Chapter 8 The Unexpected Proposition

As she entered the dimly illuminated lounge of a private high-rise bar, Genevieve tightened her fingers around the leather of her handbag and adjusted the strap. Although the city sparkled below her, her attention was drawn to the man seated in the booth in the corner, who appeared to be very at ease. Mercer, Gideon. Silas Rockwell's infamous rival. Gideon said, "Ms. Montgomery," in a silky voice. "I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come." Sitting opposite him, Genevieve maintained a neutral demeanor. "I don’t usually entertain secret meetings, Mr. Mercer." Swirling the dark amber liquid in his glass, he laughed. "Then let’s get to the point." He leaned closer. "I want you to leave Rockwell Enterprises." The words struck her like a well-aimed dart, yet she didn't flinch. Gideon's eyes grew piercing. "A job at Mercer International is what I'm offering you. Your present wage should be doubled. freedom of expression. Most importantly, you won't be working for someone who doesn't think highly of you. Her stomach churned. Silas encouraged her to prove herself rather than undervaluing her. However, it was alluring to consider leaving his engulfing shadow. "I won’t deny it’s a generous offer," she remarked cautiously. Gideon's mouth twisted. It's more than giving. It's a calculated move. Genevieve, I think you have potential. Additionally, I only ever invest in worthwhile ventures. The air was interrupted by a chilly voice before she could reply. "She’s not going anywhere." Genevieve's breathing became labored. Silas. His presence was absolute, oppressive, and demanding as he stood at the edge of the booth. His cold blue eyes met Gideon's. Like a live wire, the tension between them crackled. Unfazed, Gideon simply reclined back. "Always a pleasure, Rockwell." Silas's mouth clenched. "You and I both know this isn’t about business." Gideon grinned. "No? Why are you here, then? Silas's silence weighed heavily on Genevieve. Was Silas defending his business? Or something else? As soon as they left the lounge, Silas drew her away, and the air between them was heavy with unspoken words. Although his hold wasn't strong, it pierced her blazer's sleeve. Silas continued, "You met him behind my back," in a low, controlled voice, but there was danger below. She stood her ground and wrenched her arm free. "You don’t own me." His mouth tightened. "You think Mercer made that offer out of the goodness of his heart?" She folded her arms. "I think he sees potential in me, something you refuse to acknowledge." Silas stepped forward, and the distance between them vanished in an instant. "You want validation?" He spoke in a silky threatening tone. "Then let me make something clear, you are the best talent I’ve seen in years." Genevieve gasped in surprise. His fragrance was a combination of strength and restraint as he leaned in. "But if you think for a second that Mercer won’t use you as a pawn against me, then you’re more naïve than I thought." She was not going to be shaken by his statements. "I make my own choices, Silas." Her wrist was lightly touched by his fingertips, a slight yet deadly touch. With a whisper, "Then make the right one," he said. Why does it seem like she's being asked to stay by Silas for reasons other than business? As Genevieve paced her apartment, her mind a battleground, the city bustled outside. Gideon's proposal. Silas's remarks. The way his eyes pierced her like a secret he dared not reveal. Her cell rang. Gideon Mercer: Ms. Montgomery, I'll be anticipating your decision by morning. She nibbled on her lip. Was this her opportunity to finally break free from Silas's pull? She held the phone in her hand. Another text message came up before she could respond. Silas Rockwell: Arrive at 8 a.m. in my office. Not any later. Genevieve let out a loud sigh. She could no longer choose her destiny. It was a conflict. Does she enter Silas's world further or does she leave? The golden lights that glistened in the ballroom gave the sea of New York's elite an ethereal glow. The rich and powerful swirled in a complex dance of influence and deceit as champagne and laughter poured freely. As she stepped onto the marble floor, wearing a crimson silk gown that clung to her body like a whispered promise, Genevieve felt the weight of every stare. The clothing had been a daring decision, one that stood out and attracted attention. But when Silas Rockwell held out his hand, it didn't matter. With an unintelligible tone in his voice, he ordered, "Dance with me." There was no question. Genevieve paused, aware of the sharp gazes of Rosalind, the reporters, and Gideon Mercer, who was grinning from the bar. With his breath against her temple, Silas whispered, "Say no, and they'll think you're afraid of me." She took his hand after swallowing the scathing retort that was on the tip of her lips. The first note was played by the orchestra. Silas led with accuracy, every motion smooth and under control. He lured her into his world with an ease that was both irritating and intoxicating. She whispered, her voice quieter than she meant to, "You like to make me uncomfortable." His mouth twisted a little. "You think I like it. Perhaps I simply enjoy watching how you respond to pressure. She furrowed her brow. "How am I doing thus far?" A quiet response that sent chills down her spine caused his grip to tighten ever so slightly at her waist. They were engrossed in the waltz's beat, and for a brief instant, there was no rivalry or conflict. A camera then flashed. Then reality struck. Genevieve tensed up and retreated a little. "Aren't we putting on a show?" Silas's face was still unreadable. "A really good one." Long after the music had stopped, however, his hand was still on the small of her back. Did he see this as a game or anything more? The heat of his touch persisted even after the dance was over. Silas grabbed Genevieve's wrist as she turned to go, needing air and space. "I've got something for you," he remarked with ease. She scowled. "What?" He pointed to the balcony, where the city loomed before him like a kingdom. She grudgingly followed. Against her warm flesh, the air seemed crisp. A tiny velvet box was given to her by Silas. Her stomach grew constricted. "Am I meant to be impressed by this?" "Open it." She pulled out a shiny keycard. She raised an eyebrow and guessed, "To the penthouse?" “To your penthouse,” responded Silas. "A short-term agreement. While working on this project, you will be lodging at Rockwell Tower. Her breath caught. "You're not serious." His look was impossible to read as he leaned on the railing. "You desired to establish your worth? Then demonstrate it. You will have all you require, including privacy, full access, and an office. She gave a headshake. "You have complete control over my life." He gave a gloomy laugh. "No, Genevieve. I'm granting you authority. It is up to you what you do with it. Seeking a catch, she looked into his eyes. "What?" she muttered. With the fury barely held, his eyes darkened. "You understand why." Genevieve felt her heart race in her throat. Grasping the keycard, she stepped back. "I'll give it some thought." Knowing that he had already won, Silas grinned. Was she about to fall into a trap? Or an irresistible temptation?