Reborn as the Villainess

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66

Eleanor had no desire to linger, especially since she didn't know any of Brock's friends. In her mind, dropping off a gift and leaving was more than enough.

But when Brock saw she was about to leave, he panicked. "No, wait! Angel... I mean, Eleanor. You've come all this way. At least stay for dinner. I've already booked the table and the food's been served. It'd be such a waste if you left now." Eleanor looked at him, puzzled. "Isn't this a party? Surely you have classmates here. They can eat the food."

Brock was left speechless. He inwardly cursed himself for the birthday party lie. "Oh, uh...everyone just left," he stammered. "I had some friends over last night. Figured I'd invite you separately today since you don't know them," Worried Eleanor might bail, he grabbed her arm and started steering her toward the elevator.

"It's true. I swear," Brock insisted. "Go up and see for yourself. The food's all laid out, and there really aren't any other classmates there."

As he tugged her along, Eleanor felt wave of physical discomfort. Unable to contain herself, she yanked her arm free. Her strength caught Brock off guard, accidentally slamming his hand into the doorframe with a loud thud.

Brock froze, stunned by her intense reaction. "You..."

Eleanor took a deep breath, stepping back to compose herself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that," she explained. "I'm just not comfortable being in close physical contact with men."

Brock noticed Eleanor's pale face and thought he might have frightened her. He quickly waved his hands, saying, "It's okay. That's totally on me. I shouldn't have grabbed you without asking. My bad."

Eleanor nodded, looking at his hand with a touch of guilt. "Is your hand alright?"

"This? Nah, it's nothing," Brock said, waving it off. "We take way harder hits in training. This is nothing." He felt a surge of excitement at Eleanor's concern. If he weren't trying to play it cool, he might have done a victory dance right then and there. Any lingering pain in his hand was long forgotten.

"Eleanor," he pleaded, his face full of hope, "we've come all this way. Why don't we go up and take a look? I've asked the chef to prepare several new special dishes. I'd be really, upset if you didn't come. I promise it won't take long."

Brock stared at Eleanor with eager anticipation, looking as if he was afraid she might run away at any moment. Despite being a burly man, Brock now looked pitiful, like a puppy about to be abandoned.

Eleanor heaved a long sigh. She decided it wasn't worth getting upset with someone who was acting like a child. "Fine," she conceded. "But I'm in my senior year, and it's pretty intense. I can only stay for an hour before I need to get back." Brock's face lit up instantly. He nodded enthusiastically, practically dancing with joy. "That's fine!" The elevator whisked them straight to the top floor.

Eleanor considered herself fairly well-off in her past life. She'd been to her share of luxurious places and thought she'd seen it all. But the opulence of this top floor left her stunned.

If the ground floor could be described as splendid, this was nothing short of a celestial palace.

The entire floor seemed like a pavilion straight out of a fairytale. Eleanor wondered if it was actually decorated with gems. The Byrons calling this a five-star hotel felt like an understatement - it could easily qualify for seven stars.

Brock led Eleanor to one of the rooms. As he opened the door, she was stunned by the sight before her - a true feast for the eyes and stomach.

The term "feast" didn't do justice to the spectacle. A massive rectangular table, large enough to seat fifty, groaned under the

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weight of countless distres. Dry ice created a misty atmosphere, giving the scene an almost mythical quality.

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Eleanor's jaw dropped. This wasn't just extravagant it was over the top. She doubted she could sample everything, even if she took just one bite of each dish.

"Did you raid every restaurant in the city?" Eleanor rolled her eyes.

Brock rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face. "Not quite that extreme. These are the hotel chefs' specialties. Some recipes were originally created for royalty, but we've had to get creative. A few ingredients are endangered species now, so our chefs had to improvise." Eleanor could only stare, speechless.

*****

Meanwhile, in another room, Stephen rubbed his forehead, his fingers flipping through the contract before him. With a frown, he tossed it to Oscar behind him. "Take a look at this."

Oscar awkwardly took the contract and began examining it carefully. He couldn't help but muse that the Byron family was clearly trying to curry favor with Stephen. They were taking the smaller share in all projects, offering the lion's share to Lloyd Group. Yet even this didn't seem to impress Stephen, who couldn't be bothered to review the contract himself.

Then again, it made sense. The Byrons were willing to take this loss because they wanted to cozy up to Lloyd Group-a giant in the industry. After all, Lloyd Group controlled nearly two-thirds of Cendelch's industries. Even if the Byrons couldn't get a full meal, the scraps from Lloyd's table would be enough to keep them prosperous for years to come.

The Byrons weren't the only ones trying to hitch their wagon to Lloyd's star. Many had tried, but Stephen saw potential in the Byrons' straightforward product line. Less complexity meant fewer headaches down the road.

At the end of the day, business was business. It all came down to the bottom line.

Oscar meticulously reviewed the entire project proposal. With a keen eye on Stephen's expression, he finally spoke up. "Mr. Lloyd, the contract looks perfect. It's ready for your signature." He then spread the document out and placed it before Stephen.

Stephen gave a curt nod and produced a sleek, gold-plated pen from his breast pocket. With a practiced hand, he signed his name, sealing the deal in one fluid motion.

James Byron, caught off guard by how smoothly everything had gone, couldn't contain his excitement. He rubbed his hands together gleefully as he shook Oscar's hand, clearly viewing him as the key player in sealing the deal.

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Lloyd!" James exclaimed. "You can rest assured. We're absolutely confident about this project. There won't be any hiccups. I promise you that."

Everyone in their circle knew that Stephen, the CEO of Lloyd Group, was a germaphobe who avoided physical contact. Handshakes were out of the question, and he couldn't even stand the smell of smoke on someone standing nearby. There was a story about a small-time CEO from an emerging industry who tried to curry favor with Lloyd Group by sending a couple of escorts Stephen's way. The next day, news broke that his company had filed for bankruptcy. After that incident, believers and skeptics alike kept their mouths shut.

Oscar, however, remained calm, maintaining his professional smile. "We'll await your good news, Mr. Byron," he said smoothly.

Inwardly, Oscar couldn't help but wonder. He knew he didn't have enough clout to influence Stephen's decisions. The reality was that Stephen had already approved the deal, and Oscar was just there to play his part in the conversation. "Excellent, excellent," James chuckled, his face crinkling with smile lines. "It's getting late. Shall we have dinner?"

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Chapter 67