Way to throw me off
1191 Words
~Alyssa~
The soft hum of the air conditioning is the only sound in the studio this morning.
AQ feels different today — calm, muted, almost too still. Most of the team are out on location shoots or supplier visits, leaving only the faint tap of my heels echoing through the marble-floored hallway.
I’ve missed this — the quiet before everything starts.
My hair’s back to its usual wave, the black and red streaks framing my face just so. A tailored black jumpsuit, sharp enough to remind me I’m in control, paired with my favourite Louboutins. After the week I’ve had — hospitals, children, chaos — I need to look and feel like myself again.
I’ve just finished reviewing a set of fabric proofs when Elle pokes her head around the office door.
“Morning, boss. Just a heads up, we’ve got a visitor.”
“A visitor?” I glance up, frowning. “Who?”
She hesitates, biting her lip — never a good sign. “Mr. Riley. Greyson Riley.”
The pen slips from my fingers, landing softly on the desk. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Apparently, he’s here for a meeting with Triston. Something about interiors for a new commercial project. I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t.” My tone comes out a little sharper than I intended, and Elle’s eyes widen slightly.
“Shall I—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, straightening my jacket. “Show him to the lounge. I’ll be there in a minute.”
As she leaves, I take a steadying breath, checking my reflection in the glass. My pulse is racing.
You’re the CEO, Alyssa. You’ve got this. It’s just Greyson.
Just Greyson — the man who kissed you like the world was ending and held you through it.
I press a hand to my stomach, willing the nerves to settle, then head down the corridor.
The AQ lounge is empty except for him.
He’s standing by the window, hands in his pockets, sunlight catching in his hair. Dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looks maddeningly effortless — that kind of understated confidence that never tries too hard.
When he turns at the sound of my heels, his whole face softens.
“Alyssa.”
“Greyson.” My voice comes out smoother than I feel. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Neither was I,” he admits, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Your brother invited me. We’re discussing the interior layout for one of the Riley commissions, but he’s… running a bit behind.”
“Let me guess,” I say, folding my arms. “Car trouble?”
He laughs quietly. “You know him too well.”
“I grew up with him. I’ve spent half my life waiting for that man to get out of a broken-down car.”
The air between us lightens instantly. For a few moments, we just stand there, smiling — two people circling the edge of something neither of us is ready to name.
I gesture to the seating area by the window. “Well, since he’s late, you might as well sit down. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
He chuckles. “You don’t have to wait on me, you know.”
“I’m not waiting on you,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “I’m being polite.”
“I’ll take polite,” he says, eyes glinting.
I pour him a coffee and hand it over, careful not to let our fingers touch. Even so, the briefest brush of skin sends a spark up my arm that I pretend to ignore.
“So,” I say, settling opposite him, “business with my brother, hm?”
He nods, taking a sip. “We’re redesigning one of our client’s office spaces — he mentioned AQ might be involved in the aesthetic direction. Said your team’s unparalleled with bespoke textiles.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Riley,” I tease.
He smiles. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”
For a moment, the world slows.
There’s something disarming about him when he’s like this — open, unguarded. He doesn’t fill silences just to make noise. He lets them breathe, and somehow, that’s more intimate than anything he could say.
“So,” he says after a moment, voice soft, “how are you feeling?”
The question catches me off guard.
“I’m fine,” I answer automatically.
He tilts his head. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
I glance away, tracing a pattern on my coffee cup. “Better. Just a bit tired.”
“I was worried,” he admits, quiet enough that it almost sounds like he’s speaking to himself. “You gave me a scare.”
That warmth spreads through my chest again, slow and traitorous. “You didn’t have to stay at the hospital, you know.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply.
I meet his eyes then — blue meeting blue — and for a heartbeat, it’s like everything else fades.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “You don’t need to thank me for caring.”
Something in me falters. I look away before he can see it.
“Careful, Greyson,” I say lightly, needing to break the tension. “You’re dangerously close to sounding like a good man.”
He laughs quietly. “I’ll try not to ruin my reputation.”
The sound of his laugh — low and warm — fills the room, and I swear the air shifts with it. It’s… comfortable. Easy. The kind of easy I haven’t felt in years.
Minutes pass in conversation that flits between business and something gentler — our children, the chaos of work, his brother’s terrible taste in music. I can’t stop noticing the small things — the way his hand moves when he talks, how his voice drops when he’s amused.
And somewhere between talk of marble finishes and school schedules, I realise I’m smiling without forcing it.
When the elevator finally dings and Triston barrels in, apologising profusely about his “bloody car battery,” I feel something like disappointment flicker in my chest.
Greyson stands, giving me a small, knowing smile. “Duty calls.”
“Looks like it,” I reply, standing too.
He glances at his watch, then back at me. “How about next time we don’t wait for a broken car to arrange a meeting?”
I try not to let the smile give too much away. “Next time, I’ll make sure the coffee’s stronger.”
As they head towards the conference room, I linger by the window, watching him go.
He glances back once, just before the door closes — the briefest look, but it’s enough to leave me rooted in place.
The room feels a little too big after he’s gone.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t quite know what to do with myself.
- Writer
