44. Grayson
44
GRAYSON
I don’t remember the drive to Margot’s apartment. One moment, I am staring at my phone, the weight of the day pressing down on me like an iron vise, and the next, I am parked outside her building, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. I shouldn’t be here. I should be handling the crisis unfolding around me, strategizing for the inevitable fallout that will come with Eleanor’s attack. But instead, I am sitting outside Margot’s apartment, unable to force myself to leave. Because maybe, right now, she is the only thing that makes sense. The thought unsettles me almost as much as the situation I have found myself in.
With a slow exhale, I kill the engine and push the car door open. The night air is crisp against my skin, carrying the lingering scents of city life, faint traces of rain, distant car exhaust, the warm spice of someone’s late-night takeout. But I barely register any of it. My body moves on autopilot, each step up to her building feeling heavier than the last, my mind still spinning with everything that has unraveled in the past twelve hours. I don’t hesitate when I reach her door. I knock twice, the sound solid and final, and within seconds, she is there.
Margot stands barefoot in the doorway, her hair slightly tousled, her face open but cautious. She is wearing an oversized sweatshirt that is definitely not hers, the hem brushing against her bare thighs, making my pulse spike. But it’s not just how she looks, it’s the way she watches me. The way her blue eyes scan my face, searching for something unspoken. She doesn’t ask why I am here. She doesn’t have to. She simply steps aside, wordlessly inviting me in. And just like that, I step over the threshold, into the one place that still feels like solid ground. The door closes softly behind me, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving just the two of us standing in the dim glow of her apartment.
Margot doesn’t speak right away. She watches me, waiting, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. I know she is giving me time, space to find the words I need, but the truth is, I don’t have them.
I drag a hand through my hair, the tension in my chest coiling tighter. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Margot’s lips twitch slightly, but there is no amusement in her expression. “Welcome to the club.”
Despite everything, a dry chuckle escapes me. She leans back against the counter, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, assessing. She has always been like this, able to see through every carefully constructed wall, every attempt I make at keeping my emotions buried. And tonight, I am too exhausted to even try to hide.
I exhale slowly. “I spent my whole life believing I knew exactly who I was. That Ibelongedin this family, in this company.” My voice is rough, uneven, each word a confession I never intended to speak aloud. “And now, it feels like none of it was ever real.”
Margot shakes her head immediately, her response firm and unwavering. “That’s not true.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”
“No.” She takes a step closer, her expression fierce. “Who you are doesn’t change because of your DNA, Grayson. Perfectly Matched is yours because youbuiltit. You’ve spent years making it into something no one else could, and that’s what matters.” Her voice softens just slightly, but the conviction in it doesn’t waver. “Eleanor thinks she can erase you, but she can’t. She will never be able to replaceyou.”
Her words settle deep inside me, breaking past the doubt and anger that have been clawing at me all day.
I shake my head, my voice quieter now. “I don’t know how to fight this.”
Margot tilts her head, her lips curving into something that isn’t quite a smile. “That’s a first.”
I glance at her, and for the first time in hours, the suffocating weight in my chest eases just a little. Because she’s right. I don’t give up. I don’t let people win, and maybe, just maybe, that’s why I came here in the first place. Margot Evans has always been the one person who could pull me back from the edge. I meet her gaze, and in that moment, something shifts. I reach for her before I can stop myself. She doesn’t pull away. Her breath catches as my hands slide around her waist, pulling her closer. For a long, electric moment, we juststand there, tangled in the same impossible tension that has always existed between us.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Grayson…”
“I know.” My fingers tighten at her waist, my forehead resting against hers. “But I can’t walk away from you.”
She exhales shakily, her hands fisting in my shirt. “Then don’t.”
And just like that, the last thread of my control snaps. I kiss her, and this time, I don’t hold back. The kiss is hard but fast as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth. His hands pull me closer and closer until I find myself straddling him. I lower myself onto his cock and I feel him move inside of me.
“Fuck, you drive me insane.” I bite her neck, just hard enough to make her gasp. Her hips roll instinctively, taking more of me, the stretch sharp and perfect. My hands grip her ass, guiding her, grounding as I move, slow at first, savoring every inch of her.
“Grayson…” Her voice is a broken moan, her hands tangling in my hair as she presses her forehead to mine. “This is crazy.”
“I don’t care.” My breath is hot against her skin, my voice ragged. “I just need you. Right now,” I whisper.
She rises and sinks onto me again, harder this time, and my head falls back, a husky groan tearing from my throat. The tension between us turns molten, the friction addictive. Each thrust pulls me deeper into something I don’t want to name, something terrifying and electric and real.
My eyes lock on mine, wild and dark. “You feel that?” I growl, thrusting up into her pussy, deep and punishing. “That’s mine.”
The way she moves on top of me, wild, unrestrained, it’s fucking lethal. Every roll of her hips makes it harder to breathe, every moan slipping from her lips pushes me closer to the edge.
I grip her tighter, watching her come undone, and it does something to me. Something I can’t name. I shouldn’t want more. Shouldn’t need it like this. But I do. God, I do.
She rides my cock harder, her head thrown back, her fingers digging into my shoulders. The sound of our bodies colliding, wet, frantic, desperate, echoes through the room, and I can feel her getting close. Her body starts to shake, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.
“I’m gonna…” she tries to say, but the words fall apart on her tongue.
I grab her hips and thrust up into her, hard and deep, forcing a cry from her throat.
“Come for me, Margot,” I growl, my voice wrecked. “Let go.”
And she does. I feel her clench around me, tight and pulsing as she shatters in my arms, her body trembling with the force of it. The sound she makes, fuck, I’ll hear it in my dreams. That’s all it takes. I follow with a groan, spilling into her as my orgasm hits, raw and blinding, like I’ve been holding it back for far too long. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight as she slumps against me, both of us gasping for air, drenched in sweat and whatever the hell this is between us. She’s still trembling in my arms, and I press a kiss to her shoulder, not ready to let go and for the first time in a long time… I don’t want to.
The world is still wrapped in the quiet hush of early morning when I wake. The first thing I notice is warmth. The slow, steady rise and fall of Margot’s breath against my skin, the way her body curves against mine beneath the sheets, her presence something solid in a world that has felt anything but steady lately. Her hair, a wild tangle of dark brown, fans across my chest, strands of it tickling my skin as the faint scent of vanilla lingers in the air. For the first time in what feels like days, maybe weeks, I allow myself a moment of stillness.
I inhale deeply, letting my eyes drift closed again, memorizing the feel of her beside me, the softness of her against me, the rare quiet that exists in this small space we have carved out for ourselves. It is a fragile peace, one that I know won’t last. The world outside this apartment hasn’t stopped moving. Eleanor hasn’t stopped plotting. The moment I pick up my phone, I will have to face everything again. But for now, I let myself stay here, just for a few more breaths. Then reality creeps back in.
Carefully, I shift out from beneath Margot, moving slowly so I don’t wake her. She stirs slightly, her body instinctively reaching for mine, but she doesn’t wake. I press a kiss to the top of her head before slipping out of bed, exhaling as my feet hit the cool hardwood floor.
My clothes are still scattered across the room, undeniable evidence of what happened between us last night. I take in the mess, the way my shirt is draped over the arm of a chair, Margot’s sweater tossed carelessly onto the floor, the faint impression of where our bodies tangled together beneath the sheets.
I don’t regret any of it. Not even for a second. I pull my shirt over my head and rub a hand over my jaw before reaching for my phone on the nightstand. The second I flip it over, the screen lights up with an onslaught of notifications. Thirty-two missed calls. Countless unread messages. A sharp, familiar tension coils in my chest. Eleanor isn’t waiting. She has already made her move.
Margot stirs beside me, her brows furrowing slightly as she blinks awake, her voice still rough with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Early.” My voice is quiet, but the edge in it is unmistakable.
She pushes herself up onto her elbows, her blue eyes scanning my face before flicking to my phone, where the endless stream of messages is still lighting up the screen. She doesn’t ask questions. She already knows.
“It’s started, hasn’t it?”
I nod, my jaw tightening. “Yeah.” For a brief moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of what’s coming settles between us, thick and inevitable. Then, with a slow, steady exhale, Margot throws back the covers and climbs out of bed, already moving with purpose. There is no hesitation in her movements, no uncertainty in her stance. She straightens her shoulders, brushes her hair back, and looks at me with a sharp, unflinching gaze.
“Then let’s remind Eleanor exactly who she’s dealing with.”
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, despite the tension still coiling in my gut. Becausethisis the Margot Evans I know. The woman who never backs down. The woman who is about to help mewin. But before either of us dives into the chaos, Margot plants a hand on my chest, stopping me in my tracks.
“Sit,” she orders, already halfway across the apartment. “You’re not saving the company on an empty stomach.”
I blink. “We have a war to plan.”
“And I have toast to make. Priorities.”
I start to protest, but she spins around and points at the barstool by the kitchen island like she’s summoning a toddler. “Grayson. Sit.”
I sit.
Within minutes, the smell of coffee fills the apartment, strong, dark, probably capable of reviving the dead. She hums softly as she moves, hair still wild from sleep, wearing my button-down shirt like it's hers now. Maybe it is. She slides a mug toward me and sets a plate down with something resembling breakfast. “Behold. Food.”
I raise an eyebrow at the lopsided scrambled eggs. “Is that... cheese?”
She tilts her chin up. “Maybe. Or it might be butter. I panicked.”
I grin. “You panicked while making eggs?”
She shrugs, sipping her coffee with regal nonchalance. “You were watching me. Shirtless. It’s distracting.”
I lean in, my smile turning wicked. “You like when I’m distracting.”
“Eat your eggs, Captain Abs.”
Despite everything, the calls, the threats, the power struggle looming just beyond these walls, I laugh. And in this strange moment of burnt toast and black coffee, something clicks into place. We’re not just fighting Eleanor. We’re doing it together.