☘︎ Jᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ Rʏsᴏɴ ☘︎
The Ryson Group's NY headquarter lies in the heart of Times Square, at a place right between the Broadway and the Seventh Avenue, the liveliest area in the whole of New York City.
Amidst the buzzing crowd, huge advertising hoardings, banners in neon lights and billboards, is a dome-like skyscraper made of tinted glass so black it rivals the evilest of hearts. The initials RG is carved in silver at the top, tiny diamonds lining its border.
On the opposite side of the street is another identical skyscraper, only this one with the initials VG representing Vitallis Group carved in gold at the top. One of the reasons David Vitallis' unwavering hatred towards me is rooted from the fact that I bought the building he coveted, before he could buy it. As a result, now both the rival company's NY headquarter is at the exact opposite sides of the street, facing one another in a dramatic way.
The driver pulls the car through the large black gates of the headquarter, halting right in front of the entrance.
Viviane is waiting near the glass doors dressed in a white button down shirt and khaki skirt, her brown hair pulled up in a tight high ponytail. There's a big file in her hands and an even bigger smile on her face that lights up the grey in her eyes.
"Miss Ryson, good morning!" She sing-songs the moment I get down from the car and approach the building.
"Morning." I nod crisply, striding straight inside the skyscraper.
The employees skitter around in shock and nervousness at the sight of me, passing mousy greetings as if they'd been visited by the devil.
For a flicker of a moment, I sense a set of unwanted eyes on me that sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine but the feeling dissipates within the next second. Discreetly glancing around and finding no one except the edgy employees, my bodyguards and Viviane, I dismiss the irrational paranoia.
Viviane's heels click-clack behind mine in a hurry as she rushes to keep up with my long strides, "So when I came here, I was blown off by this place. I mean, all of this. . ." I can see her raising her arms as if in prayer, "You built it yourself! That's insane! And so admirable! I admire how independent you are. I could only wish. I have always wanted to build something of my own-"
"What's today's report?" I interrupt, not wanting her to go on about her life story when my head was already pounding from lack of sleep and unwanted stress from breakfast.
"Oh! The report!" She fumbles with the file in her hand, "Ayesha told me how Sayeed makes a whole listed report everyday so I asked Sayeed the way he does it and prepared this-oh shit!"
Nathan, one of my bodyguards, gathers the file from Viviane's hands when she nearly drops it.
Muttering a 'thank you', she takes the file back from him and begins to parote, "First of, we have John's firing. Which leaves the CEO space for NY branch empty and since now you're here, you can personally choose a candidate."
"Fix the interviews for tomorrow." I assert even though the thought of meeting jittery candidates repulses me, "You know Ayesha and Sayeed personally?" I ask taking note of her earlier words.
"Ah. . .yes." Viviane smiles hesitantly, "Actually, I know them through my younger brother, Nikolai. Sayeed and Nikolai are good friends. When I first arrived in London, Sayeed and Ayesha helped me settle down." Then as if suddenly realizing something, her eyes widen, "It doesn't mean Sayeed choose me for the job because I'm his friend's sister. I swear I earned my place on my own-"
"I don't take Sayeed to be a person who'd just give his spot to someone without being assured of their ability. You can relax." My voice is clipped but it's the truth, "You're Russian." I state after a minute when she suddenly goes silent.
Viviane blinks like a deer caught in headlights, "How'd you-"
"Your accent." I pass her a glance, "Why choose London when Russia is good enough?"
She shrugs, "I like London. Not to say Russia isn't good, it's a splendid place for professional employment. But I needed a place away from home for a change. You know all the-"
"What's next in the report?" I divert back to work because without me realizing I'd started asking social questions when I had no plans to be social.
Viviane seems more relieved at the change of subject than I'd anticipated, "Second up, the research and development team suggested an opening of a new luxury store in Seventh Avenue. . ."
Her conversation drones on in the background as I make it to my office at the top-most floor, giving pointers once in a while before dismissing her.
Viviane, despite her too much talking, is actually a more competent assistant than I'd expected and even though Sayeed is duly missed, his cover-up just sums up his spot perfectly.
Alone in the sleek confines of my office with the floor-to-ceiling windows giving a splendid view of the Times Square below, I rest back in my leather chair behind the black-wood desk.
The onslaught of emotions I'd held back the whole time comes rushing at me in full force as if it had waited for me to be left in solitude to attack and disrupt my peace.
Samuel Davidson. My father.
I'd seen him before in the years after the incident, but I'd never spoken to him. We'd both pretended like we didn't know each other, like we were two strangers and not father and daugher.
Part of me knew the resentment I held towards my father was petty, stupid even. Because he was right in his place to not want to acknowledge me after what happened.
I hated how he didn't believe me back then. Even though I couldn't blame him because part of me didn't believe myself. My head was a messy haze when it came to that day.
What had hurt though was the fact that he'd cared about his company over his wife's peace that day. He'd chosen his company. He'd believed what was in front of him, he'd despised me in that moment. But instead of issuing justice, he'd burried everything down, somehow put the blame on someone who wasn't the culprit and shipped me off to another city to prevent any doubt that might cause a hit against Davidson Group's reputation.
Despite knowing if he had done what needed to be done, I wouldn't be here today, I couldn't let the resentment go.
For a man who'd been madly in love with Irene Hamen, knowing how much his wife's death had broken him, he'd wiped his hands clean off the case surrounding her death the first thing to save his company's image. It'd put a crack in the fragile glass around me and my father's relationship, which had only grown to an un-repairable point within the years I spent alone in London, wallowing in guilt, grief and insanity.
If it weren't for Mia, I wouldn't be staying in that villa one more minute.
Mia and I are bonded through deep-rooted trauma. We'd truly been through each other's best and worst together. We first met at the clown's warehouse. Even if we didn't know it, we'd been schoolmates before that.
After we got out, father and mother had strictly homeschooled me out of paranoia. The other kidnapped children's parents following suit. On my request, Mia was allowed to be one of my very few homeschool mates. And that's where our friendship grew solid.
There wasn't a moment in my life when Mia had quitted on me, and seeing the hopeful way she asked me whether I'd still stay. . . .I couldn't deny her when I knew she wouldn't if she were in my place.
But it still didn't mean that I didn't feel suffocated there.
A tired breath whisks past my mouth. I rest my head on the desk, feeling too drained and tired. Atleast I did the work for the day yesterday night itself.
It doesn't take long for my eyelids to grow heavy from the lack of sleep and my rushing thoughts in the pin-drop silent confines of my office.
Before I can stop it, the fatigue claims my consciousness pulling me into a deep slumber.
...
A feathery light touch on my cheek rouses me awake. Not opening my eyes, I lean into it, a strange sense of calm enveloping me.
The hand stills for a moment, but then the touch turns firmer, a thumb stroking the slopes of my cheekbones and carresing the shape of my jaw.
I nearly succumb to the soft pleasure of the person's touch, nearly let out a sigh-
Wait, what?!
My eyes flash open in alarm, my self-defense instincts kicking in as I grab the wrist of the hand that touched my face in a vice-like grip. With a sharp twist to the person's arm, I stand up and knock his jaw with my knee. His upper body falls face first on the desk as I lock his arm behind his back, everything happening within a matter of seconds.
Although when my sight finally takes in the intruder, they widen with incredulity. You gotta be kidding me.
Half sprawled on my desk, rendered immobile under my hold, is Lykas Vitallis. His raven hair curtains over the long lashes of his whisky eyes as they stare up at me in part shock and part awe.
"The fuck are you? A Ninja?!"
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Jennifer really does have Ninja moves tho. . .
I know I went a bit in detail about Viviane but trust me when I say it'll all make sense in the end👀🤐
Anyways, how'd you like the chapter? Thoughts?
Do you think someone is following Jenna?👀