The Chief Representative of Kivalina Resources Limited Liability Company in the Municipality of Anchorage was so beautiful, so effortlessly, unconsciously sensual a woman that her presence alone seemed to shift the atmosphere of the room, bending the air itself around her allure, altering the very perception of time for any man who had the privilege—or the misfortune—of stepping into her orbit. She was the kind of woman who appeared perpetually on the verge of stepping into a bedroom, yet she remained distant, untouchable, like an illusion shimmering just beyond reach.
She sat behind an Apple screen, the logo glowing faintly in the dim light of her office, casting a soft, silvery glow upon the delicate contours of her face. It was a face that seemed suspended in time, like a relic of golden Hollywood, with features that belonged to another era—cheekbones sculpted with an almost unnatural perfection, full lips that held a lingering, lazy pout even in repose, and eyes that carried a sleepy, half-lidded seduction, as if she were perpetually on the edge of some intimate whisper, some secret pleasure only she knew. The screen's light softened her already luminous skin, giving it a kind of ethereal sheen, highlighting the delicate bow of her lips, the gentle curve of her jaw, and the faint shadow beneath her cheekbones.
She stood and extended her hand.
"You're Anderson Seely," she said, her voice smooth, unhurried, carrying a softness that didn't match the razor-sharp effect she had on him.
"Yes," he replied and gently shook her soft, warm fingers. The touch made his voice come out rougher than he intended.
"Please take a seat. You have very good academic results. Even though you have no work experience, with a reference letter from Professor David, Dean of the Department of Geology and Mineral Resources at your university, I would like to congratulate you on being accepted to work at our company. Please wait a moment. I will bring the job profile for you to study right now."
She moved to the cabinet behind him with a grace so fluid, so unthinking, that it was almost maddening. Her white blouse, crisp yet impossibly soft against her body, bore the golden embroidery of a sunflower on the left side of her chest—the company's insignia, though on her, it seemed less like a corporate emblem and more like an ironic joke, for she, not the flower, was the one radiating warmth, attraction, an inescapable pull.
And as she moved, the fabric, so thin it bordered on scandalous, shifted with her, sending the embroidered petals into a trembling dance over the swell of her breast, drawing attention not just to the perfect curvature of her body but to the effortless way she carried it—like a woman completely unaware of the chaos she caused, like someone who had never known what it was to be ignored.
Anderson could feel his mind slipping, dissolving into the sheer overwhelming presence of her. It wasn't just the way she looked—it was the way she smelled, the way the faintest trace of her perfume lingered in the air like a phantom. Chanel Coco Mademoiselle—a scent as effortlessly sensual as she was, rich with citrus and vanilla, laced with something deeper, something warm and forbidden. It wasn't overpowering, nor was it intentional, but it spread through the room like an invisible current, like the whisper of silk sheets sliding off bare skin, like a breath against the neck in the dark. It was a scent that didn't demand attention but rather seeped into the bloodstream, embedding itself in memory, in desire, in something far deeper than rational thought.
From the first moment he stepped into her office, Anderson felt it—a pull, a tension, an unnamable force that twisted and coiled within him, something primal yet inexplicably familiar, as if his body recognized something his mind could not name. His pulse quickened, and he hated how little control he had over it.
She was older than him, surely somewhere between thirty-five and forty-five, but he could not place it, could not see the passage of time on her face, could not imagine her as anything but timeless, a woman neither young nor old but existing in that impossible space where beauty was untouchable, where desire had no expiration.
Her steps were light, almost floating, each movement drawing his eye—first to the way the curve of her hip moved beneath the tight black pencil skirt, then to the almost imperceptible crease where the fabric hugged against the shape of her panties, then to the subtle bounce of her chest as she reached for the filing cabinet, pressing against the cool glass, creating a fleeting reflection of cleavage, of skin that looked firm, sculpted, almost too perfect to be real.
And as she turned slightly, reaching for a file, he glimpsed the faintest sliver of skin between the buttons of her blouse, just enough to suggest, just enough to ignite.
She sat back down, her fingers resting lightly on the keyboard, her nails painted in a shade so dark they were almost black, contrasting against her smooth, ivory skin. She glanced at him, finally meeting his gaze, and in that moment, Anderson felt something inside him twist.
"You've been assigned to a gold mining project," she continued, her fingers tapping idly against the desk. "The company's had some complications. Our survey team hasn't reported back in weeks. We need to find out."
She slid a file across the desk toward him, the motion so slow, so deliberate, that his eyes were drawn not to the file but to her wrist—to the delicate veins beneath her skin, to the subtle shift of tendons as she moved, to the quiet, mesmerizing precision of her gestures.
"Here are the details."
Anderson took the file, but the moment his fingers touched it, a strange familiarity settled over him—not the raw, unthinking pull of lust, not the storm of man-animal instincts that had been clawing at his mind moments before, but something deeper, something older, something buried beyond memory. He knew this woman. Somehow. Somewhere. The recognition stirred like a whisper from a past too distant to grasp, a feeling just out of reach, slipping away the moment he tried to hold onto it.
Then, suddenly, she pressed the button on her desk. Her gaze remained cool, detached. Her voice cut through the silence.
"T.B., please come to my office."
And just like that, Anderson was snapped back into reality.
She called someone from the company the same way she had called the animal man back to him.