9. Margot
9
MARGOT
I wake up to a text from Olivia: We’re set. This is going to be fun.
I smirk, stretching as I roll onto my side, the soft morning light filtering through my bedroom window. My plan is in motion. Grayson thinks he’s outmaneuvered me, but he has no idea what’s coming. And yet, as I pull the covers off and go to the kitchen for coffee, my thoughts drift where they shouldn’t, to him. To the way he looked yesterday, sleeves rolled up, suit hugging him in a way that was almosttooperfect. To the way his smirk deepened when he knew he was under my skin. To the way his voice dipped when he leaned in too close, murmuring that he loved a challenge. I scowl and shake the thoughts away.Nope. Not happening.
Grayson King is a problem I need to solve, not some...distraction. I take my coffee to the couch, pulling my knees up as I scroll through my emails, forcing myself to focus. But my phone buzzes again, pulling my attention.
Grayson: Ready to lose yet, Evans?
I scoff, typing back immediately:In your dreams, King. I hesitate, then, because I refuse to let him think he’s getting to me… I add:Though I do hope you’ve gotten some sleep. You looked a little... worn out yesterday. My finger hovers over the send button. It’s petty, but it’s alsoGrayson, and if there’s one thing we both enjoy, it’s this game. I hit send, grinning as I sip my coffee. Seconds later, my screen lights up.
Grayson: Sweetheart, I always have enough energy for you.
Heat prickles up my spine before I can stop it, and I nearly spill my coffee in my lap.Damn him. I inhale deeply, squaring my shoulders. Two can play this game. I immediately reply.
Margot: Good. You’ll need it when you lose.
Grayson: Lose? That’s funny. Almost as funny as you pretending you weren’t staring at me yesterday.
I scoff, rolling my eyes.
Margot: I wasn’t staring. I was strategizing.
Grayson: Sure, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that.
Margot: And I suppose you weren’t looking either?
Grayson: Oh, I was definitely looking.
My breath catches for half a second before I recover, fingers tightening around my phone. Damn him again.
Margot: Enjoy the view?
Grayson: I always do.
I swallow hard and toss my phone onto the couch, standing abruptly. Nope. Not doing this. Not engaging. I refuse. And yet, the heat simmering beneath my skin tells me I already have. No response. Good. Let him stew. I toss my phone aside and head to get ready, shaking off the lingering warmth from our exchange. Today is about strategy, about ensuring that Grayson doesn’t see my next move coming. Because while he might think he’s running this game, he’s about to learn exactly who he’s up against.
I need to clear my head before I step into the office. And there's only one way to do that. A quick change into my workout gear, and I’m out the door, heading for the gym. My sneakers hit the pavement in a steady rhythm as I make my way there, hoping that a solid hour of pushing my body will force my brain to stop replaying Grayson’s words.
The gym is nearly empty this early in the morning, just the way I like it. I go straight for the treadmill, setting the pace just high enough to make my heartbeat pound harder than my thoughts. But it doesn’t work. Every mile, every lift, every push feels like an attempt to shake him loose from my mind. And still, he lingers. I groan, upping the speed. By the time I finish, I’m sweaty, sore, and only marginally less annoyed. But at least I have a plan.
I grab my phone from my locker and fire off a message to Olivia: Let’s talk strategy before the morning meeting. We need to be one step ahead of King.
She responds almost instantly.
Olivia: Already on it. Meet me in my office.
Good. Grayson wants to play? He has no idea what I have in store for him.
By the time I step into Olivia’s office, I’m refreshed, dressed in my usual battle armor, sleek navy dress, sharp heels, and an attitude to match. Olivia barely looks up from her laptop as I enter, her dark eyes scanning whatever data she’s pulling together. The smell of coffee and high stakes fills the room.
"You look determined," she muses, typing something before finally meeting my gaze. "That means one of two things, either your morning run gave you a brilliant idea, or Grayson’s texts did." I scoff, dropping into the chair across from her. "A little of both. But we’ll pretend it’s just the first one."
She smirks but doesn’t push. Instead, she turns her laptop toward me, revealing the updated matchmaking profile for Elliot Pierce.
"Here’s the deal," she says, leaning forward. "We know Grayson is trying to find Elliot a real match, someone who challenges him but also makes sense on paper. If we want to make this fall apart, we need to throw a wildcard into the mix. Someone Elliot won’t be able to resist at first but who is ultimately a disaster for him." I scan the screen, my lips curving as I read through the profile she’s pulled. "Tell me more about her."
Olivia taps the screen. "Tessa. Art curator, free-spirited, spontaneous, and allergic to long-term planning. Basically, Elliot’s worst nightmare. She’s the type who books last-minute trips to remote islands with no WiFi, who changes careers on a whim because ‘the universe sent her a sign,’ and who believes horoscopes are a valid relationship metric. She’s dated poets who live in vans, street musicians who communicate mostly through interpretive dance, and once, a man who ran a conspiracy theory podcast about mermaids."
I raise an eyebrow. "And yet, he’ll be drawn to her?"
"Like a moth to a flame," Olivia confirms. "She’s brilliant, creative, completely unpredictable. Exactly the kind of woman who will make him rethink everything, until he realizes he can’t control her. It’ll drive him insane."
I exhale slowly, considering. It’s a risky play. If Grayson finds a way to make it work, this could backfire spectacularly. But if it goes the way I think it will…I nod. "Do it. Set them up. Make sure it’s a match Grayson can’t undo."
Olivia grins, already reaching for her phone. "On it."
I sit back, feeling the first wave of satisfaction settle in. This is the game we play, the back and forth, the constant battle to be one step ahead. And right now, I’m holding the better hand. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself, until my phone buzzes again.
Grayson: Miss me yet?
I roll my eyes, but my fingers tighten around my phone. Because the worst part? A small, traitorous part of me almost wishes I did. Nope. Not going there. I need a reality check, and there’s only one person who will give it to me straight. I dial Sophie, leaning against my desk in the office as the line rings.
"Tell me why men are the absolute worst," I demand the second she picks up. Sophie’s laughter filters through the line. "Oh, this should be good. Are we talkingallmen, or just one in particular?"
I groan, rubbing my temples. "Why do you even ask?"
"Because if this is about Grayson, I need to grab popcorn."
"It’s not about Grayson."
"Mmmhmm." I can practically hear her smirking. "So, you didn’t call me at…" she pauses, checking the time, "…seven thirty in the morning to complain about him specifically?"
I sigh. "Fine. It’s slightly about Grayson."
"Go on."
"He’s just... he’s so…ugh." I wave my hand, as if she can see my frustration. "Smug. Infuriating. And completely convinced he’s winning."
Sophie hums. "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re totally attracted to him?"
I choke on air. "Excuse me?"
"Please. I know you, Margot. If youreallyhated him, you wouldn’t waste your time thinking about him this much."
I scowl. "I’m notthinkingabout him. I’m plotting."
"Sure, sure," she teases. "Strategizing how to kiss him or how to kill him? Be honest."
I bury my face in a pillow. "Both. Probably both."
Sophie laughs. "That tracks. So what did he do this time?"
I sigh, launching into the details of our latest exchange. By the time I finish, she’s cackling.
"Oh, you are so screwed."
"I hate you."
"No, you hate how much youdon’thate him."
I scowl. "Remind me why I called you again?"
"Because you needed someone to tell you the truth. And the truth is, you like this game you two are playing."
I groan, throwing my arm over my eyes. Maybe I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to admit it.
"It doesn’t matter," I say. "Because I’m going to win."
Sophie snorts. "Famous last words, babe.