Royal Affection

Harold Grism had been ignoring the constant stream of calls to his cell phone for three days now. It wasn't as if he thought he could run away from the truth, he wasn't a coward; he just wanted the respect of hearing the news in person. Too long had he put up with this company's bullshit, having to crawl his way through the putrid beginnings of tech support, all the way up to the top floor, his office and his prize. Even then, as he stood in front of the large plate glass window, overlooking the city (HIS city) it still felt overwhelming to feel the power that emitted from the faint glowing lights below. Here he was king, a god that could see all and reigned  everything in this paved empire.
Instinctively, he reached out, almost shivering at the cold glass beneath his fingertips. They were trying to get rid of him, after everything he'd done for them. He'd pulled them out from debt, beaten down the competition and dealt with every single obstacle they could have thrown in his way. He was their savior, but now, with the unfortunate "set back" of getting cancer, he was deemed a weak link. It was hard for him to comprehend being thrown from the top under the less-than-suspicious circumstances. Didn't most places have counseling session, or maybe even a 'get well' seminar for times like these? Wasn't Cancer the big corporate playing card that could make one's career? "I picked the wrong  line of work." he grumbled, glaring off into the distance.

Down on the bottom floor, someone was waiting for him, a young man by the  name of Svetlana Holub. He was a tall, feminine, slender man with long silky blond hair that fell neatly onto his shoulders. He'd loosened the ties which had held it up in a neat ponytail to signify that he had finished the day, standing almost statuesque with his eyes locked on the main elevator. It was a sight that stood out amongst the crowd of employees who ambled their way through the building; for he looked nothing like his co-workers. While the company had a rather conservative look about them: dark suits with darker ties, his choice of clothing was something out of a Victorian era. Snug fitting shirts, frills and buckles were his choice of attire and he hadn't once been asked to change so it had remained his norm.
"Waiting for the boss, Mr. Holub?" someone asked him playfully, the joke being that he'd had a romantic appeal towards the president, Harold Grism. This was, in fact,  hearsay and he wouldn't confirm, nor deny the rumor. What he would admit to, was the deep admiration he held for their employer; who had the highest ratings and the most professional dimer of anyone he had ever met. The man's voice and steely looks portrayed nothing but power and it was that which drew him to the company in the first place. He wanted to be closer to him, to see the man who was a legend in the business.
Harold finished off a glass of scotch and picked up his coat, taking one last look around his office. This was his home, and he was going to fight for it; his kingdom and he would never surrender. With that thought in the back of his mind, Harold walked through the double doors, locked it behind him and scanned his hand, smirking slightly as the alarm clicked on. Right now, he still had the power and no one could stop him.

The doors to the elevator slid open and the man Svetlana was waiting for stepped out. Standing at 6'2, clad in a dark suit with his dark, graying hair gelled back, Harold Grism looked regnant. His eyes narrowed, almost hatefully at the employees as they did their best to rush out of his way. He continued to squint when he approached the front desk, speaking quietly but firmly to the receptionist. Svetlana caught his stare and memorized his face for the second time that day. His eyes were dark, wild and intense which he used to lock his clients in during meetings. His features were well defined: Strong and breathtaking, with a small black spot under his eye that added a timeless beauty reserved for classic movie stars. It was Harold's lips, however, that were his selling point. Tight, thin and worn in a viselike scowl that exuded an intimidating attitude. Svetlana watched him in quiet desperation, biting his lip slightly. What cruel fate it was for someone so powerful to be on the edge of losing everything. No one could possibly take his place.
Harold eyed the younger, more lavishly dressed man as he made his over; at least Holub was loyal, he thought to himself. Even if that loyalty came from somewhere else.
"Mr. Grism." Svetlana breathed, his thick, sweet Ukrainian accent flooding his speech. "Are yous heading homes?"
"Yeah." Harold replied, staring into the man's deep red-brown eyes. "I take it you are as well." He gestured  to Svetlana's appearance.
Svetlana's face flushed a pale shade of pink. "I ams.. How did-"
"Your hair." grunted Harold. "You do that thing..."
"Let it down?"
"yeah..."
The two men locked in a gaze, small talk wasn't what either of them had in mind.
"I'm leaving." Harold finally sighed, turning in his heel. Svetlana let go of a heavy, nervous breath, which he had unconsciously withheld and followed him out. He waited until he saw the rim of Harold's coat vanish around the corner before he made his way to his car. Something about the way the president spoke to him made him flustered. The look between the two of them was like rapid fire, and he could still feel the chills running up and down his spine; a sensation that made him giggle slightly as he turned the engine on and drove out of the parking lot.