Page 10 of Strictly Business

Istorm out of that meeting, my mind reeling with frustration. The tongue-lashing I receive from my mother afterward is nothing short of scorching, though not quite a first-degree burn since I manage to give as good as I get. That is, until Dad, still on the conference call, cuts in, ordering me to watch my mouth. Typical.

Why put me in charge of this division if they're not going to let me run it my way? Either they trust me, or they don’t. And this constant nagging to watch my mouth, to mind my p’s and q’s—it's infuriating. I'm not a child, far from it.

And then there's Genesis Jones. Seeing her in my office this morning, and throughout that godforsaken meeting, stirs something unexpected in me. Sure, as a teen, she was just my brother’s friend—just a kid. But that night at the graduation, her speech about her dreams and aspirations in journalism...lit a fire in me and made me see her differently. She was no longer just a kid; she was a young woman, full of potential.

Since then, I've kept tabs on her, albeit covertly—her education, her travels, her articles. She’s talented, far too talented for this nonsense my parents are orchestrating. Yet, here she is, being wasted on this Bachelor project.

Part of my anger stems from the thought of her possibly becoming interested in one of the men she's interviewing. Why the hell does that bother me so much? I haven’t spoken to her in a decade. I pace my office, trying to focus on the city skyline but failing to find the usual enjoyment.

Mother may be a thorn in my side, but she's right about one thing—I need to put my personal feelings aside for the good of Forrester Media. It doesn’t matter where the idea came from, but the fact that it was done behind my back gnaws at me. I need answers, and if not from my parents, then certainly from my brothers or Robyn. She’s been so caught up with Knox that she's neglected to inform me about this project. She'll definitely be hearing from me.

My seething is interrupted by the ring of my phone—Kylie, my assistant. I clench my teeth, trying to suppress my anger; she’s not to blame for my foul mood. She's just doing her job.

I jab the speaker button. “Kylie, speak to me.” I flip open my laptop and pull up my calendar as she begins to rattle off my schedule for the day. My mind, however, is still swirling with the day's earlier events and the unresolved tensions they’ve left in their wake.

* * *

Genesis

"Have a seat, Genesis," Robyn directs with an edge in her tone as we enter her office. I comply, unsure of where this conversation is heading, and sit across from her at her large oak desk. She closes the door and joins me, massaging her temples as if fending off an impending migraine.

Until now, all our interactions were virtual, given her international assignments. Even during my interview process, which included Robyn, we never discussed anything about being the main writer for a Bachelor publication.

She drops the folder of documents Rachael had handed us earlier onto her desk, her gaze fixated on them, deep in thought. "Please tell me you didn't know about this Bachelor project when we offered you the job," she says, her voice laden with tension.

"I swear, Robyn, I had no idea about this. Rachael mentioned it at the Thanksgiving Eve dinner, but you and Reece weren't there," I explain, trying to defend my position. "I thought they would have informed you."

She looks close to tears. "No one told me anything."

"I think it'll be a fun project," I venture, hoping to ease the mood.

"It's not about ‘fun,’ Genesis. I was blindsided, and now Reece will think I orchestrated this behind his back," she laments, her frustration evident.

"You can tell him you were just as unaware as I was. Nobody wants to be on Reece's bad side," I suggest.

Her eyes narrow slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's just...intimidating," I reply, choosing my words carefully.

"Your buddy Talon doesn't seem to mind," she retorts with a scoff.

"Talon doesn't care much about what anyone thinks," I say. "He's a free spirit but reliable."

"Do you think he knew about this?" Robyn probes.

"I'm not sure," I admit, feeling a bit uncertain about Talon's involvement.

"You do realize he got you this job, right?" she asks pointedly.

"I earned this job on my own merit. I didn’t even tell Talon I was applying," I assert.

Robyn sighs, reaching out a hand. "Your credentials are excellent, but I'm sure it was who Talon threw your name into the mix. Trust me, his parents do whatever their baby boy wants."

I'm stunned by her revelation, struggling to process it. Robyn continues, shaking her head. "Can you find out what else Talon knows? I need to know if my job is safe or if I'll be exiled to Siberia while you work on Rachael's vanity project."

Robyn's complexion grows paler as she speaks. "Robyn, are you okay?" I ask with concern.

"I'm just under the weather," she dismisses, "and none of this is helping."