12. Grayson
12
GRAYSON
M argot is hiding something. I know it the second her fingers tighten around her phone, her knuckles turning white for a fraction of a second before she schools her face back into that perfect, unbothered expression she wears like armor. But I saw the crack. She’s shaken. And that intrigues me more than it should.
I take my time cutting into my steak and watch her as I sip my water. Her body is here, seated across from me at this ridiculous power lunch I orchestrated to throw her off, but her mind? It’s somewhere else. Somewhere far away fromme, and I don’t like that.
Margot Evans and I exist in a constant state of battle. I push, she pushes back. I taunt, she bites. That’s our rhythm. It’s why we work so well as rivals. But this? This is different. She’s distracted. And that pisses me off. But underneath the irritation, something else lingers. A low, nagging sensation that has no business being there. Concern. Margot is not the kind of woman who gets rattled. I’ve seen her face down furious clients, investors twice her age, and reporters looking for a scandal and not once has she ever lost that sharp, cutting edge. But right now, there’s something off about her and I can’t stand it.
"You sure you’re not going to crack?" I ask, letting my voice dip just enough to prod her.
She meets my gaze, lifting her chin with a practiced smirk. "You’d have to try a lot harder than this."
That should satisfy me. That’s our usual game. But something about the way she says it, it’s forced. A performance. And that makes my stomach tighten in a way I don’t particularly like.
I lean back, tapping my fingers against the table. "You know, Evans, if you were trying to convince me that you’re completely fine, you’re doing a shitty job."
Her grip tightens around her wine glass, but her smile doesn’t falter. "And if you were trying to convince me you’re perceptive, you’re also doing a shitty job."
I chuckle, but the feeling doesn’t quite reach my chest. "Deflect all you want, sweetheart. I see right through you."
She doesn’t respond right away, just holds my gaze for a second longer than necessary before looking away. That’s not like her. Margot never backs down, never lets me get the upper hand, except now, she’schoosingnot to engage. Something iswrong. And I hate that I care. It’s not my job to worry about her. She’s my competition. The woman I wake up every morning determined to outsmart, outplay, and outmaneuver. That’s how it’s always been. But the idea of someone else getting under her skin, making her hesitate, making herafraid because that’s what this is, even if she refuses to admit it, sits in my chest like a weight I don’t know what to do with. I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty, scheming head of hers, but I intend to find out. Because whatever it is, it has nothing to do with me and that’s the problem. Margot Evans should always be thinking about me. And if she’s not, then I need to make sure shedoes.
The second Margot steps away from the table, some excuse about needing to take a call, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Olivia: Need intel. Meet me at Celeste. Now.
Minutes later, Olivia slides into the seat Margot just vacated, her expression already bored. "This better be good. I was halfway through my latte."
"She’s acting weird," I say, setting my glass down.
Olivia raises a brow. "And you care because...?"
I shoot her a look. "Because if something’s throwing her off, I want to know what it is."
She hums, studying me. "You know, normal people would justaskwhat’s wrong instead of plotting some elaborate scheme."
"I did ask," I reply smoothly. "She lied. So now I have to find out another way."
Olivia sighs, shaking her head. "You really are insufferable. What’s your plan, Sherlock?"
I glance toward where Margot disappeared, my jaw tightening. "She’s protecting something. That means there’s a trail."
"So what, you’re going to hack her phone?"
I smirk. "No. But I am going to get closer."
Olivia groans. "Grayson, this is either going to end in you solving a mystery or getting your heart broken. And honestly? I can’t wait to watch."
I push back my chair, tossing a few bills on the table before standing. "We’ll see, Liv. We’ll see." Because if Margot thinks she can keep secrets from me, she’s about to find out just how wrong she is.
Later that night, I’m at the club with the guys, a drink in hand, trying to do what has always worked in the past, shutting off my mind, drowning out thoughts of work, distractions, and most of all,her. This should be easy. It always is. A couple of drinks, a few flirtatious conversations, and I can turn off the part of my brain that overthinks. But tonight? Nothing’s working. Every time I try to lose myself in the bass-heavy music or the warm burn of whiskey, my mind drifts back to Margot.
That unsettled look in her eyes. The way she held her phone like it might shatter in her grip. I came here to forget, to reset. But for the first time, it’s not working. It should be a typical night, loud music, overpriced whiskey, and the usual game of entertaining whatever women decide to approach. Except tonight? I’m not in the mood. I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, my mind miles away from the conversation happening at my table. Margot. Her guarded expression. The way her fingers clenched around her phone like it was a lifeline.
Natalie slides into the seat next to me, leaning in too close, her perfume sweet and cloying. "Haven’t seen you around much lately, Grayson. Thought you forgot about us."
I offer a half-hearted smirk, but it feels automatic. "Just busy."
She pouts, placing a hand on my thigh, her fingers pressing in just enough to make her intentions clear. "Too busy for a dance?"
Normally, I’d play along. Maybe even take her up on it. But instead, my eyes drift across the room, my thoughts tangled up inher. My dick seems to be disappointed as he twitches nervously.
"Not tonight," I say, surprising even myself.
"Damn. Who is she?" my friend Carter cuts in, smirking as he watches me pass up what would normally be an easy win.
I shoot him a look. "Who says it’s about a girl?" Ryan, another one of our friends, lets out a low laugh. "Because we know you. And the only time Grayson King turns down a sure thing is when his mind is already occupied."
I drain the rest of my whiskey, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. "You guys are idiots." But even as they tease, even as I try to shake it off, the truth lingers in the back of my mind. They’re not wrong. And that pisses me off even more.
Then my phone buzzes. I glance down, expecting some pointless notification, but instead, my stomach tightens at the name flashing across the screen.
Margot. It’s past midnight. She never calls me this late. Hell, she never calls me at all. Something is wrong. I answer immediately, my voice sharper than intended. "Margot?" There’s a pause. Then, finally, her voice comes through the line, soft, unsteady, and completely unlike her.
"Grayson... I think I need your help.