45. Margot
45
MARGOT
T he boardroom at Perfectly Matched is a battlefield this morning. Eleanor is already seated at the head of the long glass table, a poised, practiced smile on her face, as if she hasn’t spent the past twenty-four hours orchestrating an all-out war. Around her, the board members sit in their designated places, some of them unreadable, others blatantly favoring her side. The tension in the air is suffocating, thick with the weight of what is about to unfold.
And then Grayson walks in. Even in the midst of a crisis, he commands the room the moment he enters. He’s dressed in a charcoal-gray suit that fits him obscenely well, every tailored inch emphasizing the lean, sculpted strength of his body. His white dress shirt is crisp, the top button undone just enough to hint at the golden skin beneath. His blonde hair is neatly styled, though there’s the slightest hint of disorder, like he ran his fingers through it on the way here, like he’s been running his fingers through it all morning. He left my place to change, to pull himself together before walking into the fire and of course, he still looks unfairly good doing it.
He looks like a man who does not lose, and yet, beneath the outward calm, I know the storm is still raging inside him. I know he barely slept last night. I know he spent hours staring at his phone, preparing for the inevitable, knowing that today might be the day he loses everything, but no one in this room would ever guess it. He moves like a man whoownsthis space, his broad shoulders squared, his blue eyes razor-sharp, unreadable as they sweep over the board members. When his gaze flicks to mine, it lingers for just a second longer than it should, a silent acknowledgment, a steady presence in the chaos. Something warm unfurls in my chest. This is why I could never walk away from him. This is why I still believe, no matter what Eleanor tries, no matter what she throws at us, Grayson King willneverbe erased.
I straighten in my seat as he takes his place beside me, his fingers grazing against mine for the briefest second beneath the table. Eleanor watches the silent exchange, her smirk widening ever so slightly. She’s enjoying this. I want to wipe that look off her face. Before she can launch into her carefully planned speech about Perfectly Matched’s so-calledleadership crisis, the doors swing open again, and Cassian Laurent strides in like he owns the place. Which, in fairness, is exactly how he walks intoanyroom.
He doesn’t glance at Eleanor. He doesn’t acknowledge the board members. He heads straight for the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a casual elegance that somehow manages to feel like a power move. And then, because the universe clearly wants to test my patience, Isabella Monroe follows him in. She is wearing oversized sunglasses despite being indoors, a silk scarf wrapped around her head in fullmovie star incognito mode, and she looksfurious. Oh no.
Grayson exhales sharply, muttering under his breath. “I don’t even want to know.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Too bad, because we’re about to find out.”
Isabella slides into the seat across from Cassian with anaggressiveamount of dramatic flair, practically tossing herself into the chair with a sigh. Cassian, in contrast, moves with deliberate ease, settling into his chair like he has all the time in the world.
Eleanor raises a perfectly manicured brow. “Is there a reason we are being graced with the presence of Mr. Laurent and Miss Monroe this morning?”
Cassian simply reaches for his coffee. “I was invited.”
Isabella huffs. “I wasn’t. I justneededto be here to personally inform you all that I willneverbe speaking to this man again.”
Cassian finally looks at her, one corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “That’s what you said last night. And yet, here we are.”
I blink. Grayson stiffens beside me. Wait. Last night? Before I can ask, Isabella dramatically whips off her sunglasses and points a finger at Cassian like he’s theabsolute bane of her existence.
“You lied to me,” she declares.
Cassian lifts a slow, unimpressed brow. “I did not.”
“Youabsolutelydid,” she counters. “You told me you had anexclusive, private, members-only reservationat a Michelin-star restaurant, and then youconvenientlyforgot to mention it was…” She waves a hand furiously, clearly still seething. “A dinner party with your business partners!”
I close my eyes briefly. Oh, God.
Cassian takes a slow sip of his coffee. “It was still Michelin-star dining.”
Isabella glares at him. “It was anetworking event. You tricked me into attending anetworking event.”
Cassian doesn’t even try to look apologetic. “I recall you having an excellent time.”
Her eyes narrow dangerously. “I recall wanting tostab you with a shrimp fork.”
Grayson, at this point, has given up pretending not to be entertained. He leans toward me, murmuring, “This isso much better than I expected.”
I elbow him in the ribs.
Cassian exhales, clearly bored with the argument. “In my defense, youcouldhave left at any time.”
Isabella crosses her arms. “Itriedto leave, Laurent. But yourdelightfulbusiness associate told me I wassuch a breath of fresh airand thenheld me hostage in conversation about hedge fund acquisitions for forty minutes.”
Cassian smirks. “Ah, yes. Roger does get rather passionate about asset diversification.”
Isabella glares. “Roger isthe reasonI am never speaking to you again.”
Grayson chuckles. “I’ll give them this, when they fail, theyfailspectacularly.”
Eleanor, who has been watching this entire exchange with increasing irritation, clears her throat sharply. “If we could allfocuson the matter at hand?”
Cassian finally turns his attention to her, his usual air of detached amusement settling into something more calculating. “By all means. Please continue with whateverpower playyou’re attempting this morning.”
The tension in the room shifts immediately, returning to the reason we are all here. Eleanor sits forward, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her crisp white blazer before fixing a perfectly polite expression on her face.
“As I was saying,” she begins, voice silky with false professionalism, “this company is at a critical turning point. Given the recent instability, I believe it is in Perfectly Matched’s best interest to appointnewleadership.”
Grayson doesn’t so much as blink. “New leadership,” he repeats, his voice slow and deliberate. “You meanyou.”
She smiles. “I mean someone who can bringstabilityto this company.”
I fold my hands on the table, meeting her gaze head-on. “And let me guess, you’ve already taken the liberty of securing board members to back your ‘concern’.”
Eleanor’s smile doesn’t waver. “Several membershaveexpressed uncertainty about the company’s future. But I am confident we can resolve that with a smooth transition.”
Grayson tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “And by ‘smooth transition,’ you mean what, exactly? Handing you the keys to the company we built?”
Eleanor exhales, feigning disappointment. “Grayson, I understand this is difficult for you. But we all must acceptreality when it is presented to us.”
I straighten. “And what reality is that?”
She turns to me, her eyes gleaming.
“That Grayson King is not a King.”
A weighted silence falls over the boardroom. And just like that, the war continues.