Shadows Of Reminance

Chapter 6: Ashton

As I made my way to my car, the distinctive click-clack of her heels echoed behind me. She couldn't refuse the offer, not from the biggest and most successful company. The offer I extended was a golden ticket, an opportunity anyone in their right mind would snatch up without a second thought. Ignoring her, I continued toward my car, relishing in the anticipation of her inevitable acceptance.

Despite her persistent calls, I remained steadfast in my silence, prolonging her discomfort just a little longer.

However, when she finally spoke, her words caught me off guard. "Mr. Adam, I have my answer now. I don't need extra time."

Turning to face her, I raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, urging her to continue. What followed was unexpected—

"Thank you, Mr. Adam, for your cooperation. But I still refuse. My rejection isn't about salary or privileges. I have no further intentions of any privilege. I hope you understand these words clearly."

With each word, my irritation simmered beneath the surface.

How could she deny my orders? No one had ever rejected my orders before.

Yet here she stood, resolute and unyielding, she was proving to be a tough nut to crack, but she had yet to realize that once I wanted something, I wouldn't give up until I got it.

Concealing my frustration behind a practiced smirk, I replied, "Ms. Rivera, I think you will surely change your mind."

I could sense that I was getting under her skin, but she remained composed, letting out a frustrated sigh instead of showing her irritation.

As I observed Brianna's demeanour, an inexplicable urge overtook me—a desire to unravel the composed facade she wore like armour. She exuded an air of calm efficiency, her every movement precise and calculated. But beneath that exterior, I sensed a storm brewing, waiting to be unleashed.

"Come on, Brianna,"

"Show me your emotions. I want to see how the perfect chief secretary of Knight Industries looks while losing her shit."

It wasn't out of malice or disdain that I harboured this curiosity, but rather a genuine fascination with the complexities of human nature. Here was a woman who navigated the corporate world with ease, her poise unwavering even in the face of adversity. But behind those steely eyes and composed facade, I knew there lay a wellspring of emotions waiting to be unleashed. I searched for cracks in her composure, subtle signs that hinted at the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. Every fleeting expression, every subtle shift in posture, offered clues to the inner workings of her mind. And though she remained outwardly composed, I could sense the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

I wanted to see her unravel, to witness the raw, unfiltered emotion that lay hidden beneath her polished exterior.

As I turned to retreat to my car, she hastened after me, my forgotten briefcase in hand.
How could I have been so careless?

But as she approached, she stumbled, her body colliding with mine in an unexpected moment of closeness. My hands find their place on her waist automatically, just like a muscle memory. Our bodies molding with each other. In that instant, her scent—familiar, comforting, like rosemary—enveloped me, stirring something long dormant within me.

"Rosemary," I muttered, perhaps a little too loudly, as her surprised gaze met mine. Quickly recovering, she apologized for the incident, her haste betraying her shock.

"Ms. Rivera, have we met before?" I couldn't help but ask.

As I uttered the seemingly innocuous question, "Have we met before?" her reaction was anything but ordinary. The air crackled with tension as her composed demeanour shattered like glass, revealing a glimpse of raw terror lurking beneath the surface.