Page 10 of Twice as Forbidden

I suppose that’s what happens when you spend your life searching for something you were never meant to have. Craving attention, validation—someone to see you, to want you. Maybe that’s why I didn’t stop it. Why did I let it happen? Because when you grow up chasing the love you never had, the lines between right and wrong start to blur.

I shake off the memory.

As soon as Noah shifts the car into park, I jump out and stride toward the elevator without waiting for him. Pressing the button for the tenth floor, he slides in just as the door closes. I exhale slowly, trying to center my thoughts on whatever Mr. Blake has in store for me today rather than on Noah. The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and I step out, ignoring Noah, heading toward his father's office.

“Where are you going? The call center is this way,” Noah says. I look back, taking in the frown pulling at his lips.

“Your father’s office. I’m working with him today.”

His brows shoot up. “What? No, you’re not.” He storms toward me, and I brace for whatever fight he has in store. Instead, he brushes past me, heading down the corridor toward his father’s office. I hurry after, catching the start of their argument as I walk in.

“What the fuck?”

“Morning to you too, son.”

“Georgia’s in the call center.”

Mr. Blake takes a seat behind his large desk, less than pleased at his son’s outburst. “She’s with me today.”

“No.” Noah shakes his head. “I don’t think so. She’s at the—”

Mr. Blake stands, pressing his palms against the top of his desk. “This is business, Noah. I will not have you coming into my office and showing me disrespect.”

“Business, huh?” Noah shakes his head again. “Whatever you say.” Facing me, he says, “Watch yourself with him,” then walks out, leaving me to stare at his back until he’s out of sight.

“Sorry about that.”

I shift my attention to Mr. Blake. “What was that about?”

“As you know, my son can be a bit challenging at times.” Mr. Blake’s tone is dismissive, shutting down any opportunity for further discussion. I can’t help but replay Noah’s words in my mind.

“Watch yourself with him.”

What did he mean by that?

Mr. Blake gestures toward the conference table in the corner of his office. I take his cue and move to sit as he follows, settling across from me. “As you may know, if you’ve done your research, which I hope you have, we are the leading global distributor of raw materials,” he begins. “Our clients span multiple industries, including industrial manufacturing, automotive production, packaging, and construction. If it’s practical and essential, we supply it.”

He leans back slightly, fingers tapping against the polished tabletop. “Our strength lies in market versatility. We engage across various sectors, ensuring we can fulfill any request, regardless of its scale. This location serves as our hub for sales, customer service, and logistics—the core of our client operations. Building and maintaining strong relationships is critical. It’s not just about making a sale; it’s about fostering long-term partnerships that keep our business thriving.”

His gaze hardens, fixed entirely on me. “That’s where you come in. This internship isn’t just about observation. I expect you to learn how we operate, understand client needs, and demonstrate that you possess the skills necessary to be a part of this industry.

“Will I be working in customer service or sales?”

“Neither,” he says evenly, his gaze assessing. “My intuition tells me you have a bit more ambition than my son does, which is why you’ll be shadowing me. I’m going to teach you how to invest in your career.” He leans forward slightly, his voice steady, calculated. “Do you want to sit behind a desk taking calls for someone else, or do you want to be the one running the show?”

A spark ignites in my chest, something I didn’t expect to feel so soon. I swallow hard.This is it. Say it like you mean it.

“I… I want to be the one running it.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face. “Good girl.”

The way he says it sends a strange thrill down my spine—part approval, part challenge. He studies me for a moment, then rises, straightening his sleeves as if sealing an unspoken deal.

“Then let’s get to work.”

The intercom on his desk buzzes. “Mr. Blake, Wayne Gallagher is on line one. There’s an issue at one of our warehouses.”

“Excuse me.” He picks up his phone. His brows furrow as he listens, his expression shifting from concern to frustration.

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