She had no doubt in her mind that he was aware of her presence, but simply chose not to pay her any attention. But there had to be an end to it. Eventually, he’d have to acknowledge her.

She wasn’t sure anymore if she wanted that to happen, though. Maybe he was going to ignore her all the way through. Maybe he’d leave in the morning and all of this would just be a dream.

She slowly lowered herself to the table surface, sitting down cross-legged, preparing to wait. In her mind, she practiced her rhetoric. “I am asking you to leave”. “If you leave right now, I will not be lodging a complaint”. “I am going to assume you never noticed me”. Nothing seemed exactly right to say, but she had to come up with something - something that would establish her position firmly and make it clear that he needs to stop this…

Then there was a sudden movement as he leaned forward. Before she could even squeak, his hand was already upon her; thick, smooth fingers got her by the shoulders and roughly yanked her up, and then there was his phone right next to her. In the dark screen she saw her own reflection. But it was backlit. The phone was on. In the top side of the screen, there was a logo - something with a… microphone?

“On signal, say your name, age, occupation”, the man said, his tone low and heavy. “Nothing else”.

“What…”

There was an audible signal. She squirmed in his fingers; her feet swung back and forth in the air. Cynthia gulped when she felt his grip get tighter.

“Cynthia Lang, t-twenty five”, she said. “Graduate student in biochemistry…”

He waited another couple of seconds, then released her. She fell onto his pant leg and rolled off of it back into that strip of table surface, only she was between his thighs now, and there was almost no space. Above her, the man put his phone next to his ear.

“Alright”, he said.

“What does any of this mean?!” - She cried out from below. No reaction followed. She turned towards the inner side of his thigh and, bracing herself, punched against it. Still nothing.

Her shoulders hurt from being squeezed. Fear slowly rose in her; the confirmation that he was aware of her didn’t help, because she was now sure his motives were not good. She wanted to call Mary and Bryan, but had no way to do so. How could the hotel let this guy into her room? How did this make any sense at all?

His hand moved at her again. She braced herself, even tried to fight it off, but this was futile. She couldn’t resist him. He lifted her by pinching her on both sides, lifted her up in the air, and now she was right in front of his face - and as he studied her, she studied him back. Wide-set eyes, chiseled jaw, impeccable hairline and sideburns, piercing blue eyes, thin lips, ever so slightly noticeable bluish sheen on his shaven cheeks… it made her think of what he saw right now: a little black-haired woman in a silly robe, flustered, squirming.

His lips curved into a sly smile. The world shifted then, and his hand brought her away… and down… towards the carpeted floor next to his armchair. She was carelessly dropped on the ground. As she gathered her senses, she heard the armchair creaking again.

She turned around to finally see him in his entirety. He stood up right over her - incomprehensibly large, he towered over her, dominated her field of vision. His attractive, but stern face, his well-fitting shirt, his tie, his golden watch on the left hand… the shiny belt buckle… the pants over pillar-like legs… and, closest to her, large feet with silky black socks on them. She was scared of him to death, but she couldn’t deny his handsomeness, his cold beauty. Charisma radiated from him. This was a man of quality, someone who probably was in total control of his life. Someone who was very, very far outside of the little academic bubble she was used to. Cynthia felt… inadequate.