48. Grayson
48
GRAYSON
B y the time I wake the next morning, Eleanor has already launched her next attack. I know something is wrong the second my phone starts vibrating incessantly on my nightstand. The insistent buzzing cuts through the early morning quiet, dragging me out of the one decent sleep I’ve had in days. Margot stirs beside me, her hair a dark tangle against the pillow, her arm draped loosely over my stomach. The warmth of her body is grounding, a reminder of why I’m fighting this battle in the first place. But the moment I see Olivia’s name flashing across my screen, I know the peace of this morning is about to be shattered again.
I sigh, running a hand over my face before picking up. “Tell me this isn’t as bad as I think it is.”
There’s a pause. Then Olivia’s clipped voice comes through the line. “That depends. How bad do you think it is?”
Margot lifts her head slightly, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but she’s already alert, already scanning my expression for answers.
I sit up, bracing myself. “Go ahead.”
Olivia exhales sharply. “Eleanor released an exclusive interview this morning. Atell-all. She’s gone full scorched earth.”
Margot is fully awake now, pushing up on one elbow. “What does she mean bytell-all?”
Olivia doesn’t hesitate. “She’s playing the martyr. Claiming she’sheartbrokenover what’s happened to the company. She’s spinning herself as the savior of Perfectly Matched , someone who has no choice but to ‘step in’ and ‘restore stability’ before it’s too late.” Her voice sharpens. “And the worst part? She’s takingpersonalshots at you.”
My entire body goes still.
“Personal?” I repeat, my voice deceptively calm.
Olivia hesitates. “She’s implying that youknewthe truth about your father all along. That you deliberately hid it. That the boardshouldn’ttrust you, not just because of your illegitimacy, but because of yourdeception.”
A slow, dangerous heat crawls beneath my skin.
Margot swears under her breath. “That manipulative…” She cuts herself off, jaw tightening.
I clench the phone in my hand. I should have expected this. Eleanor never plays clean, and when she feels backed into a corner, she goes straight for the jugular.
“She also gave anot-so-subtlepush toward your ‘reckless behavior’ over the years,” Olivia continues, her voice laced with irritation. “The headlines are running with it, painting you as someone who’s emotionally volatile, unpredictable. Some of them are digging up old rumors, your reputation before you took over the company, the fights, the media scrutiny, your exes. They’re making it look like you’ve beenspiralingever since this news came out.”
Margot’s eyes snap to mine, worry flashing behind them. “That’s absurd. Grayson hasn’t doneanythingreckless.”
I stay silent.
Margot notices. “Grayson.”
I exhale slowly, pressing the bridge of my nose. “I might have… gotten drunk at a club the night I found out.”
Margot groans. “Oh my God.”
“In my defense, I was processing anidentity crisis.”
She gives me a flat look. “Do I even want to know if there were pictures?”
Olivia sighs. “There were definitely pictures.”
Margot mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a death threat toward Eleanor.
I shift forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “How bad is the damage?”
There’s a pause. Then Olivia says, “If we don’t control the narrativefast, you’re going to lose the board.”
I close my eyes briefly. I already knew Eleanor would find a way to twist the knife. I just didn’t expect her to usemy own pastas the blade.
Margot pushes the covers off and swings her legs over the side of the bed, her movements sharp, deliberate. I watch as she pulls her hair into a loose knot, her expression already shifting from frustration tostrategy. “We need to flip this,” she says, already scrolling through her phone. “We need to discredit her before this sticks.”
I study her, admiring the way her mind works, fast, precise, unyielding. She’s already thinking three steps ahead, already figuring out how to dismantle Eleanor’s lies. And I realize something then. I am angry. Livid. But more than that? I amgrateful because no matter how brutal this fight gets, no matter how much Eleanor tries to take from me, Margot is stillhere, fighting beside me, fightingforme.
I sit up, dragging a hand through my hair. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
Margot’s eyes gleam. “We make Eleanor regret ever opening her mouth.”
Cassian’s voice cuts in from the doorway. “Idolove a good revenge plan in the morning.”
Margot sighs, rubbing her temples. “Do you justlivein our office now?”
Cassian smirks. “I like to keep myself entertained.”
Isabella appears beside him, sipping an iced coffee. “Plus, I ran out of espresso pods in my penthouse.”
Margot glares. “I hate both of you.”
Cassian grins. “And yet, here we are.”
Grayson exhales sharply. “Can wefocus?”
Cassian gestures grandly. “By all means. Please, continue plotting your corporate takedown.”
I turn back to Margot. “How do we shut this down before the board meets?”
She tilts her head, considering. Then she looks at Olivia. “How many of the board members have personal stakes in Perfectly Matched’s success?”
Olivia pulls up the list. “At least five have heavy financial ties. If the company takes a hit, they take adirecthit.”
Margot smiles slowly. “Then we make itveryclear that keeping Grayson is theonlyway this company stays profitable.”
Cassian hums, impressed. “You’re suggesting we financiallystrong-armthe board?”
Margot shrugs. “Eleanor is playing dirty. Why shouldn’t we?”
I lean back, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”
Margot gives me a look. “Oh, please. You couldn’t function without me.”
Cassian sips his coffee. “Ilovethis dynamic.”
Isabella sighs. “Can you two just make out already?”
Margot glares. “Get. Out.”
Cassian holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But if you needsomeoneto leak information that makes Eleanor look bad, youknowI have the connections.”
Margot pauses. Then she turns to Olivia. “Call the financial analysts. We need aprojection reportthat shows exactly what happens if the board removes Grayson. If Eleanor wants to play chess, let’s put her incheckmate.”
I watch her, and something shifts in my chest, tight, aching, consuming. It’s more than admiration. More than pride. It’s awe, and maybe something dangerously close to obsession. She’s brilliant, calculating, unflinching, utterly in control even when everything around her is chaos. There’s a fire in her, sharp and unrelenting, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything the way I want to protect that fire and also watch it burn the whole damn world down. Margot Evans is a force. She’s the storm and the eye of it, all at once. Ruthless when she needs to be. Fiercely loyal. Unstoppable. And she is mine. Not because I’ve earned her. Not yet. But because I see her, really see her, and I’ll burn down whatever I have to just to make sure no one dims that light. Eleanor thinks she’s won. She thinks she’s clever, untouchable. But she made the biggest mistake of her life. She underestimated Margot Evans.
I decide to plan a dinner because we need a break—from the company, from the legacy battles and legal briefings. From pretending we don’t notice the way our hands almost touch every time we argue in the hallway. So I plan something real. Something outside of Perfectly Matched and the version of us that lives inside boardroom walls. Olivia recommends the restaurant and insists I don’t screw it up. I book the table, pick the wine, and show up ten minutes early because, for once, I don’t want to be late for her.
When I pull up and step out of the car, Margot’s already there, standing near the entrance like she’s part of the scene and yet somehow brighter than everything around her. The restaurant’s tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore, its stone facade lit by the soft glow of a sign that reads La Lumière . And then I reallyseeher. She’s wearing a deep emerald green dress, silk, or something that moves like it. It hugs her curves and flows just below her knees, the slit high enough to leave very little to my imagination, the neckline low enough to make me forget why we’re here. Her hair is softly curled, brushed over one shoulder like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. And those heels, black, strappy, and criminally high, should be illegal.
She arches a brow, the corner of her mouth curving. “This is... not your usual vibe.”
I smile as I step toward her, reaching for her hand. Her fingers slide into mine with a quiet kind of ease, warm and familiar, like this isn’t the first time we’ve done this, even though it is.
“That’s the point.”
She lets me lead her inside, and the second we step through the door, everything shifts. Candlelight glows against soft ivory walls, and a jazz trio in the corner plays something slow and smoky. The air smells like roasted garlic, butter, and good wine. There’s a quiet magic here, like this place doesn’t care about boardroom tension or generational wealth or the latest article tearing us apart.
“Grayson…” she murmurs. “This place is beautiful.”
“I figured we could both use a night that wasn’t about work.” I glance at her. “Or legacy fights. Or lawyers.”
“A night with no drama?” she teases. “How bold of you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
The hostess leads us to a corner table, half-hidden behind a curtain of ivy. I pull out her chair, and she gives me a look like she doesn’t quite believe this is me.
“Chivalrous and punctual. Who are you, and what have you done with the man who once rescheduled our meeting for a CrossFit class?”
“It was one class, and I regret telling you about it every day since,” I argue.
She smirks, and I swear I could live off that smile for the rest of the week.
We order. Margot picks the wild mushroom risotto with truffle oil and aged parmesan. I go with the lamb, slow-roasted, served with rosemary potatoes and a red wine jus. The server brings warm sourdough with whipped butter and flaky salt, and we dive in like we haven’t eaten in days. Her first bite of risotto earns a soft moan, barely audible, but I hear it. And yeah, that’s dangerous.
“Okay,” she says, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “This is dangerously good. I might have to come back here without you.”
“You’d cheat on me with risotto?” I ask, mock-offended.
She shrugs, playful. “Can you compete with creamy, earthy, mushroom perfection?”
“I’ve been told I have my own appeal.”
She leans in just a little. “Oh yeah? By who?”
“I mean… Olivia’s dog likes me.”
She laughs, open and unguarded, and I soak it in like sunlight after too many cold days.
I can’t stop looking at her. The way the candlelight dances across her skin. The way her necklace rests just above the neckline of that dress. The way her eyes sparkle when she’s amused. Margot Evans is lethal in a boardroom, but like this? Soft, real, warm? She’s impossible not to fall for.
“I can’t believe you found this place,” she says, quieter now.
“I asked Olivia. She said you needed somewhere that didn’t feel like a war zone.”
Margot tilts her head, thoughtful. “She’s not wrong.”
A soft silence falls between us, the kind that feels intentional, not awkward. I reach across the table and touch her hand. She doesn’t pull away.
“I know things have been… a lot lately,” I say. “The company, the will, all of it. But tonight… I just wanted to hit pause. Just you and me.”
She raises a brow, amused. “The almost-kiss in the server room wasn’t about the company.”
I grin. “No. It really, really wasn’t.”
My thumb brushes slowly over the back of her hand. Her skin is warm, soft, and steady beneath mine. She doesn’t look away.
“I like this,” she says after a moment. “Just us.”
Her fingers stay laced with mine. The music drifts into something slower, more tender, and the world around us fades. I only see her.
“Margot,” I say, and it lands somewhere between her name and a confession.
She meets my gaze, something in her eyes softening, curious, open.
“I used to think work was everything,” I tell her. “The company, the fight to prove I belonged. But lately… I can’t stop thinking about what comes after.”
Her breath catches, just barely. “And you think I’m what comes after?”
I shake my head. Slow. Certain.
“No. You’re what makes all of it matter.”
For a second, time stills. The air between us hums. She stands slowly, her napkin falling to the table, and walks over to my side. I rise too, heart in my throat, not sure what I’ll do next but knowing it’ll be honest. We’re close now. Too close. Her perfume wraps around me, something soft and floral, like jasmine on a warm breeze or the delicate sweetness of peonies just starting to bloom. It’s fresh and gentle and completely her. I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flutter slightly at the touch.
“Walk with me?” I ask, my voice low.
She nods. We step out into the night, hand in hand, the city humming around us. String lights sway above the quiet street, and her head rests gently on my shoulder as we walk. I don’t say a word. Because this, her, beside me, is the moment I’ve been waiting for. And I don’t want to miss a second of it.