CHAPTER 4

Jillian stared at her reflection in the mirror of the little office restroom for the third time that day.

Her blouse was primly buttoned, her pencil skirt hugged her hips professionally, not sensually, her makeup was subtle, yet elegant and her red hair was smoothed back into a chic low bun, with not a single strand out of place.

She looked like she had it all together.

But inside, she was shaken up. 

The things from the day before continued to eat at her. Gerald's words kept ringing in her mind, the burns of humiliation little more than smoldering now. And even though Ciara had managed to ease her worry a little, she was still bothered by it. By him. It was ridiculous how rapidly things had taken a turn. A night of excess, a stupid decision, really and now she was dodging the smirk of a man who had the power to ruin her.

She shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts from her head, grabbed her bag, and headed out of the apartment.

Work wasn't going to wait for her to get her head straight. So, she just had to do it herself.

The office felt cooler today or maybe it was just her mood. Either way, she didn’t care. She just wanted the day to be over already.

Wherever she moved, Gerald appeared to hang over her with his stupid smug, self-satisfied smirk, like he knew something she didn’t, conversing with other executives, and every so often meeting her eye with his daring, irritating ones. She'd tried to break eye contact, and had struggled to stay laser-sharp on tasks at hand. But nothing could escape the magnitude of him. He was like a big red annoying zit at the middle of one’s forehead.

Especially when he walked by her desk and "accidentally" knocked over her coffee cup with the edge of a file.

"Oh, oops," he said with a look of surprise as coffee splattered across her planner. Jillian clenched her fists at her desk. "It's okay," she growled, scooping up napkins to clean the mess. She just didn’t get it. He was the one that said they shouldn’t cross paths. Why the fuck can’t he leave her alone?

Gerald stepped in closer, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "You have to work on your balance, Jillian. Too bad to be so clumsy on your second day."

Her stomach churned, but she remained silent. Instead, she saw the memo on her computer screen: Meeting with Mrs. Pierre – 10:30 a.m. Conference Room B. Support executive scheduling. The memo gave her a sense of relief. Finally, respite from Gerald.

Maybe even a chance to prove herself to her boss.

By 10:25, Jillian stood in the conference room, double-checking the agenda printouts and water arrangements. She paced through the seating plan one more time, making sure everything was set for Eloise’s senior-level meeting.

The door opened as she was adjusting the hydrangeas a third time, and Eloise stepped in, all poise and lethal beauty.

“Everything looks good,” she said with a nod. “You’ll stay to take notes.”

Jillian nodded quickly. “Of course, ma’am.”

More executives began to fill in after that. Jillian stood at the far corner of the room, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Her pen remained poised over her notebook ready to take down necessary information.

And then the door opened once again and once again, time stood still. An occurrence that seemed to be happening more frequently than she cared for.

A man walked in. He wore a navy suit that had been tailored to perfection and had an aura of complete authority.

He didn't merely walk into the room.

He seemed to own it.

Who was he?

The man caught her gaze for a brief second, before turning away.

Eloise's voice cut in then.

"Jillian, this is my first son, Dominic Pierre. He is the co-president of Pierre Corp. and you’ll be seeing him more often as time goes on."

Jillian's breath caught in her throat.

Pierre.

Dominic Pierre.

Her hands trembled slightly, yet she wore a blank expression on her face. At least she wished she did. Jillian was quite fond of wearing her emotions on her face. She was expressive like that. She grasped her pen tightly, wishing at the moment, it was her stress ball.

Gerald's brother. It was like a cruel joke from the universe.

She looked down, pretending to write something on her pad. He was Gerald's brother. Which meant… he knew. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe this was another trap. Another game. Another man who was going to start toying with her sanity.

She swallowed hard, trying her best to focus on the meeting.

Dominic had spoken in a careful and confident voice, contributing to the discussion with astuteness and lucidity. There was not a hint of Gerald's egotism about him. He listened, and pondered. But Jillian couldn't quite follow most of it above the noise of her own troubled mind.

She needed to get away from there. Immediately.

The meeting finally ended an hour later and Jillian escaped silently and returned to her own workstation. Her heart still raced in her chest, and finally, the fragments of understanding began to fall into place slowly.

Brothers.

She sat down and stared at her screen, unsure how to feel.

She was halfway through formatting a spreadsheet when a shadow passed by her desk. She looked up and Aria stood beside her.

“Mr. Pierre would like to see you.”

Jillian blinked. “Mr. Gerald Pierre?”

She shook her head. “Mr. Dominic. His office. Now, please.”

___________________________________

The walk to his office felt longer than it was.

Pierre Corp. was designed to impress—glass walls, matte black trim, panoramic views of Boston from the top floor—but Dominic’s space was different. Simpler. Sharper. A sleek mahogany desk, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a single glass sculpture by the window.

It was power without noise.

Jillian rapped her knuckles on the door once.

“Come in.”

His voice was calm. Measured. Not cold, not warm—just… clean, like running water.

She stepped inside. He didn’t look up at first, still reviewing something on his screen. For a moment,  she took him in.

Dominic Pierre looked like the kind of man who never rushed a decision, never raised his voice, and never showed his full hand. Clean-shaven. Immaculate suit. Cufflinks shaped like chess knights.

He finally looked up.

“Ms. Richards.”

“Mr. Pierre.”

His eyes flicked to the printed report still grasped tightly in Jillian’s hand. “That came through?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take a seat.”

She sat, placing the file on his desk. He didn’t open it right away.

Instead, he studied her.

It wasn’t lecherous,like the ones she usually got from his brother. Wasn’t even curious, really. It was clinical. Like I was a variable he hadn’t accounted for.

“You started yesterday,” he said simply, more of a statement rather than a question.

“Yes.”

“Settling in?”

She nodded once. “So far, yes.”

He leaned back slightly, lacing his fingers together. “And Gerald? Any… difficulties?”

The question felt like a test.

Jillian kept her expression neutral. “He’s been polite.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow.

“I know my brother,” he said finally. “And I know he isn’t good at knowing when to stop.”

She didn’t reply. 

He stood and crossed to the cabinet near the window, pouring himself a glass of water. Then, without turning, he asked, “How do you handle conflict, Ms. Richards?”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“Conflict. Tension. Intimidation. How do you handle all of those?”

“I survive it.”

That made him pause.

He turned slowly, glass in hand. “That’s not the answer I expected.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Just slightly. A flicker of approval that disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Do you know why my mother hired you?”

She hesitated. “Because I’m qualified.”

“She doesn’t hire based on that alone.”

Jillian swallowed. “Then maybe she saw something in me.”

“Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe she wanted to see how you’d handle being dropped into the fire.”

A frown took over her features. “Excuse me?”

He returned to his desk, voice low. “This company, this family, isn’t a meritocracy. It’s a battlefield. People like you… you either learn to fight, or you burn.”

Something in her straightened. “I’ve fought worse.”

He looked at her then, directly. And for the first time, something cracked in his expression—just a flash. Interest. Not just in the professional sense. Something heavier.

The air between them shifted.

“I don’t think you’ll burn,” he said quietly.

Then he slid the report closer. “You did well with this. Keep it up.”

She stood to leave, her pulse louder than it should’ve been.

But at the door, he stopped her.

“One more thing.”

She turned around.

He nodded toward the hallway. “If Gerald ever tries to corner you again… come to me first.”

Her breath hitched. “I don’t need saving.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you might need backup.”

Jillian left quickly before she said anything stupid.