It took about three hours for Delvin and George to reach Plagatoscal Blueview Hotel.
The moment they stepped through the revolving glass doors, George's heart hammered against his ribs.
The lobby stretched before them like a palace—polished marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, the scent of jasmine and expensive cologne hanging in the air. Leather luggage on brass carts. The soft murmur of wealth.
George's worn sneakers squeaked against the floor as he walked toward the security desk. His legs felt heavy, exhaustion weighing on every step. He twisted his bracelet—a nervous habit—and cleared his throat.
"H-hello!" he stammered.
The security guard looked up slowly, his eyes traveling from George's faded jeans to his wrinkled shirt. The man's jaw tightened. When he spoke, his tone was cold, sharp as glass.
"Can I help you?"
George felt the ripple of judgment, the way the guard's gaze stripped him bare. His pulse quickened. He swallowed hard and forced his voice steady.
"Is Mr. Parker around?"
The guard's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Yes, he's in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?"
The question landed like a trap. George exhaled slowly, his chest tight. "No, b-but... we would like to m-meet him. I-i know him in person."
Behind him, Delvin stood several feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying not to look as out of place as he felt. Guests in tailored suits and designer dresses glanced at them—two men who didn't belong, their worn clothes a stark contrast to the luxury around them.
A woman in a crisp hotel uniform approached, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. Galaya Steadman. Her badge gleamed under the lights, and her eyes swept over George and Delvin with unmistakable distaste.
George cleared his throat again. "I... I need to see Mr. Parker. He... he knows me."
His fingers twisted the bracelet on his left wrist, the metal warm from his nervous fidgeting. His words came out plain, fragile, but steady.
Galaya's stare was ice. "Mr. Parker doesn't meet with just anyone." Her voice rose, sharp enough to cut. "You think you can walk in here, dressed like *that*, mumbling at the desk, and demand the owner's time?"
A few guests nearby turned to watch. George's face burned, but he held his ground.
"Not happening," Galaya continued, straightening her badge. "Not while I'm here."
"I'm not here to cause trouble," George said quietly. "Just... just let him know I'm waiting."
Galaya's laugh was cold. "Waiting? You'll be waiting *outside*. This is a hotel, not a shelter for strays."
From the crowd, a woman whispered to her companion, "Poor thing. He looks exhausted."
But a man in an expensive watch chuckled. "What do they expect, walking in here looking like that?"
George's heart pounded in his ears. Heat crept up his neck. 'She wants to humiliate me. I won't back down. Not until I meet Mr. Parker.'
He clenched his fist, feeling the sweat on his palm. "I-I don't need your permission. I just need *him*."
The crowd murmured louder now. Some faces showed pity—soft eyes, uncomfortable shifts. Others smirked, enjoying the spectacle.
Galaya's eyes flickered with something darker. She hated that he wouldn't bow, hated that he spoke of Mr. Parker like he had the right.
"You don't belong here," she said, louder now, making sure everyone heard. "You don't belong in this hotel. And you will *not* see Mr. Parker."
George's breath came shallow. His vision tunneled. But then—
"H-he knows me," George said, his voice steady despite the stammer. "That's all that matters."
The simplicity of it seemed to unsettle her.
Suddenly, a door opened upstairs.
The lobby fell quiet.
Footsteps descended the staircase—measured, unhurried. Mr. James Parker appeared, wearing a casual blue shirt and black shorts, adjusting his sneakers as he came down. His presence commanded the space. Conversations stopped mid-sentence.
Some guests who didn't recognize him kept whispering. "Who's that?"
"The owner," someone hissed back.
Mr. Parker's eyes scanned the lobby, landing on the crowd gathered around the reception desk. His voice was calm but firm.
"Galaya. What's the meaning of this noise?"
Galaya stiffened. Her authority crumbled. "Sir, this man... he doesn't belong here. He—he was *demanding* to see you."
Mr. Parker's gaze shifted to George. For a moment, time seemed to stop. Then his face softened, and something like delight flickered in his eyes.
"I know him." His voice rang clear across the lobby. "George is welcome here."
The crowd gasped. Murmurs rippled through the space.
"Oh my God..."
"She messed up."
Galaya's face went pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.
George felt the bracelet slip from his fingers as relief flooded his chest. His knees nearly buckled. He didn't smile—he simply nodded, the weight lifting from his shoulders.
Galaya stepped back, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, sir."
The crowd began to disperse, their whispers following them. "Can you believe that?" "She was so harsh..." "Poor guys."
George stood taller now. Not triumphant. Just... seen.
"H-how are you, sir?" George asked, his voice soft.
Mr. Parker smiled warmly. "Where have you been, young man?"
George fidgeted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Boss, I-I was very sick, f-for the past three months."
It was a lie, but Mr. Parker didn't press. He knew why George was here.
"I have work for you. Come tomorrow. Ben will take you to my new house and show you what needs to be done."
George's heart soared. His face lit up, his body straightening with renewed energy. "T-thank you, sir. I-I also came with a-a friend who has multiple skills. H-he can be a great asset to you."
Delvin, who had been watching from a distance, moved forward quickly. His heart was pounding so hard he thought everyone could hear it.
Mr. Parker gave a mischievous grin. "Is that right?"
He turned to Delvin, assessing him with calm, analytical eyes. Delvin's hands trembled slightly, but he held himself together.
"What are your qualifications, young man?"
Delvin swallowed hard. "I can do any job, sir, but I am a qualified electrical and electronics engineer."
"Did you come with your documents?"
Delvin's stomach dropped. He hadn't thought of that. Desperation clawed at him. "No, sir. Can I bring them tomorrow?"
Mr. Parker's smile was almost amused. "How do you come to seek a job without documents?"
Delvin felt like a fool. Heat rushed to his face. "I will come with them tomorrow, sir. My apologies."
The silence stretched. Delvin's heart hammered. He crossed his fingers, barely breathing.
Finally, Mr. Parker nodded. "Come back tomorrow with him." He pointed at George. "Ben will take you both to my new house in Emasdale. Check it out, tell me what problems it has. Only then will we pick up from there."
Delvin's face broke into a wide smile. "Thank you so much, sir. You will not regret it."
Mr. Parker walked out of the glass door of the lobby. The Range Rover stopped. He got in. The engine purred to life. Mr. Parker waved casually as the car pulled away. He glanced at George. "See you around, young man. And don't disappoint me this time."
George smiled shyly. "Y-yes, sir."
They watched the car disappear down the road. Both men exhaled at the same time—a long, shaky breath of relief.
Delvin turned to look at the hotel, after they left the lobby, its grandeur almost overwhelming. 'My God. This man is loaded. One day... one day I'll have this too.' The chandelier flickered, as his mind remembered the Range Rover.
The security guard watched them with jealous eyes.
George shouted, his voice ringing out with pure joy. "W-we did it, brother! L-let's go home!"
Delvin grinned, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Yes, yes, my friend. Let's go."
They were about to leave when Delvin stopped suddenly.