Rhys Cadell | Resort | Investor | Czarina Sokolova

Thwack!

A delayed sense of urgency startled Rhys enough to flinch awake at feeling an abrupt assault to his stomach.

Thwack! Thwack!

The attack ensued, moving steadfastly upwards to his neck and -dear God no, not his face! Quickly, sloppily, his hands flew up to form a tight cross over his face to protect it from any further injury. A robbery? No, a robber wouldn’t be screeching and squawking at him to leave. Leave where? Between the attack, his lingering haze, and the threat of a mighty hangover looming over him… Rhys’ sense of his bearings were rather frazzled. “If you could-” His husky hiss was furthermore interrupted by the assailant and her bothersome broom.

Sitting up and using a hand to swat at the broom -whilst still ensuring his face was to be protected-, Rhys growled a groggy remark. “Hit me again and I’ll hit you with a lawsuit more expensive than that poor excuse of a nose job.” Quite honestly, Rhys had hardly got a good enough look of this smaller, unnecessarily angry woman to know whether she had any botched implants or facial constructions done. What he did know, however, was that it was possible his remark would spur more violence upon him… which wasn’t exactly in his best interest.

“Look, I'm leaving. No need to be so mean, love.” The Englishman added more coherently, daring to shift his cautious green orbs in the woman’s direction as he sat up. Now that he was drinking in the vision of the smaller brunette female, he ultimately came to the conclusion that the nose job comment was rather inaccurate. As if he would admit that though. Instead, the young man blinked away to strain his thoughts for fragmented, drunken memories. Nothing lucid came to mind, but he was aware of the fact he was still in this woman’s bed, and… clothes. His shirt.

An exasperated sigh escaped his slightly parted lips at the realization he had lost yet another shirt of his to one of his black out nights. It’s his second time losing a shirt this week, in fact.

Rhys’ goal was getting up and out of the bed -at least he had lower garments on-, and he was enacting that goal. Though as he removed himself from the bed, the Englishman couldn’t help but to detect the scent of coffee. Good God that smelled amazing right now. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Colombian blend to go, would you?” A light smirk played at the corners of his lips, though a part of him was still anticipating to be further berated by the woman’s weapon of choice, so he hastened his movements. And now that the blonde was removed from the coddling of the bed, he did allow his gaze a quick sweep of the surroundings, only to regret his eyes’ quick look around that ended in a wave of subtle dizziness. Refocusing his now squinted sights -damn the atrociously bright light of morn- on the nearest wall to steady his internal feeling of stability, he glanced towards the female, debating to ask her for a shred of direction, but ultimately, he decided to take the ‘fuck it, I’ll figure it out on my own’ route and started towards the door.

“I’d inquire about breakfast, but I believe I’ve sampled enough of what a menu comprised of me-n-you would be,” Rhys threw over his shoulder as his hand stopped on the door knob, “have a good… whatever the bloody hell today is.” The male added, flashing a simple half-smile back to her before slipping out of the room, and praying she and her trusty broom sidekick wouldn’t dare follow. Left, right, left again. Rhys’ eyes slowly trailed up and down the corridor during his slow deciphering of which direction he would need to take to get him to his own dwelling space. It wasn’t worth pestering the woman -whom he didn’t care enough about to gather a name from- about his shirt, because that shirt was sure as hell not worth getting another beating for. As a businessman, he was sensible enough to know when to call something a logical loss. That logic cut through his now pounding headache, leaving him with just two things on his mind as he decided on going left; aspirin and a new shirt.

czarina sokolova | resort | olympic pairs skater | rhys cadell, sasha sidorov

“Hit me again and I’ll hit you with a lawsuit more expensive than that poor excuse of a nose job.”

Seemingly amused by this threat or the poorly-constructed insult thrown in along with it, Czarina took a moment to pause, crossing her arms and offering an amused smirk. “Hmm? Threaten me again and you'll be the one needing a nose job.” She gestured around the room before allowing her icy stare to narrow, falling dead in his eyes once again. “Don’t forget who’s trespassing on whose property. I’m sure a little bitch boy like you has had to pay off an allegation or two, no?”

This seemed to sober him up enough to make his pleadings bearable and to catalyze movement as far as this stranger getting the hell out of her apartment. As she stood up, she looked him up and down with no fear of being caught doing so. She had a disdainful look on her face as if his shredded figure was nauseating, as if he was the only man here that seemed to have a more stable relationship with protein powder than with his family. The difference was that there wasn’t a lingering question of if she’d slept with any of the others. With them, she could simply scowl at them in the hallway and not think anything more of it. Even the idea that something had maybe happened between them–no matter how drunk or incoherent they were–would surely keep her up at night. The prospect was a living nightmare.

Despite her natural inclination towards getting lost in her head, the annoying stranger in her hotel room was making it impossible to forget he was still there. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Colombian blend to go, would you?”

In many ways, he reminded her of a young child. He seemed to thrive off of everyone telling him how cute he was and used his looks and charm to manipulate others into doing things for him that he should have been capable of doing for himself. Czarina could never imagine coexisting with someone like that, let alone pretending to be in love with them. Even for money, even for connections: nothing in the world could make a man like this one attractive to her. She turned to face him, straightening the front of her clothing with the back of her hands. She offered him an annoyed, sarcastic look, fire in her eyes. “Only if I’m throwing it on your bare skin to burn you.”

Not long after, it finally seemed to occur to the man that his presence wasn’t welcome in Czarina’s space. She was running late as it was, and this wasn’t a worthy excuse for being late to practice. She’d seen his type before: no sense of time, no sense of urgency, no desire or passion for anything other than chasing cheap thrills. His family was probably rich and had given him everything he wanted and nothing he needed. His kind always left a bad taste in her mouth, especially given how much passion, drive, and work it had taken for her to get to where she was. He’d gotten there for free, and all he had to show for it was a willingness to let people help him far too easily and a few cheesy pickup lines.

“I’d inquire about breakfast, but I believe I’ve sampled enough of what a menu comprised of me-n-you would be,” Rhys threw over his shoulder as his hand stopped on the door knob, “have a good… whatever the bloody hell today is.”

Despite her relief at the fact that he had left, Czarina was confused regarding the fact that he hadn’t left with a jacket. It left her to believe that either someone else had taken his jacket and he hadn’t yet realized, or that he resided in this building as well. Both options were equally undesirable because they provided equal chances at him coming back to her room at a later date and time. Yet, when she poked her head out of the doorway to make sure he was really leaving, his lack of sense of direction reassured her that he surely didn’t live in this building. Still, that left more questions in her mind regarding what his next moves were going to be. It was in the negatives outside and he was barely wearing anything. Despite her general intrigue and amusement at the prospect of his limited options, Czarina forced herself to concentrate and focus on the day she had ahead of her.

It wasn’t until much later in the day that the events of the morning returned to her mind, not so much by choice but by necessity. After all of her workouts and practice sessions were over and she’d had a bit of time to herself, Czarina made her way to the other side of the resort to where the business offices were held. She had a meeting with some of the wealthiest men in the world regarding resort business. She wasn’t there because of her intelligence or her sly business tactics, but merely because of her ability to speak different languages necessary for making international arrangements a success. Somewhere along the line she’d been promoted to a position where she did more work and received worse treatment. She’d supposedly been ‘rewarded’ after replacing the ideas and concepts of the demented elderly man who’d been on the board with her own, leading them to one of the biggest successes in the resort’s history. That was three years ago, and she still wasn’t receiving any sort of success, respect, or progress in this position. Still, the way she’d come into this line of work was complicated, and she quite literally could not quit or start over elsewhere. Because of this, she simply made due with her circumstances and worked as hard as she could hoping for eventual change.

Much to her surprise, she arrived to find several of the usual members in their seats with extra chairs pulled up to the table. “I didn’t know we were expecting company,” she said simply, sitting in her normal chair and pulling her items out of her briefcase.

“Well, why would you?” One of the older gentlemen looked at her scornfully. A different one, one of the milder men, filled her in.

“The Cadells are coming today,” he said, as if she was supposed to know who they were. She didn’t, and she really couldn’t care less. Money didn’t earn Czarina’s respect.

“Oh,” she mumbled gently, waiting for the meeting to begin. Much to her disbelief, the Brit from her bed that morning came tumbling through the glass doors looking like a tornado had hit him. His clothes and hair were disheveled and all of his items seemed to spill out on the table before he’d even sat down. Her first impression was that he’d somehow tracked her down and was coming to hash out some sort of relationship drama he’d created in his head (it wouldn’t be the first time) but given the way he was dressed and the items he’d brought with him, she quickly realized the reality of what was happening was much worse.

“Rhys, meet Czarina, our translator. She took over for Stan a while back.”

“We’ve met,” she stated simply, trying to lighten up the defensiveness in her tone. Not so much for his sake but for the sake of her job.

“We’ll discuss more once the others get here, but we thought you might want to take her with you for your father’s latest projects.”

Typically she would have rejected the idea immediately, her body language and expression made this very clear, but she easily noticed the confusion on his face and realized it seemed he had no more of an idea of what they were talking about than she did. Daddy issues…she thought, trying not to let the smirk creep onto her painted lips as she sat in thought, waiting for the others to arrive.

Rhys Cadell | Resort | Czarina Sokolova

At the very least, Rhys could always rely on his father to bail him out of situations that risked the Cadell’s reputation facing any measure of sully. Such as the embarrassing dilemma of being stranded in a complex Rhys had very little means to get away from. It had ruffled him so to endure someone so unmoved by his charm - the sole thing he relied heavily upon to steadfastly get what he wanted. His father was also an exception to his attempts of glamour.

After having daddy rescue him, Rhys was practically thrown into his own corridor, the burning eyes of Rhett Cadell upon him with such venom that it could have made a man cough blood. Though the younger blond steadied himself, matching the stare of his father and crossing his arms as if in the midst of throwing a tantrum. “You embarrass me so.” Rhys dared speak. His father scoffed, utilizing the back of his hand in an attempt to slap sense into his degenerate son.

“I should be saying that, Rhys. Me.” Rhys quieted, his arms folding in tighter to express his silent dismay. “I will not tolerate your humiliating antics when I have chosen you as my heir and right hand. Your streak of impulsive, moronic whim ends now, or so help me Rhys I will replace your name on my will so damn fast it’ll make your head spin.” The younger blond swallowed harshly, a trickle of fear of such a notion breaching his previously steeled gaze.

“Your behavior befits a child and as such you will be punished, consider yourself grounded. Your various monetary splurges will have limitations, and for the foreseeable future - you’ve lost all privileges to the yacht, and I will henceforth not allow your summer excursion on it.”

Rhys gasped, as if having been struck once more. “That’s not fair-”

Rhett delivered a bitter chuckle at his son’s expense. “It is, and if your mother hadn’t coddled and catered to your every whine you wouldn’t be so embarrassingly reliant on me and dysfunctional as a man.” It was like the air had been ripped out of Rhys’ lungs with every word his father spoke. “Now pull yourself together, we have a meeting to attend. If you’re not in attendance on time, rest assured I’ll find some other privileges of yours to revoke.” Rhett excused himself from the room, muttering as he left about how much this had been a waste of his time.

Surely if Rhys had protested any further his father would have only gotten more creative with his punishments out of spite. And cruelty. It was cruel of the older gent, was it not? Who was he to place restrictions on Rhys? Though the Brit dare not argue against it. Having rather heaved with bratty vexation and rushed to pull himself together.

• • •

Having only had time to shower and throw on a new set of pressed slacks, and a white-collared button down, Rhys was inherently upset at his lack of time for personal grooming. The Englishman had been rushing for the entirety of his morning and prayed he had everything necessary on his person for this meeting. He was terrified of the thought that his father would openly ridicule him.

The tousled morning mess that was Rhys entered the room, though his eyes spared no glance at the lesser individuals already seated, but rather his gaze was searching for his father that appeared to have not yet arrived. A breath of relief rose in his throat as he sat, though he was robbed of such consolation whilst his attention shifted to a female figure he was currently both shocked and abhorred to be in the presence of. As if his morning hadn’t been tolling enough.

“Rhys, meet Czarina, our translator. She took over for Stan a while back.”

A sigh pushed through his nostrils. “I’m mildly acquainted.” Though even the term he used in regards to knowing Czarina was a stretch.

“We’ve met.”

Disallowing his attention to remain so focused on the brunette, his eyes trailed to the man who began speaking once more. “We’ll discuss more once the others get here, but we thought you might want to take her with you for your father’s latest projects.” Rhys’ brows became two pieces of puzzlement that pushed together to form a crinkle of inquisition. Projects? He hadn’t recalled his father sharing any developmental projects with him. Was this lack of information too a form of creatively cruel punishment?

Begrudgingly he allowed himself a glimpse of Czarina. Her silent objection sheathing something more, though Rhys’ splitting migraine began to return with a vengeance and he had no means to dissect her internal workings. Only being able to spare a squint before he removed his gaze, adjusting his collar and raking a hand through his hair to appear at least more presentable for his father’s arrival.

The man who resonated with poise and power made his entrance, and it beckoned Rhys to adjust his posture into a more applaudable form. Rhett smiled and shook a few hands with men that chose to stand in greeting. Though no effort was given to acknowledge his son. Their resemblance couldn’t escape a blind man though; their eyes a similar dazzlingly green kaleidoscope, and having a synonymous sculpt to their features. The most defined difference between the men being that the senior Cadell had eased lusciously into that of being a silver-esque fox. The only trace of blond left on the older gent being his lighter tinted lashes.

Rhys made an effort to brush his arms off for no particular reason, debating whether it would be in his best interest to attempt engaging with his father as he made small talk with other men. “Was there some kind of memo he sent out about projects?” Rhys turned his gaze to the figures beside him, though the question directed itself to Czarina as well. The thought of everyone in this room being cued in on more of his own father’s developments then he was riddled the Englishman with internal insecurity, though he veiled it through casual curiosity. As if he was simply too unbothered to frequently check in on everything his father had revolving around him.