Chapter two
924 Words
Brielle pressed her hands to her face, heart hammering. What just happened? The memory of Grayson standing in her doorway, jaw tight, dark eyes smoldering, refused to leave her mind. She groaned, pulling herself together.
“I can’t believe he saw me… Every detail” she groaned again. “Focus, Brielle. Just… get out of here before you do something even more embarrassing”.
She dug through the closet, finding a clean shirt and shorts— probably one of Grayson’s, but she didn’t care. She slipped it on, the fabric brushing against her damp skin, and for a moment, she froze, inhaling faint traces of his cologne.
“Okay, Brielle… breathe. Just breathe,” she whispered.
Tiptoeing down the hall, she peeked into the living room. It was empty .
“He's not here, thank goodness” Relief hit her in a wave. She grabbed her dad’s phone from the table.
“Goodbye, Mr. Grayson,” she muttered under her breath, stepping outside.
The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and fresh against her skin. She ran. Fast, away from the house, away from the lingering heat of what had just happened and away from all the embarrassment.
She got into a taxi and went home. Back in her room, she collapsed onto her bed, hugging a pillow.
“Oh my God… what did I do?” she groaned. “He saw everything. Everything!”
Her mind replayed the scene relentlessly. The way he’d looked at her. The heat in his eyes. The tension, the desire…
She didn't know when or how it started but whenever she was close to Grayson, her body seemed to lose control.
“I'm in so much trouble…if Dad finds out he is going to —”
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she called, voice shaking.
Mrs. Jane, the housemaid, appeared, holding a small package.
“Miss Brielle, a delivery just arrived for you,” she said kindly.
“For me?” Brielle asked, confused.
“Yes, no sender’s name,” Mrs. Jane replied, setting it on the bed. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Brielle tore the package open. Inside lay a neatly folded shirt and a soft scarf — clean, expensive, and unmistakably him. She froze, tracing her fingers over the fabric.
“What…?” she whispered, breath catching.
Her phone buzzed. A message. From Grayson.
“ You left drenched. The shirt’s a replacement. Wear it properly this time”.
Her pulse spiked before she could even think. Another message appeared
“ Also, I spoke with your father. I want you to be my personal assistant”.
“Personal what??” Brielle blinked. No way? He can’t be serious.
Her phone rang this time. Caller ID: Daddy's Secretary.
She hesitated, then answered.
“Hello?”
“It's me”
“Dad?”
“Brielle, sweetheart. Grayson wants you to start as his assistant next week. I think it’s a great opportunity for you.”
“Wait—what? You agreed without asking me?”
“It’s decided. You’ll learn more from him than sitting around my office. Discipline, training… it’s all part of it.”
“But I thought I’d start at your company!”
“Eventually. This is the first step. Take it.”
“Dad…”
“It’s settled. Be grateful, honey. It doesn’t matter where you work, Brielle. Experience is what counts. Accept it.” Then the call ended.
Brielle stared at the phone, heart racing, cheeks flushing.
“No…no…no , this is bad. He just caught me m**********g to his name and now I have to work for him?” she panicked.
“I need help” she muttered. “I can’t… I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.”
She picked up the shirt again, inhaling the faint cologne, imagining his gaze from earlier. Her fingers brushed over the fabric, lingering. Every thought brought heat rushing through her. Her mind was spinning. She thought about the drive in the rain, the way his eyes had scanned her, the way he’d cursed under his breath.
“… I want this… I want him…”
“Fine,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I’ll take the job.”
She typed quickly:
“ I’ll take the job”.
Seconds later, another message from Grayson:
“Good. Be ready by 8 on Monday. Dress smart and don't keep me waiting again”.
Her pulse pounded. She pressed the phone to her chest, trembling.
She tosses the phone aside and picks up the shirt again, fingers running over the buttons.
She doesn’t notice the tiny slip of paper that falls from the shirt pocket.
When she finally does, she picks it up, frowning.
It’s a folded note — in his handwriting.
She opens it slowly and read, immediately Brielle’s body went rigid. Heat pooled low in her stomach, mingling with the thrill and fear of what this meant. Her pulse raced, and her mind went blank, lost in the dark, delicious reality of the man she shouldn’t want… but couldn’t resist.
She clutched the note tightly, staring at it, unable to move. What have I gotten myself into?
She read it again and again and again until each word was stuck in her head .
It read:
“If you think I didn’t enjoy what I saw earlier, you’re wrong. Next time
you touch yourself while thinking about me, make sure the door’s locked because that image of you won’t leave my head.”
- Writer
