New beginning: Billionaire love story (Claire and Alex) novel Chapter 425

The morning sun streamed through the massive glass windows of the Las Vegas office Claire was temporarily stuck in. She didn’t even try to hide her irritation as she glared at the tablet in her hand. Her perfectly planned day, packed with robotics meetings and design sessions for her company’s sci-fi-themed project, had been hijacked. Why? Because Alexander, in all his wisdom, had dumped his hotel-related responsibilities on her while he schmoozed an investor.

“This was not part of the deal,” Claire grumbled to herself, swiping through the endless designs on the tablet. She had already sent Alexander about ten passive-aggressive texts, but he hadn’t bothered to reply.

The sound of her phone vibrating broke her muttering. She picked it up to see his name flashing on the screen.

“Finally,” she snapped as she answered. “Alexander, care to explain why I’m suddenly managing your hotel project? I don’t recall signing up for this.”

His smooth, relaxed voice came through the line, sounding completely unbothered. “Claire, you’re a CEO. Surely, you know how these things work.”

Claire blinked at the audacity, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’m a CEO of Metacortex, not your personal assistant. I don’t know the first thing about running a hotel.”

Alexander chuckled, which only made her angrier. “You’re doing fine. All you need to do is keep an eye on things and make sure the designs match what the interior designer promised. Just check the tablet. Easy.”

“Easy?” Claire shot back. “Alexander, I have robots to build and deadlines to meet. This isn’t my—”

“Look, I’m handling the investor,” Alexander cut her off, his tone shifting to one of pleading seriousness. “I really need this deal to go through. Just... help me out, okay? I trust you.”

Claire opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself. His tone, annoyingly earnest, left her no room to argue. She let out a dramatic sigh instead. “Fine. But you owe me, big time.”

“Thanks, Claire. You’re the best,” Alexander said, his relief palpable before he hung up.

Claire stared at her phone in disbelief. “The best? More like the busiest,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. With no other choice, she turned back to the tablet.

The next few hours were a blur of meetings, emails, and half-hearted nods as designers explained their visions for the hotel's sci-fi-themed interiors. Claire couldn’t care less about the placement of glowing wall panels or the "immersive alien ambiance" in the lobby.

One designer, a man in thick-rimmed glasses and a dramatic scarf, waved his arms around as he spoke. “This chandelier, shaped like a UFO, represents the convergence of human curiosity and the cosmos! It’s the pièce de résistance of the lobby.”

Claire tilted her head, unimpressed. “Does it light up?”

The man blinked, thrown off by the blunt question. “Well, yes, but—”

“Great. As long as it works and doesn’t fall on anyone, you’re good,” she interrupted, gesturing for him to move on.

By lunchtime, Claire was running on fumes. She slumped into a chair in the corner of the office, rubbing her temples. The tablet beeped with yet another notification about the "space diner" concept, but she ignored it.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it to see a message from Matthew: How’s Vegas? Alien invasions yet?

Claire smirked and typed back: I wish. At least that would be interesting. Alexander dumped his hotel nonsense on me.

The reply came almost instantly: Classic Alexander. But hey! You are the Claire Peterson. You can handle anything and everything.

Claire laughed. Thanks for the confidence. Really appreciate it.

She shoved her phone into her pocket, determined to get through the day without completely losing her sanity.

“Hello?” Matthew's voice came through, slightly strained.

“Matthew,” Sandra started, her tone brisk. “We’ve got a meeting with a potential client tomorrow, and you need to be there. It’s important.”

There was a long pause on the other end, then Matthew sighed. “Sandra, I can’t. I’m... not feeling well.”

Sandra’s frown deepened, her pen freezing mid-tap. “Not feeling well?” she echoed, her voice laced with doubt. “Matthew, it’s been four days now. You’re never sick. What’s going on?”

Matthew bit his lip, leaning against the arm of his couch. He couldn’t tell her the truth, not about the wounds he was carefully hiding. Instead, he forced a light chuckle. “It’s just a bug or something. You know how it is. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Sandra wasn’t buying it. She leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes as if she could see him through the phone. “A bug? Matthew, you’re practically built like a tank. I’ve never even seen you catch a cold.”

“Well, even tanks need maintenance,” he quipped, hoping humor would deflect her suspicion.

Sandra didn’t laugh. Instead, she sighed, the sound heavy with both concern and frustration. “Fine. I’ll reschedule the meeting. But seriously, Matthew, if something’s wrong, you need to tell me.”

“Thanks, Sandra,” he said quickly, eager to end the conversation before she probed further. “I owe you one.”

As the call ended, Sandra stared at her phone, her unease growing. Matthew wasn’t just being evasive—he was hiding something. And Sandra didn’t like mysteries, especially when they involved people she worked closely with.

Her gaze drifted toward the calendar on her desk. Claire would be back in London soon. Maybe she’d know what was going on with Matthew. Sandra made a mental note to bring it up with her as soon as possible.