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“I hope you all did your homework.” I start charting strategies on the whiteboard with swift, purposeful strokes.
“Market penetration requires—” My words hitch, the marker squeaking to a halt mid-graph when the door opens, and she slips in, trying to scurry in like a mouse.
Brielle Rose. Late. Uninvited.
Heat creeps up my neck, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous. Didn’t I make myself clear? The memory of our last encounter burns through my mind.
“Miss Rose.” My voice cuts through the quiet hum of the classroom. “So glad you could join us.”
She pauses at the door, not a hint of remorse in those stormy eyes. Defiance personified. She knows she’s late. She knows what I said.
“Sorry, Professor Griffin,” she apologizes.
“I get the feeling that this class is nothing but a joke to you,” I snap, louder than intended. The rest of the class shrinks back, but not her. Brielle just glides to an empty seat, all curves and confidence.
“I apologize if you see it that way.” She swallows. “I take this class very seriously.”
“Your tardiness is unacceptable.” The words are ice. “Care to explain yourself?”
“Traffic was a nightmare,” she says, settling into her chair.
“Traffic.” I echo the word, letting it hang heavy in the room.
You’re lying. I saw her this morning.
“Next time, leave earlier. This is your final warning.”
The message isn’t just for her—it’s for everyone. But it’s Brielle who holds my gaze, challenging me, pushing me. And God help me, part of me wants to push right back.
I swallow the urge to toss her out on those infuriatingly perfect curves. “Make sure you apologize to the class as well for wasting their time.”
Brielle stands, and I almost regret my harshness. Almost. She’s a portrait of contrition, her eyes downcast. “Sorry, everyone, won’t happen again.” The words are soft, but they don’t match the steel in her spine.
“Let’s move on,” I grunt, dismissing the whole affair with a wave of my hand. “Thoughts on The Art of War and its application in modern business?” I pace before them like a general before his troops. Hands shoot up, eager minds ready to impress. But it’s her silent defiance that draws me in.
“Brielle,” I call, ignoring the others. “Your insights? I’m sure you had plenty of time while you were making yourself late to class.”
Her head snaps up, surprise flickering across her features before her mouth sets in a line of determination. “It’s outdated,” she says boldly. “Sun Tzu couldn’t possibly fathom the complexities of today’s market.”
“Outdated?” The word is a spark on my tongue. “Explain.”
She rises to the bait, standing. “The book ignores the human element—emotions, unpredictability. It’s all just…chess pieces to Sun Tzu.”
“Chess pieces can topple kings and queens,” I counter, feeling the heat rise in the room. Or is it just between us?
“Only if they’re predictable,” she shoots back. “People aren’t pawns, Professor. They’re wild cards.”
“Wild cards can be played,” I retort, stepping closer. Our gazes lock, a silent clash of wills. “And they can win games.”
“Or they can change the game entirely,” she quips, undeterred. “Ultimately not something you need or want in business.”
“Miss Rose,” I say, my voice low, simmering with something that isn’t just irritation, “are you suggesting we throw out centuries of strategy over a few feelings?”
“Feelings drive action, Professor Griffin. Ignoring them is playing half the game.” Her voice is steady, but her chest rises and falls more rapidly now.
“Interesting theory,” I murmur, the air crackling with our shared defiance.
“More than just a theory,” she insists, her lips parting slightly.
