Safe With You

Threaded In Chaos

~ Greyson ~

The meeting finally ends, and I swear I’ve aged a decade.

Contracts signed, schedules finalized — my brain feels like wet concrete.

I drop into my chair with a sigh. Peace. At last.

That blissful calm lasts all of thirty seconds.

Because the door flies open, and in storms Kenzi — perfume first, attitude second.

“Get out,” I say immediately, not even looking up.

“Why her?” she demands, voice trembling. “What does she have that I don’t?”

I suppress a groan. Class. Brains. A functioning sense of direction in life.

“Kenzi,” I say, keeping my tone steady, “what are you crying about now?”

She folds her arms, mascara already smudged. “That spoiled Barbie who humiliated me! Why her?”

I look up, unimpressed. “You mean Alyssa Rose — the woman who built an empire from scratch, who’s worth more than this entire building? Careful, Kenzi. You’re out of your depth.”

Her jaw tightens. “You’re defending her?”

“Yes,” I say simply. “Loudly and proudly.”

She blinks, then drops into the chair opposite me with a huff. “You didn’t have to be that mean about it.”

I sigh, leaning back. “You barged into my office, again, shouting about a woman you barely know. What exactly were you hoping for — sympathy or an audience?”

Her shoulders slump. “I don’t know. Maybe both.”

That earns a small pause. I study her — she looks younger like this, like the confident, sharp-tongued assistant mask has slipped.

“You know,” I say quietly, “you remind me a bit of Lillian.”

Her head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” I continue. “Both stubborn. Both smart. Both think the world’s out to get them when really, it’s just… life being life.”

Kenzi frowns. “You’re saying I act like a teenager?”

“I’m saying,” I correct gently, “you care too much about the wrong things. Like what people think. Or what you think I think.”

She hesitates, then gives a small, dry laugh. “You sound like my older brother.”

“Good,” I say. “Because right now, you need one more than a boss.”

She rolls her eyes but softens a little. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admit, smiling faintly. “I do.”

For a second, she just looks at me, the usual sharpness replaced by something closer to respect.

“Well,” she says, standing up, “try not to mess it up. You’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

“Noted,” I say with a smirk.

At the door, she pauses. “And… tell her I didn’t mean the ‘Barbie’ thing. She’s scary, but kind of brilliant.”

“She’ll appreciate that,” I say.

Kenzi nods, then disappears down the hall — less perfume, less drama.

Maybe I got through to her. Maybe not. But at least it’s quiet again.

I check the time — Mum and Lillian should’ve arrived by now.

Pulling up the reception feed, I find them sitting on the lobby sofa, looking thoroughly defeated.

Of course they are.

I grab my jacket and head down.

“Mum, Lills,” I greet, kissing Mum’s cheek and ruffling Lillian’s hair. “Why do you still forget which lift goes to my floor?”

“Because,” Mum says, exasperated, “you have ten of them, and not one says important people only.”

I point at the PRIVATE lift right beside her. “You mean that one?”

Lillian sighs dramatically. “Let’s just go. Please.”

On the way to the car, Mum eyes the back seat. “Greyson… why are there two car seats?”

I grin. “One’s for you, obviously.”

She swats my arm with her handbag. “You’re insufferable.”

Then I glance back at Lillian. “And before you ask — I’ve got two kids now, remember? Quinn and Poppy. Someone’s got to keep up with my expanding family.”

Lillian snorts. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Genetics,” I shrug. “Mum’s fault.”

“Debatable,” Mum mutters, hiding a laugh.

The drive to AQ is filled with laughter and Lillian’s endless chatter about Alyssa — her designs, her interviews, the legendary stories about her temper in the design world.

By the time we arrive, Lillian’s practically bouncing in her seat.

We step into Alyssa’s studio and it’s her world completely — soft light, jazz on low volume, fabric draped like art.

She’s there, in a sleek black dress, hair pinned up, hands flying as she works a mannequin.

I pause just to watch.

Every move is confident, precise — completely in her element.

When she spots us, she smiles — that smile that hits like gravity.

“You’re early,” she teases.

“I missed you,” I say, kissing her cheek before remembering we’re not alone.

“Gross,” Lillian groans.

Alyssa laughs softly. “Right. Forgot we had an audience.”

“Hard to forget when they heckle,” I add.

I turn. “Mum, Lills — you know Alyssa.”

Lillian smirks. “Brother, I know you’re only twenty-seven, but we’ve all already met. Several times over. Is the memory loss kicking in early?”

Mum gasps. “Lillian Grace Riley!”

“What?” she shrugs. “He’s practically ancient in teenager years.”

Alyssa giggles behind her hand. “She’s not wrong.”

“Et tu, Alyssa?” I mutter.

“I call it like I see it,” she says sweetly.

Mum sighs. “You three are going to drive me to drink.”

Then Lillian’s attention shifts to the mannequin.

“Wait… that’s one of my sketches!”

Alyssa beams. “It is. I found your sketchbook when you were here last. You’ve got real talent, Lillian. So, I turned one into reality.”

Lillian gasps. “You made it?”

“Every detail,” Alyssa says proudly. “It’s part of AQ’s new prom-season collection.”

Savannah smiles. “That’s extraordinary.”

“Can I try it on?” Lillian asks eagerly.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Alyssa says, passing her the gown.

As Lillian disappears into the changing room, Savannah looks at me and Alyssa, grinning.

“So how long have you two been keeping this quiet?”

Alyssa looks at the ceiling. I cough.

Savannah laughs. “That long, huh?”

Moments later, Lillian re-emerges — and the whole room stills.

She’s radiant. The dress hugs her perfectly — refined, elegant, hers.

Alyssa’s smile is pure pride. “You look incredible.”

Lillian spins in the mirror, her eyes shining. “It’s perfect.”

“Then it’s official,” Alyssa says. “You’re modeling it for the new collection launch. You’ll get paid, credited, the works.”

Lillian gasps. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Savannah sniffles. “Alyssa, that’s so generous.”

Lillian hugs her, near tears. “Thank you!”

Alyssa smiles softly. “You earned it.”

After they leave, Alyssa collapses into her chair, sighing.

“You really are something else,” I murmur, kneeling beside her.

“Tell that to my spine,” she mutters.

“You should rest.”

“I should,” she agrees, “but Elle’s about to barge in with tea and sarcasm.”

As if on cue, the door swings open.

“Speak of the devil,” Alyssa groans.

“And she shall appear,” Elle says grandly, striding in with two mugs. “One chamomile for the overworked queen, one coffee for her emotionally unavailable prince.”

“I’m right here,” I say, smirking.

“I know,” Elle replies. “And I stand by my words.”

Alyssa narrows her eyes. “I could fire you, you know.”

“You won’t,” Elle sings. “Because then you’d have to answer your own emails.”

I’m already laughing.

“Don’t encourage her,” Alyssa warns, but she’s smiling too.

“I can’t help it,” I say. “You two are like a sitcom I didn’t know I needed.”

Elle grins. “We’re the chaos duo.”

Alyssa groans. “More like the reason for my migraines.”

“Speaking of,” Elle says, handing her tea, “drink this before you collapse dramatically again.”

“I did not collapse.”

“You absolutely did,” Elle fires back. “You turned grey and slid down your chair like a Victorian woman fainting at bad poetry.”

“It was low blood sugar!” Alyssa protests.

“That’s exactly what I said!”

“No, you called me fragile.”

Elle smirks. “Semantics.”

I can’t stop laughing. “You two bicker like teenagers.”

“We prefer passionate professionals, thank you very much,” Alyssa says primly.

Elle points at her. “Drama queen.”

“Saboteur.”

“Overachiever.”

“Caffeine addict.”

“Touché.”

They glare — then burst into laughter.

I shake my head, smiling. “You two are impossible.”

Alyssa leans back, a grin tugging at her lips. “And yet, you love it.”

I meet her gaze. “Yeah. I really do."