A Lesson to Teach

POV: RHYS

The dark roast coffee burned the back of my throat, a welcome shock to the system. Morning sunlight streamed through the massive windows of Dexter’s luxury apartment, catching the dust motes dancing in the air. I leaned against the marble kitchen island, holding my ceramic mug, soaking in the fast-paced energy of New York City traffic humming several floors below. Six years of managing the London office had ingrained a quiet routine into my bones. The reserved English manners offered a peaceful existence, but standing here, I realized how much I missed the unapologetic grit of home.

"I'm heading out, baby," Cleo murmured. She wrapped her arms around my older brother’s neck, leaning in to press an affectionate, lingering kiss to his mouth.

I kept my eyes on my coffee. If anyone dragged it out of me, I would fight the admission with every fiber of my being, but a buried piece of my soul envied the profound stability Dexter had found. Cleo had crashed into his rigid world like a hurricane, upending it for the better. I remembered the early days of their collision. Dex had been a stressed, grumpy mess because he could not stand her, yet he craved her.

Watching their magnetic dynamic forcefully dragged my thoughts straight back to a certain stubborn, infuriating scientist. Tessa Vance had been occupying far more of my mental space and waking thoughts than I ever cared to admit. I gritted my teeth and shoved the thought away.

"Bye, Rhys. We will finish our conversation later," Cleo said, flashing me a brilliant smile before grabbing her purse. She was elegant, tough, and fought tooth and nail for what she wanted.

Dexter shot her a warning look. "Don't encourage him."

Cleo rolled her eyes, her high heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. "Mind your business, Caldwell. Have a good day at work, you two." The heavy front door clicked shut behind her.

The domestic tranquility vanished the second the lock engaged. Dexter turned to face me. He gripped his coffee mug, snatched up a silver fork from his empty plate, and pointed the prongs right at my chest. His eyes held a dark, deeply disapproving glare.

"Leave her alone, or this is not going to end well," Dex warned, his voice laced with protective steel.

I scoffed, leaning back on the barstool. The threat bounced right off me. "It's fine."

"No, it is not. What Cleo wants to happen and what you are trying to do are two very different things."

A predatory, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. "I'm just trying to teach that woman a lesson."

Dexter let out a harsh, incredulous breath, tossing the fork into the sink with a clatter. "What lesson could you possibly teach her? I told you it was a bad idea to even think about getting involved with Tessa. She is not your type of woman."

"So you agree with her," I shot back, my irritation spiking. "You both think she is too good for me."

"It is not about that, and you know it." Dexter leaned heavily against the counter, crossing his arms. "Your notorious lifestyle and what Tessa needs right now fundamentally clash. You want nothing but meaningless, physical sex because you are a colossal idiot. You are terrified of giving your shattered heart to someone again after what happened in your past. You treat women like conquests."

My jaw tightened. "What does my past have to do with this? She is an attractive woman. I invited her to my bed. I did not think I would offend her. She is the one who chose to act arrogant and judge me. I tried to smooth things over between us, just like you asked. She refused. Why should I keep trying?"

"You do not have to try. Just drop the pursuit."

"I could do that if she stopped insulting me."

"You started this, Rhys."

"Come on, Dex." I set my mug down hard on the marble. "I just invited her to have sex. It is a straightforward physical request. She could have just said no like a normal adult. Instead, she decided I am the worst kind of bastard on the planet. She is the one being a bitch, using a simple rejection to play morally superior to me."

Dexter looked disgusted by my sheer lack of tact. "You were acting like a bastard. She is our friend, Rhys. You did not even know her for five fucking minutes before deciding you wanted to fuck her."

"If she had said yes, it would have been a pleasant night. Why the hell is everyone inflating this into something bigger than it is?"

"Because I recognize the catastrophic path you are walking down." Dexter let out a dark, knowing laugh that grated on my raw nerves. "When life kicks your ass, do not say I didn't warn you."

Male pride flared hot in my chest, taking over my common sense. "Life can kick my ass after that woman spends a night sweating in my bed and comes begging for more."

Dexter shook his head, his voice dropping to a soft, ominous register that hit far too close to the mark. "Then do whatever you want. But remember, it might be you doing the begging."

I stood up, aggressively brushing off the cryptic warning. "I am not you, Dex."

"No, you are not. You are a bigger idiot. And for the record, I will enjoy watching Tessa kick your ass. Now let's get to work."

I grabbed my coat and left the apartment, the crisp morning air doing nothing to cool my temper. What the hell was Dex actually thinking? That a man like me would end up helplessly tethered like a lovesick puppy to that defensive, sharp-tongued scientist?

She was undeniably attractive. I freely admitted that fact to myself as I hailed a cab. I had spent an exorbitant, unhealthy amount of time over the weekend thinking about her body. My mind played a relentless loop of slipping my large hand up under that tight pencil skirt she wore on Friday, mapping the curves of her thighs to feel her soft, warm skin.

I stared out the cab window, the fantasies turning explicit and demanding. I spent hours picturing those incredibly full, pink lips wrapped tightly around my cock. I wanted to look down and watch her gaze up at me in pure submission. I wanted to grip the nape of her neck, my fingers tangled ruthlessly in her wild, dark brown hair while she took me. I wanted to dominate her, to thrust into her until she whimpered, to make her beg to have me inside her. I wanted to wipe that infuriating 'I'm too good for you' attitude right off her beautiful face.

Since she had already firmly decided I was a heartless bastard, I would gladly play the role of the villain to get exactly what I wanted. She desperately needed a lesson in humility, and I needed to satisfy this sexual hunger so I could finally get her out of my head.

The cab pulled up to the curb. I paid the fare and stepped out onto the pavement, pushing the distracting fantasies into a locked box in my mind. I needed to focus on my true anchor.

I walked across the prestigious, sprawling campus of Columbia University. The towering stone buildings and manicured lawns projected an air of academic elite. I was here in a strictly professional capacity. Work was my absolute constant, an impenetrable fortress where my messy personal life held no power.

Finance was the only language that never lied to me. Over the past eleven highly successful years, Caldwell and Mercer Financial had grown from a risky startup into a titan. Dexter and Wyatt built the foundation while we were still in university, and I joined as a partner shortly after. I never expected that by twenty-five, I would be crossing the Atlantic to establish our London branch. Now, at thirty-one, I managed that overseas office with an iron fist, generating millions in personal revenue.

I took immense pride in that empire. Work gave me profound stability and unshakeable confidence. I never allowed any woman or personal obsession to interfere with the numbers.

So why the hell was the universe suddenly dealing me a sick hand now?

Our lucrative new client was the Vanguard Research Laboratory. We were hired to get their massive, chaotic financial records in order. I walked into the administrative building, rolling my shoulders under my tailored suit jacket, my mind focused entirely on profit margins.

A secretary guided me down a quiet corridor and opened the door to the lab director's office. I walked in and sat in a dark leather chair opposite a massive mahogany desk. The room smelled of old paper and sterile cleaning supplies. I checked my watch, mentally organizing the introductory pitch. We needed to audit their research expenditures and provide efficient solutions.

A few minutes later, the heavy wooden door opened.

I heard the cadence of footsteps. Two pairs.

"Mr. Caldwell, thank you so much for coming," the lab director, Mrs. Gallagher, announced cheerfully as she walked into the room.

I stood up from the leather chair, adjusting the center button of my suit jacket out of habit.

"It is my pleasure," I replied.

Mrs. Gallagher stepped aside, gesturing to the person standing just behind her. "This is Miss Tessa Vance. She is in charge of our research department."

I turned around slowly, pivoting on my heel.

The polite greeting died in my throat. The world tilted on its axis.

Standing right in front of me, in the middle of a high-stakes corporate meeting, was the exact woman I had just spent the morning fantasizing about dominating.

Tessa Vance.