Chapter five
1527 Words
It had been three days since that moment in his office — three days since his voice brushed against her ear like a sin she couldn’t forget. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.
And yet, nothing had happened since then. No lingering touches, no stolen glances in the hallway… nothing but silence.
Brielle tried convincing herself it was for the best. That maybe Grayson had come to his senses, remembered who she was — his best friend’s daughter, his new assistant. But every night, when she closed her eyes, she still felt the weight of his hand against her skin, the heat of his breath tracing her neck.
Her father had left on a short business trip two days ago, leaving her alone in the house. It should’ve brought her peace. Instead, it gave her too much time to think — about him.
---
The office buzzed with its usual energy that morning. Brielle had just finished typing a report when a man from the marketing department strolled up to her desk. His name was Ethan, tall, effortlessly charming, with a grin that probably worked on half the women in the building.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against her desk. “You’re Mr Locke’s new assistant, right? I was just thinking — maybe I could give you a few insider tips about how to survive him.”
Brielle smiled politely. “Thanks, but I think I’m managing just fine.”
He laughed. “I don’t know. He’s got a reputation for being… intense. Maybe I could take you out sometime, help you unwind a bit?”
“Uhh—”
“You survived your first week,” he said. We should celebrate? Drinks Friday? You might find my advice very useful” He tilted his head, joking, but his eyes lingered in a way that felt anything but casual.
“Thanks. I’ll think about it,” she managed, focusing on the spreadsheet to hide how ridiculous she felt. Don’t encourage him. Don’t be foolish.
She’d barely typed another line when the office door opened and the temperature changed. Grayson entered without flourish, a presence that rearranged the light in the room. He moved like he belonged to a different atmosphere — a controlled pressure field that made heads turn and words die.
”Ethan,” he said. The name was an instruction, not a question.
The single word was enough to freeze them both.
Grayson stood in the doorway, his gaze cold and unreadable. Even from across the room, the weight of his stare was suffocating.
Ethan straightened, the casual grin gone from his face. “Sir, I—”
“You have work,” Grayson said, and the coolness of the sentence closed the distance. “This is not what I pay you for . Shouldn’t the marketing department have better things to do than flirt with my assistant?”
Ethan straightened immediately, his confident grin vanishing. “S–sorry, sir. I was just—”
“Why haven't I gotten the sales report for last month?” Grayson grinned.
“Sir it's almost ready —”
“I want it now”
“S—sir?” Ethan stuttered
“Leave.”
The word wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.
Ethan muttered another apology and hurried off, disappearing around the corner.
“Follow me” He ordered Brielle.
She scrambled off her seat and trailed behind.
When they entered his office, he shut the door and moved directly to Brielle, held her waist and pulled her closer to himself, his hands gripping tightly like he could lose her any minute.
“I see you have a lot of time on your hands” he frowned
Brielle’s heart thundered in her chest. She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “He was just being friendly, Mr. Grayson.”
Grayson’s eyes met hers, dark and sharp, he didn’t smile. He fixed her with a look that made her bones betray her, that was equal parts ownership and admonition. “Friendly is one thing. Looking at her like she belongs to you is another. Keep it professional.”
She nodded before she could think. “Yes. Of course.”
“If there's something going on between you two, you can tell me ” he said but his expression said the complete opposite.
Her lips parted, but no words came. He held her gaze for one long, charged second, then released her.
“I'll— head—back to my desk now” Brielle said then hastily left the office.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. No matter how much she tried to focus, she could still feel that look — the jealousy burning in his eyes. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t rational. It was something else entirely.
By the time she got home that evening, her thoughts were a tangled mess of guilt and longing. She changed into something comfortable, made herself tea, and tried to forget the way his voice had made her tremble.
But forgetting Grayson was impossible.
She was halfway through scrolling her phone when it began to ring. Her heart jumped when she saw his name light up the screen: Mr. Grayson.
“Why is he calling by this time?” Her body shivered.
Her thumb hesitated before she answered. “Hello, is there something—”
His voice was deep, smooth, and far too calm.
“Open the door, Brielle.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“I’m outside,” he said. His tone dropped lower. “If you open it… you can have me.”
She froze.
“What? Now? What the hell is happening?” She thought biting her lower lip.
Every nerve in her body went rigid. She turned her head toward the door like she could already feel him there.
“ Mr Grayson…” she whispered.
“You heard me.”
Her pulse was a wild, uncontrollable rhythm now. Logic screamed at her to hang up, to ignore him, to not open that door. But desire? Desire burned logic to ashes.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. She could barely breathe.
She unlocked it, slowly, carefully — and when the door swung open, the world seemed to stop.
He was standing there in the soft wash of the porch light, his white shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie hanging loose. His hair looked darker under the night, rain dripping from the edges. His eyes found hers — and held her there.
Her breath caught, heart trembling between danger and want.
A few threads of silver threaded his dark hair, and the effect was devastating — older, harder, more dangerous than any smile could have made him. He looked directly at her, not like a man admiring a stranger but like a man who had hunted and found something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
“Sir,” she breathed.
He stepped inside without waiting. The door closed behind him with a soft, final click. He moved with precision, the space between them collapsing to nothing. The living room lights haloed his silhouette: broad shoulders, sleeves rolled, tie undone and dangling like a promise.
Before she could speak, his hands were at her shoulders.
“Do you know how long I have been holding back?” he said, voice low, the words a rasp. “Do you think you can keep your hands to yourself and not imagine what you do to me?”
Her mouth went dry. “I—” she started, but the room seemed to tilt.
He pressed her back until her legs met the door, his body a hard line against hers. The press of him was an accusation and an invitation. Heat pooled under her ribs, and her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt before she could stop herself.
“I don't like it when other guys try to act friendly with you, I don't want even want to see you with another” he said.
“ Why?” She managed to ask
“You’re reckless,” he murmured close to her mouth, each consonant deliberate. “And I don’t tolerate recklessness in my house, in my office, or anywhere near me.”
She swallowed. “You—”
His hand curled around the nape of her neck, drawing her into the hollow of his shoulder. “But I do tolerate looking,” he said, and his breath ghosted over her lips. “I tolerate it because it’s all mine.”
She felt the world exhale. He lowered his face, slow, deliberate, the heat of him close enough to see the flecks of color in his eyes.
Their lips almost touched — an inch, a hair’s breadth — the space between them electric and tight with everything unsaid.
And then his voice, rough and claiming “You wanted me.”
Her heart thundered against her ribs, and she could not answer. His
mouth hovered over hers, the promise of contact a dangerous, delicious thing.
“Now you are going to have me” His lips came crashing into hers.
- Writer
