I grumbled. Our youngest brother was notorious for his rotating series of dates, and it rarely led to engaging conversation for long stretches of time. “Siblings only, got it.” “I’ll have Mia coordinate,” I replied, wrapping up the call and returning to the conference room just in time to see Shantel laughing, her bag almost packed. “What’s so funny?” I queried, returning to my coffee. “Farrah has a wonderful sense of humor. I like her,” Shantel said, beaming. I didn’t share her enthusiasm. The success of Griffen Industries had cast a long shadow, altering the landscape of my relationships. With wealth came suspicion; I could never be sure who was genuinely friendly and who was merely looking for an advantage. With so much at stake, I had to tread carefully; every word might twist into sensational headlines come morning. Still, if my employees connected, that was a positive sign. As Shantel secured her briefcase and snagged a croissant, Mia offered Farrah a friendly smile. “Care for a pastry before Shantel and I head back?” Farrah reached for one, her expression brightening. “Better than the crusts on a Nutella strawberry sandwich!.” “What are the ages of your children?” Shantel inquired, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Love radiated from Farrah as she responded, “Fourteen, eight, and five. Two boys and a girl.” “That’s lovely! I have one of each,” Shantel replied proudly, “Twins, actually.” Farrah held up three fingers playfully, kissing them. I had no clue what their gesture meant, but Shantel mirrored it back, laughing. It seemed Farrah had already woven herself into their hearts, vastly preferable to the last interior designer whose demeanor had been nothing short of awful. I had been forced to part ways with him as morale plummeted around his stubbornness, with delays and problematic attitudes spiraling the project into chaos. Mia confirmed my upcoming appointments before saying her goodbyes, throwing a discreet thumbs-up to Farrah that I noticed. I was attuned to every detail, including the corner of fabric peeking from Farrah’s sleeve. With both Shantel and Mia gone, it was just Farrah and me, accompanied by the gentle crunch of her pastry as she took a bite. “This hotel is magnificent, Mr. Griffen,” she said, wiping a crumb from her lush pink lips. “I can’t wait to dive in.” “Excellent,” I replied, sipping my coffee and placing the cup back on the table. “This will be our office for the next three months. Compile a list of what you’ll need to hit the ground running—laptop, printer, etc.—and send it to Mia. She’ll manage the arrangements.” “Wait, three months?” she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief. “What’s our timeline?” “We need to complete the room designs and prepare for the grand opening in a year,” I stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve been burned by enough designers to realize that I need to stay close to the project, at least until you’ve proven your worth.” She choked on her pastry, hastily gulping down her coffee in shock. “The hotel is opening in a year?” I glanced at my watch, a smirk creeping in. “Eleven months and fourteen days, to be precise.” Her eyes bulged. “With all due respect, that’s highly improbable. Most suppliers for the caliber this hotel requires need a lead time of a year or more. Plus, there’s the logistics of moving everything in, staging, and coordinating with contractors for paint, wallpaper, and window treatments…” I arched an eyebrow, resting my chin on my hand. “I hired you because I believed you could make this happen. And considering you’re a single mother of three, I assumed you’d pull out all the stops. Was I wrong?” In that moment, her eyes searched mine, a mixture of shock and nervous determination reflected back at me. We hadn't discussed her children during our interview, but I had done my homework. Farrah Elkins. Thirty-four years old. Graduated from Upton University just four years after having her first child, Levi. After leaving her husband over infidelity, her divorce was finalized only a month ago. The court awarded her full custody with visitation rights for the father every other weekend. Currently living with her parents in a modest three-bedroom home near Arlington—her situation painted a vivid picture of the hunger for change that radiated from her, evident in everything from her meticulously styled curls to her calculated black-on-black outfit and sensible shoes. “No, sir,” she affirmed, her gaze imbued with fierce determination. “You won’t regret this.” “I know,” I replied simply, rising from the table and engaging in the reality of what lay ahead. “Let’s get started.”