Sophia’s POV
I had enough presence of mind to not argue or keep pushing and lose my chance to see Mr Prescott’s office and possibly impress him with the knowledge I had gathered.
When I got to Mr Prescott’s office, it was in time for an emergency meeting that Mr Prescott had.
In the meeting, I found that I could barely keep up much less contribute to the conversation. The technical terms flying about like it was nothing, the ever changing slides with trends and possible improvement to say the least.
I tried to follow the main trail of the conversation. They were talking about cutting back on supply to up demand and profits from a price range increase.
They also spoke of new products and the elevation designs for the products. Exports as well as their tax reduction via charity.
They spoke of foreign investors. Foreign exchange portfolios and the business meeting seemed to span into forever.
When we got out of the meeting and went straight to Mr Prescott’s private office, I collapsed into the chair opposite his behind the desk.
I let out an impressed but tired sigh.
“Mr Prescott I think I understand why you are grumpy now.” I announced.
Mr Prescott stopped typing with his system long enough to give me a weird look.
“Grumpy?” He asked.
I gestured at his office.
“You have so much work to do. It must take a toll.” I said.
“I enjoy this.” Mr Prescott said, his face now back on his system as he began to roll up his sleeve still speaking. “It’s the only thing I’m really good at doing so for me it isn’t like work.”
I seriously doubted that work could feel like anything other than work but I didn’t dispute his claim, my gaze now fixed for whatever reason on Mr Prescott’s rippling muscles obvious from his shirt straining around it.
Focus Sophia and stop ogling your fake husband.
I pulled out a notepad intent on scribbling down all the terminologies that I had managed to keep in my head at the meeting to research later.
“What are you writing?” Mr Prescott said and I nearly jumped several feet in the air as I spun in the swivelling chair to see him right behind me.
In spinning, I mistakenly placed myself close to Mr Prescott who had leaning in to see what I had been writing.
Now our faces were barely inches apart from each other and it felt as though the entire world had gone silent for a few seconds, my world condensing to Mr Prescott’s gray eyes, his stern expression on his face, his broad shoulders, his veined forearms one of which was reaching out to me and…
Mr Prescott touched the barely visible edges of my scar at my hairline and my skin tingled from his touch.
“What happened to you here?” Mr Prescott asked with a thick voice that had me swallowing hard at the memory of how I had gotten that scar before I could speak.
“My Dad.” I said finally. The hit had been for Mom but I had been in the way. I could still remember my blood dripping down my face as my mom rushed me to the hospital.
I saw the surprise bloom in Mr Prescott’s gaze followed by sympathy and suddenly all of this felt a little bit too intimate.
I waved away his concern wanting the matter to be done with already so that Mr Prescott and I could return to our normal.
“I’m fine now, don’t worry.” I told him but that gentle look of concern remained in Mr Prescott’s eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Miss Evergreen.” He said softly then he retracted his hand from my face or at least he would have if I hadn’t placed my hand on his forearm at the last moment.
Just around where he had pulled up his shirt sleeve to on his left hand was a slightly raised red scar that looked a lot like a burn mark.
“What happened to you here?” I gaped. It was an old scar but I could only imagine how it had looked before. How much pain it would have caused Mr Prescott.
A dark chuckle escaped Mr Prescott before he responded.
“My Dad.”
My jaw nearly dropped for the second time that day. Drey Baxter had done this?
“I’m sorry.” I told Mr Prescott.
I was sorry this had happened to him but mostly I was sorry I had assumed his life as a Baxter heir then Prescott heir had been all roses.
My hand stayed on his forearm but to my surprise, Mr Prescott didn’t pull away. The world slowed as our gazes stayed locked in an understanding only survivors of abuse had and something else.
Something that made my breath come fast.
Mr Prescott leaned in.
The door slammed open suddenly.
“Mr Prescott-” Reid Prescott’s secretary Anne was speaking but the person who had slammed the door open forcibly didn’t let her finish before waving Anne away dismissively.
“I’ll see myself in.” Kate said, her eyes taking in Mr Prescott and me with barely restrained amusement.