First Move

Sunday morning arrived with a low, stubborn ache between my legs.

I had slept badly. Every time I closed my eyes I felt the phantom pressure of Owen’s cock against my palm again—the heat of him, the way he had jerked under my hand, the rough sound he made when I stepped back and left him hard. My body had not finished with the memory. It kept returning it to me in flashes while I tried to work.

I sat at the desk in my suite with Jakob’s acquisition files open and forced myself to focus. He wanted notes by evening. I gave him more than notes. I marked the soft assumptions, the numbers that leaned too hard on hope, the places where pressure could be applied later. When I finished, the summary was clean and sharp. I sent it.

Then I opened the private window.

The account sat behind enough distance that it would take time and intention to connect it to me. I moved a small amount—nothing that would draw attention—into a quiet position tied to one of the lesser-known subsidiaries under Prescott & Co. Not enough to matter yet. Just enough to begin. I confirmed the transfer and closed the laptop.

The satisfaction was cold. The ache between my legs was not.

Jakob called me to the study after midday.

He had printed my notes and spread them across the desk. He didn’t waste time.

“Sit. Walk me through the second risk you flagged.”

I did. Clearly. Without padding. He listened in silence, turning pages only when I moved to the next point. When I finished, he leaned back and looked at me for a long moment.

“You’re not what I expected when you first arrived.”

I kept my expression soft. “I’m just trying to be useful.”

His eyes dropped briefly, then returned to mine. The glance was quick. Intentional. It left a thin trail of heat under my skin that I ignored.

“Keep doing that.”

He slid a thinner folder across the desk. “Background for Monday’s Meeting. Read it. I want you there.”

“I’ll be ready.”

His gaze held mine a second longer than the exchange required before he dismissed me. I left the study aware of the shift. He was giving me more. Not trust. Not yet. But space.

I spent most of the afternoon in my room reviewing the new material.

Near four, I went downstairs for water.

Owen was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass in his hand. He straightened when he saw me. The restless energy from the weekend was still there, but it looked sharper now, less contained.

“You’ve been upstairs all day,” he said.

“I’ve been working.”

He set the glass down. “On a Sunday.”

“Yes.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his skin under the cologne. Close enough that the memory of Friday roared back into my hand.

“I keep thinking about Friday,” he said, voice low. “About the way you touched me and then walked away like it cost you nothing.”

It had cost me more than he knew. My body was still collecting the debt. I didn’t tell him that.

“I told you we should take it slow.”

“I know what you said.” His throat moved. “I’m trying. But you left me standing there hard as fuck, Rhea. The way you looked at me…and you’ve been acting since then like it was nothing.”

The honesty hit harder than accusation would have. I let the silence sit between us long enough for him to feel it.

Then I softened my expression the way I needed to.

“It wasn’t nothing,” I said. “That’s why we have to be careful.”

His eyes searched my face. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a fragile, hungry relief. He nodded once.

“Okay. Careful.”

He didn’t touch me. The restraint was useful. It was also visible. I could see the effort it took him to keep his hands at his sides. I stepped past him before either of us could test it.

The door remained open. He still believed it might lead somewhere real.

That was the point.

I spent the evening reviewing the folder Jakob had given me, going over everything he had taught me during my first week inside Prescott & Co. By the time I closed my laptop, the house had gone completely quiet.

I took a shower, changed into my nightgown, and slipped beneath the sheets.

*****

Monday moved with the company’s usual controlled speed.

Jakob kept me near through the morning. Short questions. Brief instructions. The occasional demand for my read on something small. Each time he spoke to me, his attention lingered a fraction longer than necessary. Once, when I handed him a page, his fingers brushed mine and did not move away immediately. The contact was slight. It still sent a slow pulse up my wrist.

I gave him exact answers and ignored the pulse.

By mid-afternoon the floor had settled. At my assigned desk I opened the internal system under my limited access. Routine vendor reports filled the screen. One line sat slightly off—a shipping adjustment recorded inconsistently across two departments. Nothing dramatic. The kind of error that could be blamed on fatigue or lag.

I adjusted a single figure.

Not enough to break anything. Just enough to create a minor delay later, the sort of friction people would explain away as process noise. I saved the change and closed the window.

My hands remained steady.

That evening, in a private session, I made another small share purchase through the hidden account. Another quiet fraction. The pattern would only matter once enough of them existed.

Jakob called me into his office near the end of the day.

He stood behind the desk with a single printed page in front of him. He didn’t ask me to sit.

“There was a minor inconsistency in the vendor summaries this afternoon,” he said.

I waited.

“It resolved itself after a delay. Nothing significant.” His eyes lifted to mine. “Still. It shouldn’t have happened.”

The statement was calm. Measured. Not an accusation. But his gaze stayed on my face. There was something assessing in it.

I kept my expression open.

“Do you want me to review the process?”

Jakob looked at me for another moment. The attention sat heavily between us, quiet and deliberate. My pulse ticked once in my throat. I did not look away.

“Not yet,” he said finally. “Just keep your eyes open. I don’t like noise in the system.”

“I will.”

He held my gaze a second longer, then looked away first.

“Go home, Rhea.”

I left with my bag over my shoulder and the weight of his attention following me to the elevator.

He had noticed the friction.

He just didn’t know where it had come from.

And I had already begun.