BILLIONAIRES: Father or Son

Chapter Fifteen

FLORA'S POV

    "Good girl," he said warmly, and to my utter disbelief, a strange sense of calm washed over me.

He stepped out from behind his desk, moving toward me with deliberate ease. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Was that a hint of a smile on his face? As he stopped in front of me, I caught the scent of his cologne—something expensive and intoxicating. He tilted my chin up, locking eyes with me.

I silently repeated a mantra in my head: Stay calm. Don't panic. And if he crosses the line, you're out. But despite my mental pep talk, my pulse raced.

"Do you know," he said, his gaze sweeping over my face, "you have the finest shade of hazel eyes?"

My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever commented on my eye color before, and as ridiculous as it sounded, his words made me feel... flattered. And a little off-balance.

"I like that you didn't put up so much effort for me," he continued, his voice dropping an octave. "So demure, so subtle... and it's fucking lovely."

His words trickled down my spine like warm honey. He stepped back, finally releasing my chin. I couldn't remember the last time anyone, aside from my mother or Sasha, had appreciated anything about my appearance. For years, I had heard nothing but criticisms about my weight or how I didn't quite "fit the part."

"How long have you worked for Jackson?" he asked casually, heading toward a wine cabinet in the corner. He pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and began to pour himself a glass. "You don't seem like you've had much training."

"Ja-Ja-Jackson?" I stammered, still trying to keep up. Then it hit me—this was a case of mistaken identity. A big one. "I... I don't know anyone named Jackson."

He froze mid-pour, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. There was a flicker of confusion, like he was trying to piece together what was going on.

"You're not...?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned. "Who are you?"

"Flora," I managed, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "Flora Roberts. I'm just here to drop off a file for you. Ms. Anderson sent me."

For a moment, his usual cool, composed expression cracked, his eyes widening in something close to shock.

"Jesus Christ!" He practically jumped back. "Get up."

I scrambled to my feet, my heart still racing. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the faintest glimmer of embarrassment flashing in those sharp, amber-gold eyes.

"My apologies," he said, his voice still deep but noticeably calmer now. "I thought you were... someone else."

The tension still hung thick in the air, and I nodded awkwardly, my gaze drifting toward the door. "It's fine. Really. I'll just leave this here and be on my way—"

"Wait," he interrupted, his voice firm, though tinged with something I couldn't quite place. I paused, turning back to him. He seemed to avoid meeting my eyes for a moment, his gaze flitting around the room. There was something almost... embarrassed about him now, and I wasn't sure whether to be more unnerved or intrigued by it. "You've come all this way. The least I can do is apologize properly."

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter. "There's really no need. I'm just the messenger."

He didn't seem to care about that. He leaned against the desk, his attention briefly shifting to the folder before finally returning to me. "I'm Alexander Bennett," he said, as if I didn't already know. His voice was calm now, though still layered with the authority of someone who rarely had to explain himself. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Outside of work, I have... relationships that involve a certain level of trust and control. But I assure you, I keep those matters separate from business."

I nodded, trying to process everything. Trust and control? Yeah, I wasn't touching that one with a ten-foot pole. "I'm just here to deliver a file, Mr. Bennett," I repeated, hoping to steer the conversation back to something normal.

He smiled slightly at that—just the faintest curve of his lips, amused, perhaps, by how this was all playing out. "Alex," he corrected gently. "And thank you, Flora, for being so... graceful about this mix-up."

"It's fine, really," I said, my voice a little steadier now. The initial strangeness of the encounter had started to fade, though a flicker of curiosity still nagged at me. Something about Alexander Bennett intrigued me, in ways I wasn't fully ready to admit.

He let out a long breath, as if the weight of the whole situation had finally lifted from his shoulders. "I owe you more than just an apology," he said, turning to gaze out of the panoramic window. The city lights cast a soft glow behind him, making the office feel almost... intimate. "It's pretty dark outside. How about I drop you off at your place?"

I shook my head instinctively. "I'm not really done in the office. I still have some files to sort out—"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, flashing that same charming, confident smile, now even wider. "Let me make amends. I insist."

I hesitated. This wasn't part of the plan. But against my better judgment—and possibly because my curiosity was getting the better of me—I nodded. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, that made me... want to know more. Plus, how often does someone like him offer to personally drop you home?