Chapter 12
Mallory
Four and a Half Weeks Before the Outing
He shifted the weight of his body so as not to crush her, the first step in their well-honed dance to transition Mallory on
top. Because she was close. But this time, as his torso rotated, he cupped the back of her head with his hand. Briefly. Gently.
Intentionally. So when Mallory climaxed it was with the force of a battalion of confetti cannons and the realization that
they were no longer simply fucking. She and Grayson Fields had just made love for the first time.
Well, shit.
But also, spectacular.
Mallory didn’t quite meet his eyes as she moved off of him. She was still somewhat surprised she was here rather than with
Ilena. But as much as Ilena understood Mallory, Grayson understood this. The impossibility of failure.
She was a strong woman who didn’t squeal at mice (much) or need help changing a tire (except for the tire part), and she had never needed a romantic relationship before and she didn’t need one now.
And yet, she’d come to Grayson, just wanting him to make everything right.
But to do that, she’d have to tell him that AIM’s growth wasn’t real.
Saying the words out loud seemed like a betrayal to this company she needed like oxygen.
Still, he knew something was wrong. Grayson leaned against the headboard, his gelled dark hair a slick contrast against the
tweed fabric. “Ah, Mallory, you and I are so much alike that our only options are to fall desperately in love or kill each
other. Perhaps both.” He grinned, and those dark brown eyes that had drawn her in nearly a year ago did so again. “You’re
taking your company public. The pressure is overwhelming, I know. The night before my first IPO, I vomited blood. I clutched
that toilet bowl and vowed not to let it get the better of me. My stomach lining couldn’t take it. And even though it wasn’t
just nerves, and it turns out I’d broken a rib the night before during an impromptu triathlon . . . Still, a lesson learned.”
He was cocky and arrogant, and it wasn’t a turnoff, not then. Grayson pulled Mallory to him, and his fingers trailed the bare
skin of her upper arm. She yearned for more of the physical connection, which was uncomplicated and satisfying and should
have been enough. Yet her mind couldn’t let go of the reason she was there. AIM wasn’t the success she thought it was. (Which
meant, neither was she.)
Grayson kissed her cheek before hopping out of bed to feed Harley. Mallory gnawed on her lower lip, growing impatient. She
slipped on his robe, hurried down the hall with its photo homage to the sports elite, and entered the great room overlooking
Boston’s Copley Square. The white marble of the kitchen counter made her want to lie naked on it, cool her flushed skin. She
was about to call for Grayson to suggest just that when a gravelly voice fluctuating in volume stopped her.
“. . . user base . . . deep-seated error . . . unchecked . . .”
The voice wasn’t Grayson’s. She strained to hear the next low rumble of words, drawing in a sharp breath at the last ones:
“suspicious accounts.”
“Not here.” A terse response unmistakably from Grayson.
And the scream that had been lodged in Mallory’s throat since that afternoon nearly choked her.
“That meant ‘leave,’” Grayson said.
“Your call, as always,” came the first voice, definitely in person, louder, with a bit less gravel, and familiar? “AIM’s valuation
lives and dies by the mighty Grayson Fields. And here’s where one must proceed with caution because you can’t pluck feathers
from a bald chicken—AIM’s valuation also happens to hang on my ability to keep a secret.”
A chill snaked down Mallory’s spine. She heard the clank of the service elevator, the same one she and Grayson had come up
the first night he’d brought her here all those months ago, where they’d shared their first kiss, a word too innocent and
sweet to accurately describe the lust with which they’d attacked each other.
She hurried back inside the bedroom, trying to understand how Grayson could know something Mallory had only confirmed that
afternoon. She stifled her gasp. Her every organ shut down, she grew cold and numb, felt as though she were floating outside
of her body. He must have known before she did. And never said a word.
As he reentered the bedroom, she kept a smile on her face despite the roar rising inside of her. “Our board might be a bit
concerned if they knew you were doing both sides of a conversation with your dog.”
Grayson buried his nose in Harley’s fur, laughing. “If only. Instead I was too busy cursing out another of those blasted Instagram
ads. Nine hundred dollars for a beach chair with a deep seat? Criminal, no matter what they say about their user base. As
I live and die, I will not pay a smidge more than five hundred for a beach chair.”
Was he testing her? Did he know she’d overheard?
Was he truly arrogant enough to think she’d buy this?
Instead of the truth she was piecing together: that he purposely created what she’d thought was a glitch for his own financial gain, knowing an increase in users would send AIM’s stock soaring.
And now he was what? Being blackmailed by someone who’d found out? And hiding it from her?
Mallory had long ago perfected the art of playing along. With someone like Grayson, nothing could be gained without concrete
proof. As so, she stayed silent, her cheeks remained full, her lips extended into that smile, but her gut twisted and she
fought a surge of acid up her throat.
She saw herself hanging cardigans in his walk-in closet, the two of them nestling against the headboard, him forcing her to
read the Times in paper form, her complaining about the ink staining the sheets, her pushing him to switch out his utilitarian coffee machine
for one that made espressos and cappuccinos and her gently nudging him into Harley spending weekends at a dog sitter’s. Turkeys
carved and menorahs lit and a beach house in Wellfleet where they’d seed their own oysters and laugh about how they became
people who wear Hunter boots and in less time than it took Harley to lick Grayson’s hand, Mallory had created an entire life.
A life where she was happier than her mother. But maybe nature was more powerful than nurture because both Mallory and her
mother fell for assholes who lie.