Don't Flatter Yourself Mr Prescott

Elliot

The marketing team sat around the large conference table, shuffling through their presentations and adjusting their laptops. I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table, my fingers loosely intertwined, feigning nonchalance. But my mind wasn’t here. It hadn’t been for most of the morning.

All I could think about was her.

Susan.

The way her lips parted when she laughed, the spark of defiance in her eyes when she argued, and the sound of her voice saying my name. The memory of our past, the passion, and the ache of everything left unresolved...every single detail...was seared into my mind.

The door opened, and Gerald walked in with his usual brisk demeanor, his folder tucked under his arm. Behind him, Susan entered, clutching her tablet to her chest. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a deep emerald pencil skirt that hugged her figure just right. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun, a few loose strands framing her face. Professional and poised, as always.

But there was something in her expression...something reserved, almost guarded.

"Good morning," she said, her tone neutral. She didn’t look at me as she spoke, her focus instead on the team.

I cleared my throat. "Let’s get started."

The team launched into their presentations, discussing market trends and projections for the next quarter. Charts and numbers flashed on the screen, and voices filled the room.

But my focus kept drifting back to her. She was sitting across from me, diligently taking notes, her pen moving quickly across her tablet. She didn’t glance up, didn’t meet my gaze even once.

Was she avoiding me?

I frowned, my fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of my chair.

Gerald began his segment, outlining the new strategies for our upcoming campaign. He turned to Susan. "Ms. Hart, your insights on this would be valuable. Perhaps you could share your thoughts?"

All eyes turned to her, including mine.

She looked up, her expression calm and composed. "Of course," she said, rising from her seat. She walked over to the screen, the sound of her heels echoing lightly against the polished floor.

Susan spoke with confidence, her analysis sharp and on point. She highlighted the key areas of improvement and suggested changes to the campaign. The room was hanging on her every word.

Except me.

I wasn’t listening to what she was saying. I was too busy watching her...the way her hands moved as she gestured, the faint pink flush in her cheeks, the soft curve of her lips.

She was captivating. She always had been.

When she finished, the team erupted into murmurs of agreement and approval. Gerald nodded, clearly impressed.

"Excellent input, Ms. Hart," he said. "I think we can all agree that these changes will strengthen our approach."

Susan returned to her seat, her posture straight and professional. She didn’t glance in my direction. Not even once.

"Thank you, Susan," I said, my voice deliberately calm. "Your analysis was… thorough."

"Just doing my job," she replied, her tone polite but distant.

The meeting continued, but the tension between us was palpable. It was in the way she avoided my gaze, the way I kept stealing glances at her, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

By the time the meeting ended, I was no closer to understanding what was going through her mind. She gathered her things quickly, avoiding any interaction with me.

"Susan," I said as she headed toward the door.

She paused, her hand on the handle.

"Good work today," I said. It wasn’t what I wanted to say, but it was the only thing I could manage in the moment.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "Thank you, Mr. Prescott."

Then she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and a gnawing sense of frustration in my chest.

As the door closed, Gerald lingered. "She's good," he said, nodding toward the door Susan had just exited through.

"She is," I agreed, my voice quieter than usual.

Gerald studied me for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "Something on your mind, Elliot?"

"Nothing important," I said, forcing a neutral expression.

But as Gerald left, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the empty doorway.

She was driving me insane, and the worst part was... I was letting her.

Susan

The meeting had gone well, better than I expected. My analysis was sharp, my delivery flawless, and judging by the nods of approval around the table, I’d hit every mark. But none of that mattered. Not really.

Because the entire time, I could feel him watching me.

Elliot Prescott.

Sitting at the head of the table like a king on his throne, radiating that infuriating confidence, he didn’t even bother hiding it. Every time I glanced up, his eyes were on me...piercing, unrelenting, and entirely too aware.

It wasn’t just distracting; it was maddening.

I kept my gaze firmly on the screen as I spoke, refusing to acknowledge him. I didn’t care if he found my suggestions useful or groundbreaking. He was just my client, nothing more.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

By the time the meeting ended, I was more than ready to leave. I gathered my things quickly, avoiding even the slightest possibility of conversation with him.

But, of course, Elliot had other plans.

“Susan,” he called as I reached the door.

I froze for half a second before schooling my expression into something neutral. Slowly, I turned, my hand still on the door handle.

“Good work today,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place.

Was it sincerity? Admiration? Or just him trying to unnerve me?

“Thank you, Mr. Prescott,” I replied, keeping my tone professional and distant.

Then I stepped out, not waiting for his response.

The hallway felt like a breath of fresh air, though my chest was still tight. I headed toward my office, my heels clicking against the polished floor, each step a reminder to keep it together.

But as soon as I was behind the closed door of my office, I let out a slow breath, leaning against the desk.

I didn’t understand him.

One minute he was cold and infuriating, the next he was... thoughtful. Moving me to an office close to his? Praising my work in front of the team? What was he trying to do?

And why did it bother me so much?

I glanced at my tablet, the day’s schedule staring back at me. There was no room for distractions, no room for these ridiculous thoughts.

Elliot Prescott was just a client. An infuriating, smug, impossibly attractive client.

But a client nonetheless.

I straightened, smoothing my skirt and grabbing my notes for the next briefing. I had no intention of letting him get under my skin. Not today.

But as I reached the elevator, ready to head back upstairs for the presentation, the doors slid open...and there he was.

Elliot.

He looked up from his phone, and for a moment, our eyes met.

The tension between us was almost tangible, like the air itself had thickened.

“Ms. Hart,” he greeted, his tone smooth and controlled, but there was something in his eyes...a glint of amusement, perhaps. Or challenge.

“Mr. Prescott,” I replied, stepping into the elevator and keeping my gaze fixed ahead.

The doors closed, and the small space seemed to shrink around us.

“Heading to the presentation?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” I replied shortly.

“And here I thought you might be avoiding me,” he said, his tone light but edged with something sharper.

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Avoiding you? Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Prescott.”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent an unbidden shiver down my spine. “Noted.”

The elevator dinged, signaling our arrival.

“After you,” he said, stepping aside with an infuriatingly charming smile.

I walked out, my head held high, determined not to let him see how much he rattled me.

But as I headed into the conference room, his voice echoed in my mind, along with that damn smile.

And I hated that a part of me couldn’t stop thinking about it.