Chapter 7 The First Sparks

As Genevieve hurried across the street, her head awash in fatigue and annoyance, her shoes snapped forcefully against the pavement. The cool morning air was accompanied by the constant hum of New York City. Silas's scathing remarks, the unrealistic expectations, and her intense desire to disprove him were all still entangled in her mind from the conflict of the previous night. The blasting bell was scarcely perceptible to her. Suddenly the cab arrived. Time slowed. A yellow blur. Screeching tires. The look of horror on the driver's face. Then a hand. Her arm was grabbed by a steel grasp, which pulled her back so violently that her lungs were robbed of their breath. Genevieve's body collided with sheer strength as she crashed into a sturdy chest. The world froze for a second. Her pulse roared in her ears and her heart pounded against her ribcage. The smell of fresh cologne, something unquestionably manly, and warm breath touched her head. She slowly raised her head to meet Silas Rockwell's intense stare. His blue eyes were like broken ice, and his jaw was tight. She was still in his grasp. squeezing her. The heat of his flesh branded her own as his chest rose and sank against hers. The world hurried back. impatient drivers' honking. The whispers of onlookers. Silas's hand clenched once more, then suddenly relaxed. With her heart still racing, Genevieve staggered back, the sudden lack of his touch startling her. "Are you…." she began in a shaky voice. Silas's voice was sharp and controlled as he said, "Watch where you're going." Then he turned and strolled off, as though the moment had never occurred. Why was Silas's reaction so intense? What has changed in Genevieve's world, and why? Genevieve's breath was still erratic as she remained motionless on the pavement. She could still feel his hands on her. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. And yet, where he touched her, her flesh burned. She let out a sharp breath and pushed her feet forward. With its glass exterior reflecting the storm within her, the workplace loomed ahead. A recognizable voice pierced the air as she entered the lobby. "Rough morning?" Genevieve pivoted…..Watching her with unabashed amusement, Jasper Hollingsworth leaned against the reception desk. She gave a shoulder roll. "It’s been eventful." Jasper grinned. "I witnessed your knight in Armani come to the rescue. Impressive, even for Silas. Genevieve tensed. "It was nothing." Jasper's gaze sparkled. "It’s never nothing with him." The elevator doors dinged before she could reply. And there he was. As he went outside, Silas looked at her. not caring. As though they hadn't simply been mashed together. As though he hadn't been able to save her. Genevieve felt a knot in her stomach. Without even looking at them, Silas was swept by them. Jasper laughed next to her. "You know what that means, right?" Her fists clenched. "Enlighten me." Jasper spoke softly as he leaned closer. "He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t care." Is Jasper correct? What would it mean for Genevieve if he is? One could feel the tension in the office. Refusing to allow her mind to return to Silas's hands, Genevieve immersed herself in her task. But whenever he was there, the electric quiet was unavoidable. When she entered the break room at midday, he was already there. Suddenly, the space felt cramped. Despite herself, Silas's presence drew her in like a gravity well. Her voice had to remain neutral as she tensed up. "Rockwell." Silas remained engrossed in his coffee. "Montgomery." She sensed his eyes as she made her way to the counter. Not visible. Unfazed. Unquestionable. There was a long pause. At last he said something. "I don’t need your gratitude." Genevieve stopped. She turned slowly. His face was unreadable. "You think I was going to thank you?" Not quite a frown, not nearly a smirk, his lips curved. "Aren’t you?" Tilting her chin upward, Genevieve took a step closer. She declared, "I owe you nothing." "And I certainly don’t owe you my gratitude." Something flared in his eyes, a feeling too fleeting to describe. She touched his hand and reached for the coffee kettle. Between them, electricity crackled. Silas remained motionless for a single moment. Then he moved back, his fingers balling into a fist. "Good," he whispered to me. "Let’s keep it that way." Then, he disappeared. Genevieve let out a loud sigh. A hand was pressed against her chest. Her heart continued to pound. Why does his touch haunt her if Silas doesn't care? A voice that was silky smooth but loaded with poison crept into Genevieve's ears just as she was processing the electrified air that Silas had left behind. "If I were you, I would exercise caution." She looked around and saw Rosalind Astor, poised, perfect, and menacing. Genevieve had seen her in photos. The ideal former fiancée of Silas Rockwell. She was the type of lady who belonged in his world, cold, untouchable, and unshaken. However, something had changed in Rosalind's eyes. A sharp object. A sense of territoriality. "I didn't know we had to trade warnings." Refusing to wilt under Rosalind's stare, Genevieve raised her chin. A knowing sneer curved the other woman's lips. "You're not welcome here." Rosalind had a smooth, almost bored voice. Genevieve's fists clenched. "Is that correct?" Rosalind stepped forward purposefully. Like a drum on the battlefield, their heels reverberated. She whispered, "I've seen women like you before." You believe that you are different because he looked at you and because he saved you. unique. Refusing to let the words get to her, Genevieve swallowed. Rosalind lowered her voice to a whisper as she drew closer. A caution. "People are not saved by Silas. He destroys them. When Genevieve responded, her voice was level, but her pulse was pounding. "So perhaps he's met his match." Something sparked in Rosalind's eyes for a brief moment. Are you annoyed? Wonder? Laughter? Then she gave a slow, rapacious smile. "Well, good luck. You'll require it. Then she turned, her scent hanging in the air like a warning. Genevieve let out a breath and made herself stay motionless. to remain unaffected. But a maelstrom raged inside…..inside. Was Rosalind correct, or was she only warning her? Silas stood looking at the skyline from his office window. The metropolis loomed before him, silent in its domination and strong. There was a presence behind him. Rosalind. She hadn't knocked. She didn't. "Avoid her," she advised. Not a request. An order. Silas gripped his glass of whiskey more tightly. "You believe you can dictate to whom I speak?" Rosalind took a step forward. "I believe you're becoming careless." Silas grinned. "It's impressive that you said that." The jab was ignored by Rosalind. She shifted to stand next to him, her image a phantom in the mirror. "Silas, she is nothing." He tightened his jaw. "So, what brings you here?" Sharp as a dagger, Rosalind's eyes darted to him. I know you, that's why. I recognize that expression in your eyes. I've witnessed it previously. Then Silas turned to face her, his face bland and smooth. He had mastered the mask over the years. "You have no knowledge." Rosalind's head cocked. "Then demonstrate it." Silas let out a slow breath. "To me, she is nothing." His words flowed easily from his mouth. However, he could feel the falsehood seeping into his bones as he spoke them. Rosalind looked at him, trying to find a crack. Then, as if she had already won, she grinned. "As you say," she whispered. And then she vanished as quietly as she had come. With a sharp sigh, Silas released the tension in his shoulders. He meant it. To him, Genevieve Montgomery was nothing. Why was he still holding his glass so hard, though? Why was the ghost of her still haunting him? Is Genevieve already inside Silas's walls, or is he really in charge?