41. Margot
41
MARGOT
L ast night, for a moment, time stopped for Grayson and me, and the space between us vanished, replaced by nothing but lust and desire. But it was more than just heat, it was something raw and real. Love, quiet and certain. Now, in the clear light of morning, we’re back in the fight, side by side. We’re tired, both of us. Tired of Eleanor’s games, of the endless maneuvering, of always being one step behind a woman who never plays fair. There are bruises we don’t talk about, on our pride, our patience, maybe even our hearts. But quitting? That’s never been on the table.
Because Perfectly Matched isn’t just a company. It’s part of us. It’s where we met, where our stories first tangled together. Where eye rolls turned into lingering glances, and banter into something softer. It’s late nights and early mornings, coffee-fueled brainstorming sessions and inside jokes only we understand. It’s every win and every failure that shaped who we are, not just as professionals, but as people. As partners. So yes, we’re tired. But we’re not giving up. Not on this company. Not on each other. Not on love.
I give Grayson’s hand a gentle squeeze, steadying, warm, just for him. He glances at me, and I meet his eyes with a look that says we’ve got this. We walk into the conference room where Olivia is already waiting, flipping through a thick stack of media reports. She doesn’t even look up as we enter, just drops the file onto the table with a dramatic thud.
“Well,” Olivia says dryly, “on the bright side, Isabella hasn’t burned anything down yet.”
Grayson raises an eyebrow as he pulls out a chair. “I feel like ‘yet’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting there.”
Olivia exhales. “She’s threatening to leave Perfectly Matched unless we find her arealmatch, but hervery publictantrum about the industry being ‘full of cowards who can’t handle an independent woman’ has already gone viral.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please tell me she didn’t say thatword for word.”
Olivia sighs. “Unfortunately,yes. She posted anentirerant on Instagram Live about how ‘men these days are about as exciting as tax season’ and how she’d rather marry herself than settle for ‘a rich, bland robot.”’
Grayson smirks. “I assume Cassian took that personally.”
Olivia snorts. “Oh, absolutely. He responded withinminutes.”
I groan. “Do I even want to know what he said?”
She pulls out her phone and reads aloud. “‘If anyone would like to match Isabella Monroe with the concept of rational decision-making, please let me know. Apparently, the laws of attraction do not apply to her.’”
Grayson nearly chokes on his coffee. “Mid-date?”
I glare at Olivia. “Tell me she didn’t actually fall asleep on a date with him.”
She shrugs. “I don’tthinkso, but do you really want to rule it out?”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “This is getting out of control. If the press starts picking up on their ridiculous feud, it’ll overshadoweverything, our brand, our business,ourreputations. We need to shut this down.”
Grayson leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?”
I meet his gaze. “We need to force them into the same room and make them sit through an actual, civil conversation.”
He raises a skeptical brow. “You think that’s possible?”
I gesture toward Olivia’s folder. “Considering their last conversation took placevia public insults, I’d say it’s our only option.”
Olivia taps a pen against the table. “Alright, so a meeting. Where?”
Grayson considers. “Somewhere they can’t cause a scene. Or, at least, somewherecontained.”
I smirk. “Cassian’s penthouse.”
Olivia hums. “That could work. Isabella would show upjustto annoy him, and Cassian would agreejustto prove a point.”
Grayson exhales. “Fine. I’ll reach out to Cassian.”
Olivia leans back. “Great. In the meantime, let’s talk about theactualcrisis.” She flips open another file. “Eleanor’s next move.”
I immediately straighten. “What do we know?”
Olivia adjusts her glasses. “She’s securing more board support, but she’s also working on a PR angle, likely a media hit on you or Grayson. She wants public perception on her side before she makes her official bid for CEO.”
Grayson clenches his jaw. “So we need to hit first.”
I nod. “We need to control the narrative before she does.”
Olivia slides a folder across the table. “Already ahead of you. I’ve drafted a press statement highlighting Perfectly Matched’s strengths, but we need somethingbigger, a public move that shifts focus away from Eleanor and reminds everyone why this companyneedsus.”
Grayson exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Something undeniable.”
I meet his gaze, determination sparking. “Then let’s give them exactly that.”
Cassian Laurent does not do casual. The moment I step into his penthouse, I realize yet again why the man exudes a certain untouchable arrogance. Everything about his home screams power, intimidating wealth, impeccable taste, and absolute control over his environment. The entire space is bathed in sleek, modern elegance, from the polished black marble floors that reflect the soft, ambient lighting to the towering bookshelves lined with rare first editions that I suspect he hasn’t actually read. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire length of the living room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. It’s the kind of view that makes people feel small. The kind that reminds you that Cassian Laurent is always looking down on the world, and somehow, he prefers it that way.
To my left, a minimalist yet absurdly expensive-looking dining table made of glass and steel sits beneath a chandelier that looks more like a modern art piece than an actual light fixture. Across the room, an open-concept kitchen is framed by black marble countertops and an impressive wine collection displayed along the back wall. A fully stocked bar, because, of course, Cassian Laurent wouldn’t pour his own drinks, sits in the corner, complete with an actual bartender in a tailored vest, currently polishing a whiskey glass like we’ve walked onto the set of a James Bond film.
Grayson walks beside me, taking it all in with a barely concealed smirk. “Remind me to start charging Cassian double for matchmaking services.”
I roll my eyes. “As if he wouldn’t find a way to write it off as abusiness expense.”
Cassian himself is standing near the bar, one hand tucked into the pocket of his perfectly tailored navy suit, the other cradling a glass of what I’m sure is some kind of aged whiskey I can’t even pronounce. He looks effortlessly put together, like he was born to exist in places like this, above it all, untouchable, and completely unaffected by anything or anyone. He barely acknowledges us as we approach, his gaze flicking toward Grayson before landing on me. “Evans. King.” He takes a slow sip of his drink before adding dryly, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this intervention?”
I fold my arms. “You know exactly why we’re here.”
Cassian exhales like he’s already bored. “If this is about Monroe, I’d rather swallow glass.”
Before I can respond, the doors to the penthouse swing open again, and Isabella strides in like she owns the place.
She’s exactly thirty five minutes late.Classic Isabella. Dressed in all black, form-fitting jumpsuit, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, she looks every bit the Hollywood icon she is, the kind of woman who can command a room without saying a single word. She pulls off her sunglasses dramatically, tucking them into her bag before flicking her gaze over Cassian with thinly veiled disdain.
“Laurent,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement.
Cassian doesn’t even look up from his drink. “Monroe.”
Grayson mutters under his breath, “I swear to God, these two weremortal enemiesin a past life.”
I ignore him, stepping between them before this turns into another public feud. “Alright, ground rules. No insults, no dramatics, andnostorming out.”
Isabella smirks, tossing her bag onto Cassian’s pristine white leather couch. “No promises.”
Cassian sighs, swirling his whiskey lazily. “Can we get this over with?”
I fold my arms, refusing to let this spiral out of control. “You’re here because youbothneed to resolve whatever this ridiculous feud is before it escalates further. Your public bickering is a distraction, and it’s making Perfectly Matched look unprofessional.”
Isabella scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “I’mnotthe problem here. Cassian is the one who…”
Cassian cuts her off smoothly. “I’mwhat? More rational? Less prone to childish tantrums?”
She gasps, placing a hand over her heart like he just insulted her entire lineage. “Oh,please.You areliterallythe most frustrating man on the planet.”
Grayson leans over to me, his voice low. “I’m honestly shocked neither of them has committed homicide yet.”
I exhale, barely resisting the urge to rub my temples. “Enough. You don’t have to like each other, but youdohave to respect this process.”
Cassian lifts a brow. “And if we don’t?”
Grayson leans forward, his tone deceptively light. “Then we make your lives miserable.”
Isabella sighs dramatically, flopping onto Cassian’s pristine couch like she owns the place. “Fine. I’llconsiderbeing civil.”
Cassian smirks. “That’s the best we’ll get.”
I glance at Grayson, and despite the absolute circus unfolding before us, I can tell he’s enjoying himself. His lips twitch, that signature amused expression playing across his face as he watches Cassian and Isabella go at, it like it’s free entertainment. I cross my arms, ignoring the way my stomach flutters when Grayson’s fingers graze the small of my back as he leans down slightly, lowering his voice so only I can hear.
“We should’ve sold tickets to this,” he murmurs. “We’d make a fortune.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Focus,King.”
He smirks. “I am focused.”
I roll my eyes, turning back to Cassian and Isabella. “Listen, this little war of yours is officially over. From now on, you’re both playing nice. No more public feuds, no more social media shade, and definitely no moreaccidentalmedia leaks.”
Isabella pouts. “You’re taking all the fun out of this.”
Cassian exhales. “Trust me, Monroe, I amjustas eager for this to be over.”
I straighten. “Good. Because after this, we have much bigger problems to deal with.”
Grayson meets my gaze, the weight of Eleanor’s impending attack lingering between us. We don’t have time for distractions. For now, we focus on the mess in front of us, and hope we still have time to stop the one coming next.