Bond by Secrets

Chapter 3: New Position, Old Mistake

Vivienne's heart hustled as she ventured into the transcending, glass-walled design of Steele Endeavors. The spot was impeccable — marble floors underneath, current ceiling fixtures above, and each corner emanating a feeling of extravagance and power. She had worked enthusiastically to land this position, and it was basically impossible that she planned to neglect a solitary up ruin her most memorable day.

With a full breath, she moved toward the front counter. "Vivienne Marlowe, here for direction," she said, giving her all to keep her voice, despite the fact that her nerves were running high. Ostensibly, she kept a cool head.

"Ms. Marlowe, welcome," the secretary said energetically. "Mr. Steele is expecting you in meeting room B. Simply down that lobby."

Vivienne expressed gratitude toward her, grasping her portfolio as she advanced down the hall. She intellectually pre-arranged herself, practicing her words. Yet, the second she ventured into the room, all that she'd arranged dissipated.

Sitting at the top of the meeting table was Greyson Steele. The manner in which he held himself — quiet, strong, similar to a man used to being in charge — made her breath hitch. At the point when he looked into, their eyes met, and she felt a chill go through her. He was right here, the man she'd met the prior night. Just now, he was her chief.

She gulped, her voice scarcely a murmur as she welcomed him. "Mr. Steele."

Without gazing upward from his iPad, he raised an eyebrow, a weak grin playing all the rage. "Ms. Marlowe, you're late."

Vivienne felt the sting of his words, his cool amazing skill practically deriding. She attempted to conceal the flush crawling up her neck. "Indeed, Mr. Steele," she made due, compelling herself to remain mentally collected.

His office was an impression of the man himself — flawless, sharp, and fastidiously organized. Cleaned steel and glass overwhelmed the space, with daylight spilling in from floor-to-roof windows, projecting a sparkle on the very good quality workmanship that lined the walls. Everything is cautiously arranged, similar to the man sitting opposite her.

"We should sort one thing out," he said, his look puncturing as he inclined forward. "Whatever occurred between us the previous evening makes little difference to your situation here. I anticipate total amazing skill."

His words stung, yet she maintained eye contact with him, declining to allow the responsibility to show. "Obviously, Mr. Steele," she answered, her tone firm. "I'm hanging around for my work, that's it."

He gave a solitary gesture, evidently fulfilled, and returned his concentration to his work. "Great. I'll expect a full report on the Prescott account before the day's over."

Vivienne gripped her clench hands, gulping the inclination to allow her disappointment to show. "You'll have it, Mr. Steele."

As she left his office, she could feel his eyes on her, a quiet weight waiting behind her as though he were hanging tight for her to vacillate. She sat at her work area, attempting to consistent herself as she opened the Prescott document. Taking care of such a significant record was an honor, however the pressure of seeing him again made it hard to think.

She was lost in her work when she heard his voice reverberation down the passage, a telling tone that requested consideration while never raising volume. Her heart skipped as she covered herself further into the record, wanting to avoid sight.

In any case, her respite was fleeting.

"Miss Marlowe, in my office. Presently."

The words hit her like ice, and as she looked around, she felt each look in the room turn her direction. Fixing her shirt, she educated her demeanor and strolled to his office, feeling the heaviness of each step.

He sat at his work area, his fingers steepled, his appearance mixed up as he motioned for her to sit.

"Your work on the Prescott account," he started, watching her intently, "requires outright accuracy. I really want results, Miss Marlowe."

"I get it, Mr. Steele," she answered, her voice consistent, however his force frightened her.

"Great. Really get to know the client's portfolio by tomorrow first thing," he said, his eyes limiting somewhat. "There's no leeway."

She met his look, declining to jump. "Perceived."

As she left, her shoulders held high, she may as yet feel his look on her, a waiting pressure like a tempest standing by to break.

The remainder of the day delayed, her fixation faltering as Grayson's voice floated from his office. His quiet attitude was enraging, particularly after the previous evening. How could he keep such wonderful self-control?

Afterward, after a strained client meeting, he gathered her once more. Preparing herself, she entered his office, decided not to show any delay.

"Miss Marlowe," he started, looking up from a document. "I want you at the client's supper this evening. Prescott needs to meet the full group."

She froze briefly. "This evening?" she asked, her voice consistent notwithstanding the nerves bending inside her.

"Indeed. It's non-debatable." He shut the record, his look sharp as it locked onto hers. "Is that an issue?"

"No, Mr. Steele," she answered, collapsing her hands. She'd figured out how to keep away from any cozy minutes with him the entire day, yet presently she'd need to sit adjacent to him at supper, going about as though nothing had occurred.

"Great. Be prepared by seven. A vehicle will get you," he said, his tone ruling out contention. As she went to leave, his voice mellowed marginally. "Set yourself up, Vivienne. Prescott is known for his fastidious nature."

The manner in which he said her name sent a compulsory shudder down her spine. She left his office, mind dashing, fearing what the night could hold. Not long before the lift entryways shut, she got a brief look at him watching her, an incomprehensible demeanor all over, as though he were gauging something.

As the lift dropped, one idea consum

ed her: What was she finding herself mixed up with this evening?