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I've managed to control my reactions around her since that morning meeting and even the night before Thanksgiving dinner at my family's home. But now, alone in my office, it's a different game. The same intense feeling from ten years ago resurfaces, reminding me of the night I couldn't keep my hands off her…or my lips.
"What are you still doing here, Ms. Jones?" I ask, my tone cool, but my body’s reaction to the sight of her betraying my interest.
Her reaction is a mix of surprise and annoyance, and I savor it. There's a thrill in getting under her skin, a throwback to that night when I kissed her breathless and then sent her away. A smirk crosses my face at the memory, but deep down, I know it was a night of shared frustration, of denied desires.
"Are you busy, Mr. Forrester?" she asks, her tone laced with indignation. "I believe you and I need to talk. We're long past due."
Game on, indeed.
* * *
Genesis
The day unwinds behind me like a long, taut string finally cut loose. Robyn's shown me to my new office—a generous space more than a staff writer would typically get. It makes me wonder about her insinuation that Talon might've had a hand in landing me this job. If that's true, I will have a word with him later. I wanted this on my own, not by any connections. But that's a confrontation for another time. For now, I'm all about settling into my new role and getting acquainted with the dynamics here.
After Robyn leaves early for the day, I'm left to my own devices, so I go and meet Kylie, the blonde who sits outside Reece's office. She's nice, maybe too perky, but we'll manage. I'm curious if Reece might have a moment to talk, considering how our meeting went this morning and that uncomfortable dinner at the Forresters' on Thanksgiving Eve. Our last encounter a decade ago was fraught with sexual tension, but that doesn't mean we can't interact professionally now. He's my boss's boss, after all.
Kylie checks his schedule, and it's packed until practically next year. But I decide to try my luck later, once she's about to leave for the day. "Do you think he might have a few minutes, now?" I ask her as she's gathering her things to leave.
She looks surprised to see me still here. "Oh, hi, Genesis. It's pretty late; why are you still around?"
"I just wanted to see if Mr. Forrester had a few minutes before I left for the evening. I assume his meetings would be over?"
She hesitates, biting her lip. "Well, yes, he's in there. But I'm not sure it's a good idea to disturb him now."
"I promise it'll only take a minute. If he asks, you can say you were already gone, and I just barged in," I say, giving her an out.
Reluctantly, she agrees and makes her exit. I wait until the elevator doors close behind her before gathering my courage to knock on his door. Jazz music filters through, adding a layer of sophistication to my nervousness. No response to my first knock. I try again, feeling a bit intrusive but driven by a need for clarity.
Finally, his voice, gruff and abrupt, calls out from inside. I push the door open slightly, peeking in. He's standing behind his desk, drink in hand, shuffling through papers. His gaze meets mine, narrowing in that way that always makes me feel like I'm an annoyance rather than a person.
But I'm not that 18-year-old girl anymore. I'm a professional journalist with a solid career under my belt. He needs to see that. I declare we're long overdue for a conversation, noticing the amusement in his eyes. Is he taking me as a joke? He gestures for me to come in without a word, as if granting me an audience in his realm of power.
I step inside, my eyes taking in the opulence of his executive office. The panoramic windows offer a mesmerizing view of the city, stretching out like a sea of lights and possibilities. It's breathtaking, and for a moment, I forget why I'm here.
"This is quite a view," I comment, my voice steadier than I feel.
"I'll say," he murmurs, his eyes not leaving me.
"How do you get any work done with all this?" I ask, half-joking.
"It'shard," he replies, and there's a double entendre there that I'm trying hard not to think about.
The air around us thickens with unspoken words and memories. He stands and moves past me to offer a drink, the scent of his woodsy cologne enveloping me. It's intoxicating, pulling me toward him despite my resolve.
"Yes, I'll have whatever you're having," I say, recalling the last time he offered me a drink, and I opted for water and a make-out session. But I'm not that person anymore. I'm here for answers, not flirtations.
As he hands me the glass, our fingers brush, sending a jolt of electricity through me. He holds my gaze, and we're both lost in this charged space between us for a moment.
"Thank you, Mr. Forrester," I say, my voice barely a whisper.
"Reece, please, Genny," he corrects me.
"Genesis," I counter, insisting on the formality to maintain some control over this interaction.
He smirks at the challenge, and we begin to dance around the reasons for my visit. The conversation drifts dangerously close to that night ten years ago, but I'm here for clarity, not to rekindle old flames.
Yet, as we talk, our tension builds, a mix of past desires and present frustrations. I'm here to assert myself, to show him I'm not just Talon's friend or a fledgling journalist. I'm Genesis Jones, a professional in my own right. But as Reece's gaze lingers on me, I remember wanting him to ‘teach me’ a thing or two. I can't help but feel the pull of something more, something that's been simmering for a decade.
