Chapter 3: The Fire and the Fuse
519 Words
Oliver stood in his penthouse suite, nursing a glass of whiskey as the city stretched before him. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, lights flickering like stars trapped in glass. He should be celebrating. A major acquisition had gone through without a hitch, and the company's stock had soared. But his mind wasn’t on business. It was on her.
Kris Peterson.
No woman had ever taken up space in his head like this before.
He hated it.
The attraction between them was like a live wire, sparking every time they were in the same room. And yet, she remained indifferent. He’d seen desire before. He knew when a woman wanted him. Hell, most of them didn’t even try to hide it. But Kris? She was unreadable. Guarded. A fortress he couldn’t seem to breach.
Oliver drained the whiskey and loosened his tie. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe she wasn’t interested at all.
Or maybe she was playing a game just as dangerous as his.
—
The Next Morning
Kris walked into the office with her usual air of quiet confidence, her heels clicking against the marble floor of Hyden Enterprises. Employees stepped aside as she moved, whispering about the new hire who somehow had the CEO’s attention. She ignored the murmurs, her focus solely on the day's agenda.
She was here for one reason. Revenge.
Oliver Hyden was nothing more than a stepping stone to her ultimate goal.
Still, she had to admit—he was dangerously charming. Handsome, yes, but it was more than that. He had a way of looking at people as if he already owned them. And that smirk? Infuriating.
Kris entered her office and found a single white rose on her desk.
She froze.
Her eyes darted around the room. No one was inside. But there was only one person who could’ve left it.
Oliver.
She picked up the rose, turning it between her fingers. A note was attached.
"You intrigue me. Let’s have dinner. Tonight. - Oliver."
Kris let out a breath, crumpling the note in her palm. He was making his move.
Good.
She was ready.
—
That Night – The Restaurant
Oliver leaned back in his chair, watching Kris over the rim of his glass. She sat across from him in a black dress that clung to her in all the right places, her expression unreadable as she sipped her wine.
“You don’t seem like the type to accept dinner invitations from your boss,” Oliver remarked.
Kris lifted a brow. “You don’t seem like the type to pursue an employee.”
He smirked. “I’m not.”
She tilted her head. “Then why am I here?”
Oliver set his glass down and leaned forward. “Because I like a challenge. And you, Kris Peterson, are one hell of a challenge.”
Kris held his gaze, the tension between them thick enough to cut. This was dangerous territory, but she thrived in danger.
She took a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down with a soft clink.
“Then let the games begin.”
- Writer
