Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

“Mr. Dorsey?”

The room spun as she found herself pinned on the couch in the break room. Brielle’s mind was a blur. What on earth was Max up to?

Her eyes widened in shock and just as she attempted to rise, she was pulled back into his embrace. His breath tickled her ear, sending her heartbeat into a frenzy. She couldn’t help but lick her lips nervously.

“Mr. Dorsey, isn’t it work hours?” she managed to say.

Max chuckled, his fingers grazing her side playfully, “What do you think I want to do?”

The irritation bubbled inside Brielle. They were already on the couch, so what else could happen? Were they going to whisper sweet nothings under a cozy blanket?

Rolling her eyes inwardly, she couldn’t help but savoring the private moment.

Her heart was pounding like a drum, and afraid Max would notice, she clumsily changed the subject.

“Mr. Dorsey, I didn’t finish what I was saying earlier. Meeting Flynn the other day was quite the revelation. I mean, comparing the business titan like Flynn to the founder of Book might seem unfair, but I’ve seriously studied Flynn’s speeches. A founder who transcends the pursuit of money, the simplicity of ambition, the public opinion, and truly wants to do something big – he might just become invincible. That’s probably why Flynn managed to make a dent across North America. The founder of Book, even though successful for a first–timer, lacks these qualities.”

Conversing with a businessman like Flynn or just watching their talks could be profoundly enlightening. She had spent over a decade with the Haywood family without such opportunities to rub shoulders with these giants, but with less than a month by Max’s side, her thinking had already advanced significantly. Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

Max’s fingers still lingered on her waist. Brielle surprised him quite a bit. He finally understood why Ryan couldn’t let her go. She was indeed talented. Among the Beaconsfield socialites who were versed in arts and culture, she stood out.

Andrew had called her a canary, but she was never one. Canaries were for those delicate socialites. Brielle was an eagle, yearning to conquer the blue skies. A gilded cage was never meant for her, and the small world could never contain her. An engagement should not be her shackle. She was meant for her own dreams and horizons.

Max rarely considered a woman’s future so earnestly, yet now a faint smile played on his lips.

Sensing his mood, Brielle smoothly made another small request. “By the way, Uncle Max, do you remember the villa worth over twenty million you gave me?” She spoke without a hint of embarrassment.

Max’s eyelashes fluttered, followed by a light laugh, “Hmm?”

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Pretending to miss the tease in his tone, she continued, “The one you promised as a ceremonial gift when you first took over the company. I’d like to sell it, but I guess Spencer hasn’t completed the

transfer procedures. Could you maybe oversee that for me? My words don’t carry much weight with him as a fiancée.”

They lay there on the couch, Max’s eyes now closed. His eyelashes were long, his skin perfect, his presence cool like a perfect sculpture.

Brielle turned to face him, unable to resist reaching out to tug at his sleeve. Her fingers were caught in his, and he asked, “Shall I make a call now?”

“Aren’t you going to ask what I plan to do with the money?” After all, it was over twenty million.

“It’s yours. Whatever you do with it is up to you.”

Brielle thought herself shameless, only to discover Max could be quite brazen too. Despite the villa being a corporate expense, it was originally Spencer’s gift to Lillian. Now he nonchalantly claimed it was hers.

With a low chuckle, Brielle found she quite liked his audacity, “Alright, make the call. I don’t want Lillian spending another day in that villa.”

“Let’s sleep first.”

His voice was calm, and with that, he closed his eyes again.

Brielle knew what ‘sleep‘ implied and tentatively started undoing his top button. Max had the habit of fastening the buttons all the way to the top, giving off an appearance of

meticulousness.

Her hands were swiftly caught by his, amusement in his eyes, “What are you doing?”

“Aren’t we going to sleep?”

“Brielle, is that all you think about?”

Struck as if by an arrow, she reacted with a hint of annoyance. It was as if she was the one so horny.

Retrieving her hands, she replied with mock seriousness, “I just think it would be very disrespectful to your body, if I didn’t want to have my way with you at a time like this.”

Max’s laugh was genuine this time, free from the usual aloofness. He pulled her close, resting his forehead on her shoulder, his hair brushing against her chin.

In this intimate position, the world around them seemed to fade away.