A meal at the Lennox's

Chapter 14

Lyra

Saturday arrived, and so did February, the so-called month of love. While couples everywhere were making plans for romantic dinners and weekend getaways, my only romance was with the paycheck I’d received the day before. It was small—just two weeks’ wages—but it was mine, and the pride of earning it made me feel unstoppable.

To celebrate, I treated myself to a hearty English breakfast at a quaint little café nearby. Eggs, sausage, beans, toast, and tea—simple, cozy, and satisfying. After calling Mom to share the good news, I headed back to my small apartment to get ready for the meeting at Mr Lennox's place.

The address Anthony had sent sat neatly folded on my desk, and I stared at it for a second before reminding myself to focus. “Okay, Lyra. First big impression at the boss’s house. Don’t mess this up,” I muttered to myself.

I chose a simple but polished outfit: a soft cream-colored sweater tucked into a camel-toned wool skirt that hit just above the knee, paired with sheer tights and ankle boots. For warmth, I grabbed a beige trench coat and a knitted scarf in muted green. My hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and I kept my makeup minimal—a swipe of mascara, some blush, and lip balm.

As I grabbed my bag, my gaze fell on my glasses resting on the nightstand. “Oh, almost forgot you,” I said, snatching them up and tucking them into my purse.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address, settling in for the ride. As we approached the destination, my jaw slowly dropped.

The Lennox mansion was...otherworldly.

The gates alone were an iron masterpiece, tall and intricately designed with the family crest prominently displayed at the center. Guards stood on either side, dressed sharply in black, their posture as rigid as statues. Beyond the gates, a winding cobblestone driveway stretched endlessly, lined with perfectly manicured hedges and fountains that gleamed under the afternoon sun.

As we pulled closer, the full grandeur of the house came into view. “House” didn’t even feel like the right word—this was a palace. White stone walls, towering pillars, and massive glass windows framed the facade, making it seem both timeless and modern. A sprawling front lawn held sculptures and gardens that probably required an army of landscapers to maintain.

The cab stopped, and I stepped out, taking in the scene. Expensive cars—sleek black sedans and shiny sports models—lined the circular driveway. It was like stepping into a scene from one of those over-the-top billionaire lifestyle TV shows.

Anthony waved me over as I lingered near the entryway, still taking it all in. “Lyra, over here!”

I joined him, greeting a few other colleagues I recognized from the office. And then my eyes caught on Ethan.

Of course he was here.

He glanced at me, his gaze sweeping up and down in a way that made my skin crawl. I forced myself to stand taller, refusing to let him see that his presence bothered me.

We were ushered inside by sharply dressed butlers, and I had to bite back a gasp. The interior was somehow even more extravagant than the exterior. Marble floors that sparkled like diamonds, towering ceilings with crystal chandeliers, and walls adorned with fine art that probably cost more than my entire education.

The meeting hall we were led to looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel. Plush chairs arranged around a long table, sleek technology embedded in every surface, and refreshments laid out on silver trays.

I sat next to Anthony, who wasted no time grabbing a croissant from the spread. “You see Ethan?” he asked casually.

I nodded, glancing at Ethan, who was leaning against a wall, trying to look composed but clearly fuming. “Why’s he even here?” I whispered.

Anthony smirked. “He used to sit where the team lead does now. Big title, lots of perks. But after his demotion, he’s just...here.” He popped the croissant into his mouth, chewing with satisfaction. “Gotta say, it’s satisfying seeing him knocked down a peg.”

I looked at Ethan again, who was glaring at me like I’d personally ruined his life. Maybe I had, in a way. But he deserved it. All of it.

Life has a funny way of teaching lessons. Respect yourself, and somehow, the universe starts respecting you back. I felt that now more than ever as I sat in the meeting room of Mr Lennox's mansion, surrounded by people who probably didn’t think I belonged here—Ethan being the most vocal of them, if not in words, then in his daggered stares.

But I held my head high, pretending to sip the cappuccino one of the butlers had brought me.

The doors swung open with a smoothness that felt choreographed, and in walked Roman Lennox.

The energy in the room changed instantly. Conversations died down, chairs were adjusted, and I could almost hear the collective intake of breath from my colleagues. Roman was...commanding, to say the least. His tailored navy suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, the crisp white shirt underneath open just enough to hint at the strong line of his throat. His black hair was styled back, sharp and polished, and his pale blue eyes scanned the room with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.

He looked fresh, composed, and undeniably in control—like he hadn’t just stepped into the room but had arrived, bringing the atmosphere along with him.

I watched as Lisa, seated a few chairs down from me, subtly fixed her blouse and sat up straighter. When she caught my eye, she gave me a quick, sheepish smile, and I couldn’t help but smirk back. Honestly, I didn’t blame her—or any of the other women in the office who seemed to have a thing for him. Roman Lennox had the kind of face that women probably wrote poetry about. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, lips that stayed just this side of stern.

The kind of face that... No. I shook my head, forcing myself to focus.

As Roman greeted us with a polite nod, he strode to the head of the table and sat down, exuding authority. He reached for his coffee—black, naturally—and took a sip. The smallest flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, and I couldn’t help but silently judge him. What’s a world without sugar?

I don’t know if my thoughts somehow transferred to him, but his eyes suddenly lifted and locked on mine. For a heartbeat, it felt like he’d read my mind, and my cheeks flared with heat. Straightening in my chair, I quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the contents of my notebook.

Anthony, bless him, leaned forward and handed Roman the iPad containing today’s agenda. “We’ve got the key details for the project outlined here,” he said, his tone confident.

Roman nodded, his eyes scanning the screen with that same focused intensity. I found myself wondering what it would take to rattle a man like him—or if he even could be rattled.

From the look of Roman Lennox, it was clear that he worked weekends—probably every weekend. I couldn’t decide whether to pity him or admire his discipline. It seemed necessary, though, given the weight he carried. Sole heir to a sprawling empire of multinational companies, restaurants, casinos, and now, it seemed, a venture into healthcare.

The meeting started promptly, with Roman commanding the room as he introduced the new project. Lennox Group was diversifying into the health sector, a bold move to establish their name in hospitals and healthcare services. Roman explained that this wasn’t just about profit—it was about creating a lasting legacy.

I listened intently as the discussion shifted to logistics, budgeting, partnerships, and projections. My role was clear: I was here to provide insights on client relations and community engagement, ensuring the project aligned with the company’s goals while appealing to investors and stakeholders.

When it was my turn to speak, I stood, my palms slightly damp but my voice steady. “I believe that while the financial investment is significant, the key to success in the healthcare sector is trust. We need a strategy to build relationships not only with partners but with the communities we aim to serve. A robust marketing campaign paired with local outreach initiatives can position us as a company that genuinely cares, not just one seeking profit.”

There was a hum of acknowledgment, but of course, Ethan couldn’t resist cutting in.

“That’s idealistic at best,” he said with a smirk. “This isn’t a charity, Lyra. We’re here to make returns, not hold hands.”