58. Grayson
58
GRAYSON
T he weight of the decision lingers long after the meeting ends. Margot and I spent the entire evening dissecting every angle of Cassian’s proposal, what it could mean for Perfectly Matched , what risks it carried, and whether we were truly ready to take a gamble on somethingthis big. Now, standing in the executive suite of Perfectly Matched the next morning, staring out over the city skyline, I know one thing for certain. There’s nosafeoption. There’s onlyforward. And we need to decide if we’re ready to take that step.
The boardroom is eerily quiet as Margot and I stand side by side, waiting for Cassian and Isabella to arrive. The morning light spills through the expansive glass windows, painting golden streaks across the mahogany table. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, but no one touches their cups. There’s too much at stake for distractions. Olivia sits across from us, flipping through the revised contract notes with a level of focus that makes my jaw tighten. She’s reading every clause, every amendment, making sure we don’t walk into something we’ll regret later. Margot, beside me, looks composed, but I know her too well. Her fingers tap against the edge of her notepad, a small, barely noticeable movement, but one that betrays her restlessness. Her ivory blazer is tailored to perfection, draped elegantly over her shoulders, paired with sleek black trousers. She looks like a woman in complete control. And yet, I see the tension behind her eyes. The weight of what we’re about to do.
I lean slightly toward her. “You’re nervous,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.
Margot’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t look at me. “Ipreferto call it beingstrategically prepared.”
I smirk. “Right.”
Before she can argue, the doors swing open, and Cassian strolls in as if he owns the place. Which, if we sign this deal? Hekind ofwill. He’s dressed as sharply as ever, black suit, open-collared dress shirt, platinum cufflinks gleaming under the soft overhead lights. His movements are smooth, practiced, exuding a confidence that borders on arrogance. He steps into the room like it was designed for him. Isabella enters behind him, her emerald green silk dress a bold contrast against the muted tones of the boardroom. Her hair is pulled into a sleek low ponytail, her makeup flawless. She looks completely unfazed, but her sharp gaze flicks between me and Margot with calculated precision.
Cassian pulls out a chair at the head of the table, settling in easily. He steeples his fingers together, leaning back as his smirk widens.
“Well?” he drawls, tapping a ringed finger against the table. “Have you come to your senses?”
Margot inhales deeply, then lifts her chin. “We have.”
Cassian’s smirk deepens, but he waits.
I exchange a glance with Margot before turning to him.
“We’re in.”
For a moment, there’s silence.
Then, Cassian grins. “Smart choice.”
Isabella, still leaning back in her chair, tilts her head. “Do you trust him?”
Margot’s lips quirk. “No.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Not even a little.”
Cassian laughs, completely unbothered. “That’s probably wise.”
Olivia clears her throat, setting a thick file on the table. “Then let’s talk logistics.”
And just like that, Perfectly Matched changes forever.
Hours later, after the contract has been signed and the final details locked in, Cassian and Isabella find themselves alone in one of Perfectly Matched’s private lounges. The space is luxurious yet intimate, deep sapphire walls, dim lighting, velvet seating that invites whispered conversations and careful plotting. A crystal decanter of bourbon sits on the sleek black marble bar, the amber liquid catching the light as Cassian pours himself a drink.
Isabella stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching him with narrowed eyes. Her expression is unreadable, but her posture is rigid, her weight shifted onto one leg in that way that tells me she’s barely holding back something sharp.
Cassian finally speaks, his voice smooth but knowing. “So that’s it?” He glances at her over the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip. “You get exactly what you want, and now you’rebrooding?”
Isabella’s jaw tightens. “You think I wantedthis?”
Cassian smirks, setting his drink down. “I think you wantedsomething. And now that we’rein, you don’t know whether to be thrilled or furious.”
She exhales, rubbing her temples . “You’re playing a dangerous game, Laurent.”
His smirk doesn’t falter. “Aren’tthosethe best kind?”
Isabella scoffs, pushing off the bar. “You act like everything is just a game to you.”
Cassian steps closer, his voice dropping an octave. “Youactlike you don’tlove it.”
Silence. The air between themshifts, thickens.
Cassian tilts his head. “You think I don’t see it?” He takes another slow step toward her, closing the distance. “The way you light up every time we argue? The way you lean in, waiting for me to push just a littlemore?”
Isabella lets out a slow breath. “Youwishthat were true.”
Cassian grins. “Oh, Monroe. I know it’s true.”
For a second, shealmostleans in. Almost. Then, with a sharp inhale, she takes a step back, smoothing down her dress. “We should focus on the deal.”
Cassian watches her retreat with something dark in his gaze.
“Right,” he murmurs, swirling his bourbon. “The deal.”
But theybothknow this isn’t over. Not even close.
Back at the penthouse, Margot and I sit on the balcony, a bottle of wine between us and the city glittering far below. The space is quiet, private, an urban sanctuary carved out of glass and steel. Overhead, string lights cast a soft golden glow, while the faint sounds of honking horns and distant music drift up from the streets below.
We’re curled up on a cushioned outdoor loveseat nestled against the railing, wrapped in a thick, woven blanket. A low table sits in front of us with the nearly finished bottle, a couple of empty takeout containers, and Margot’s heels kicked off underneath.
The breeze is cool, but not cold, just enough to make her tuck herself closer into my side. She sips her wine slowly, her gaze fixed on the skyline.
“Tell me we didn’t just sell our souls.”
I chuckle, resting my arm behind her. “If we did, at least we got a good price.”
She glances at me, raising one brow. “A good price? We just gave Cassian Laurent access to half our company. And Isabella Monroe smiled. That alone should’ve been a red flag.”
“She always smiles when she’s about to eviscerate someone,” I say, topping off her glass. “It’s her version of a battle cry,” I adds.
Margot snorts. “Well, we’re definitely at war.”
I raise my glass. “Then I’m glad I’m in the trenches with you.”
She clinks hers against mine. “Careful. That almost sounded like you have feelings.”
“God forbid,” I tease, nudging her with my knee under the blanket.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. “Are you really okay with this?”
I exhale, looking out at the glittering city below us. “I don’t trust Cassian.”
She smirks. “We’ve established that.”
“But I trust us.” I glance over at her, my voice low. “And if anyone can keep this from falling apart, it’s you.”
Something in her expression softens. She shifts, curling her legs beneath her and resting her head on my shoulder.
“You really believe that?”
I press a kiss to her temple. “I already bet everything on it.”
She lets out a quiet breath, her hand finding mine beneath the blanket. “You know,” she murmurs, “when I pictured taking over the world, I imagined more champagne and fewer power-hungry sociopaths.”
“I can get more champagne,” I smile.
“And the sociopaths?”
I grin. “You’ve got me. That should balance things out.”
She gives a mock gasp. “Please. If anything, you’re the wildcard in this operation.”
“Wild, charming, brilliant, go on.”
She laughs and tilts her face up to mine. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Dangerously lucky.”
She kisses me, slow and certain, then rests her forehead against mine. “You think we made the right call?”
I tighten my arm around her. “I think we made the fearless one.”
Her fingers squeeze mine. “Then let’s make it count.”
“Together.”
And for now, that’s enough.