Safe With You

Power Moves And Perfume

~ Greyson ~

After the weekend we’ve just had — pancakes, the girls dancing around in pyjamas, Alyssa laughing until she cried — coming into work feels like punishment.

The day stretches ahead: a morning of contracts, planning meetings, and architects who love to hear themselves talk. Then, this afternoon, I’ve got what I’ve been clinging to as motivation — taking Mum and Lillian over to AQ for their fitting session with Alyssa.

Seeing her, even for an hour, is the only thing getting me through the slog.

I’m halfway through a report when I hear it — that shrill, sugar-coated voice I’d recognise anywhere.

Kenzi Jones.

Of course.

The door flies open before I can even respond. Her perfume hits me like a physical blow — floral, sickly, and aggressive.

“Kenzi,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Get. Out. Of. My. Office.”

She ignores the warning and struts closer, arms folded, expression smug. “Who is she, Greyson? Who’s the tramp leaving love bites on your neck?”

I don’t even bother to look up. “Doesn’t matter to you. We’re not together, and frankly, you don’t get to ask.”

Her voice sharpens. “You’ve never looked at me the way you look at her.”

I finally glance up, unimpressed. “You can’t touch her anyway, Kenzi. She’d eat you alive. Now, unless you want me to have security escort you out, go.”

Her mouth opens and closes once before she storms out, heels clicking like gunfire on the tile.

The office air finally feels breathable again.

A ping of notification lights my screen — a photo on my lock screen: Alyssa, Quinn, and Poppy sitting on a wall watching the sunset. My world, framed in gold. I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face.

Winston chooses that exact moment to wander in.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” he asks, leaning over my desk.

I just hand him the phone.

His grin matches mine. “Alright, that’s actually adorable. I’ll stop teasing you for a whole hour.”

“Appreciated,” I say dryly.

He grabs the meeting file from my desk, scanning it. “Bloody hell, she’s expanding AQ again. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

“That’s my girl,” I say, pride warming my chest.

He raises an eyebrow. “Careful, Riley. You’re smiling again.”

“Get her some tea before the meeting,” I tell him. “She’s far more agreeable when caffeinated.”

Winston laughs, already heading for the door.

Five minutes later, I’m in the meeting room — trying to remember I’m meant to be professional today.

Because there she is.

Alyssa Rose.

Hair in a slick bun, a tailored black dress hugging her figure — the same one she wasn’t wearing this morning — with a structured blazer and those heels that make every man in the room forget how to breathe. The bump she’s so carefully hiding barely shows, thanks to her newest creation — the beginnings of her maternity wear line, designed to blend comfort with power. She’s her own best model, and she doesn’t even realise it.

She looks up, meeting my eyes for just a second, and the corner of her mouth twitches — subtle, but real.

My woman. My chaos. My calm.

Elle’s seated beside her, and another AQ representative I don’t recognise sits on her right, papers spread out across the table.

Winston returns with her tea just as the rest of my staff files in — lead designers, contractors, all pretending not to gawk.

Alyssa notices.

“Well, gentlemen,” she says coolly, “if you’re quite done eye-f*****g me, we can get started. I have another appointment in an hour.”

The room goes dead silent.

She folds her arms. “You’re all wearing wedding rings, yes? Then imagine a group of men ogling your wives while she’s trying to conduct business.”

Every man at the table suddenly finds the grain of the wood very interesting.

Winston leans toward me, muttering, “She’s terrifying.”

I grin. “And I love her for it.”

She accepts the tea with a polite nod. “Thank you, Winston. Always a pleasure.”

He chuckles. “Any time, Miss Rose. You just saved me from a lifetime of shopping trips with Mum — least I could do.”

It’s then I realise — Winston already knew about this expansion. I’ll deal with that betrayal later.

~ Alyssa ~

Meetings like this make my skin crawl — too many egos, too much posturing.

And then there’s her.

Some woman loitering outside the glass wall of the conference room — early thirties, too much makeup, knock-off Jimmy Choos that are fooling no one. Her eyes keep darting from me to Greyson like she’s deciding whether to interrupt.

My patience snaps.

“Apologies, everyone,” I say, rising. “There’s a woman outside this room who’s been lurking for half an hour. I’ll be right back.”

The perfume hits me before she even opens her mouth. My stomach churns.

“What’s your name?” I ask flatly.

“K-Kenzi,” she stammers.

“Well, Kenzi, why have you been standing outside my meeting for thirty minutes? Spit it out — some of us have real jobs.”

Her gaze drops to my shoes, eyes wide.

“I’m waiting,” I warn, tapping my Louboutin against the marble floor.

“It’s not important,” she squeaks. “It can wait.”

“Good. Then here’s some advice,” I say sweetly. “If you’re going to buy fake Choos, at least get decent ones. I could spot those knock-offs from my seat.”

Her jaw drops. I turn on my heel and head back into the room.

“Apologies,” I say again, sitting down. “Where were we?”

Winston is biting back laughter. “How the hell did you make Kenzi leave looking like she’d been hit by a bus?”

“Oh, I just insulted her shoes.”

“Noted,” he mutters, writing it down.

Greyson’s trying not to laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching.

We get back to business.

They ask about my plans for the AQ expansion.

I slide the design portfolio across the table. “I want the new wing to look like this — open studios, soft light, modern lines. But most importantly, I want a nursery.”

That catches everyone’s attention.

I continue, voice steady. “Most of my staff are parents. They shouldn’t have to choose between their careers and childcare. The nursery will cover regular hours, plus emergency care for off-days. No parent should lose sleep worrying about where their kid is while they’re building a future here.”

The room falls silent for a beat — even the sceptical contractors stop scribbling.

“That’s… progressive,” one of them says, almost impressed.

“No,” I correct softly. “It’s necessary.”

I see Greyson’s eyes soften, pride flickering beneath the professionalism he’s trying to maintain.

The older man across the table clears his throat. “So, it’s just studios and an office for yourself, then?” he asks, tone condescending.

I smile sweetly. “No s**t, Sherlock. That’s exactly what the drawings show.”

Greyson exhales quietly. I can tell he’s biting his tongue.

“Greyson, Winston,” I say calmly. “I’m done being patronised. Can we get a female design team in here before I lose my patience?”

Before Greyson can reply, Winston’s already on the phone. Two minutes later, three women stride in — confident, focused, ready to work.

The men mumble an apology and scurry out.

One of the new designers raises an eyebrow. “The audacity of those idiots — eye-f*****g a client and condescending to her? Brave.”

“Stupid,” her colleague corrects.

“Stupid works,” I agree.

We dive back into the plans. The atmosphere changes instantly — efficient, collaborative, energised.

“If we start in two weeks,” one of the women says, “we can have this finished in eight, tops.”

“And it won’t disrupt daily operations,” another adds.

I grin, shaking each of their hands. “You’re hired. Thank you for using logic. Greyson — give them a raise. They’ve saved me from committing homicide.”

Greyson smirks. “Duly noted.”

As the meeting wraps up, the others file out, leaving just me, Greyson, and Winston.

Winston finally bursts out laughing. “I swear, nobody’s ever spoken to anyone like that in this building. Your little firecracker might be my new hero.”

Greyson chuckles. “She terrifies me sometimes. And I like it.”

“You should,” Winston says. “It means she’s alive.”

I smile faintly, gathering my files. “See you both at two. Try not to let any more men embarrass themselves in front of me.”

Outside, I finally breathe again.

My maternity line samples are waiting in the car — sleek, structured, beautifully deceptive. Each piece perfectly tailored to hide what’s beginning to show.

It’s ironic, really.

A collection designed for expectant mothers — and I’m using it to conceal my own pregnancy from the world.

Elle climbs into the seat beside me, smirking. “You realise Kenzi’s probably crying in a bathroom somewhere, right?”

“Good,” I mutter, fastening my seatbelt. “Maybe she’ll drown in her perfume while she’s at it.”

Elle snorts. “And the nursery idea?”

“It’s time,” I say quietly, looking back at the AQ building through the tinted glass. “If I can make life easier for other working parents, then maybe… it’ll be easier for me too.”

Elle smiles softly. “You’re building something bigger than a brand, Alyssa. You’re building a legacy.”

I glance down at my hands, resting protectively on my still-hidden bump, and whisper — just to myself —

“Exactly what I want.”