Chapter 20 Grayson
Grayson
Istare down at this woman sleeping so gently in my arms.
Just a few minutes ago, she was screaming her release to the ceiling as my tongue took her pussy over the edge, wringing out climax after climax. It had been a long, intense session, and she drifted off so quickly after the final orgasm that for a second I thought she'd passed out.
I've been holding her ever since.
I'm amazed at how at ease I feel right now—more relaxed than I've allowed myself to be in months, maybe years.
Yet the day hadn't started that way. Quite the opposite, in fact.
From the moment I woke up, I'd been in a foul mood—thanks, of course, to my father and the meeting with him and George.
I'm sure I'd been an absolute nightmare to be around.
My employees spent the whole day avoiding my eyes, giving me a wide berth, and finding excuses not to attend meetings unless absolutely necessary.
But right now, I feel… okay. Calm. Sated.
Maybe it's because I finally slaked the lust that's been tormenting me for days. That's part of it, sure, but it feels like more than that. I feel refreshed—like I've been hit with a burst of new energy.
I just want to lie here and bask in it, which is strange, because after sex I'm usually thinking about how quickly I can get away.
But we've been lying on this couch for nearly an hour now. It's barely big enough for the two of us, my leg's cramping from the way she's draped over me, but I don't want to move. I don't want to disturb her sleep.
I study her face, tracing the outline of her features with my gaze.
Those delicate yet expressive eyebrows I've so often seen furrowed in annoyance—thanks to my bad moods and constant arguments—are now relaxed.
For the first time, I notice how perfectly shaped they are, how they flatter the lines of her face.
Those lips that flatten whenever she's about to yell at me are now soft and full, just slightly parted. Taunting. Tempting. Kissable.
Her wide-set eyes are gently closed, lashes long and naturally curled.
I brush a few loose strands of her dark ruby hair away from her face.
As I do, something stirs in me—something I haven't felt in a long, long time.
Warmth. Tenderness. Affection? I rarely feel that anymore, even toward my own family, maybe with the exception of Steph now and then. But something about her triggers it.
What is it, exactly?
I'm not sure. She's hard to pin down, personality-wise.
She's such a contradiction. Soft and gentle at times, yet tough as nails when she has to be. Ambitious, but not driven by greed or power.
She demands hard work from her employees, but she pays them well—too well, if you ask me—and always leads by example, arriving first, leaving last.
I did a little digging into her company and found out she takes home the same salary as her management team—no more. She also offers the most competitive rates and benefits in her industry.
Maybe she does it to attract the best talent.
But something tells me it's more than that. It's about fairness with her. She pays people well because she thinks it's the right thing to do—because she knows what it's like to work hard for low pay.
Digging into her past showed she's been working since high school, mostly in low-wage jobs.
I can see how that shaped her. It explains why she took it so personally when my team canceled the design she'd chosen for our opening event.
It wasn't just about her pride. She was angry because we'd wasted her vendors' time—people whose effort she respects because she's been there.
It also explains why she treats Alvaro more like a friend than an employee—something none of my other dates would ever do. For Jenna, that sort of thing is instinctive. It's just how she operates.
She probably believes in fair pay even if it means taking home less herself. Sure, she might also know it earns her loyalty, but I think she genuinely wants to do what's right. It's an admirable trait—very admirable, actually.
Thinking about it—which, I admit, I haven't done until now—from that angle, she's a better person than almost anyone I've ever met. Certainly better than me.
Or am I just projecting those qualities onto her because I want them to be true?
When she wakes up, I'll ask her.
But why do I want it to be true? That's another question entirely. Maybe because it fits the story, because it aligns with everything else I know about her. Maybe because it's refreshing to spend time with someone who doesn't just think and act selfishly, but genuinely cares about others.
Maybe because I want some of that goodness to rub off on me.
My phone rings, jolting me out of my thoughts. I slowly ease myself out from under Jenna's sleeping form to grab it from the floor before it wakes her.
I glance at the caller ID, and the tension floods back into my body.
Mother. Damn.
I know why she's calling, and I'm tempted not to answer. But knowing my mother, she'll drive over here in person if I ignore her call—and that's the last thing I want right now.
I gently roll Jenna out of my arms and walk a few steps away before answering.
"Mother?" I say, keeping my voice low.
"Grayson." Her tone is high-pitched and strained. "You sound tired. Are you okay, baby?"
"I'm fine. What do you need?"
"Now that's no way to talk to your mother."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes like a teenager. "Apologies. What did you need, Mother?"
She makes a small sound of indignation, and I smile. I'd almost forgotten how fun it is to tease her.
"Your father told me you met with him and George."
Just like that, my amusement evaporates.
"Yeah."
"And you told him you'd leave the company if George became CEO?"
"I did."
"Oh, Grayson. I understand your frustration, but that's not the way to go about things.
Your father is beside himself because you said that.
He's so upset that you would even think such a thing.
You know it's not about you—it's not personal.
He just wants the Wolfe Group to stay a family business.
I know you want him to change his mind about George, but this isn't how we—"
"I didn't say it to change his mind," I interrupt.
"I said it because it's true. I could have just walked away without warning him, but that would've been even crueler.
At least this way, if he still decides to be dumb enough to put George—George, of all people—in charge, he'll be doing it in full knowledge of the consequences. "
A silence stretches on the other end before she says quietly, "It's still cruel, Grayson. You really broke your father's heart today. I think he wants you to reach out, maybe explain yourself a little more, even if you don't take it back."
"Why is it always about what someone else wants, Mom?" I snap. "Dad wants this. George wants that. What about what I want?"
"Of course we care what you want. How could you even suggest otherwise?"
Because you all act otherwise.
"Good," I say dryly. "Then here it is: I don't want to work for George. My work is my life, and I'm not pouring my life into something that isn't mine at the end of the day."
"You'll still hold major shares, Grayson. You'll stay on the board and make key decisions, and I'm sure your brother will seek your expertise. Not to mention you'd be head of the European branch."
"It's not the same, and you know it. The European branch still answers to headquarters.
It's not independent. I'd be able to make suggestions, not decisions.
After everything I've built—everything I've sacrificed—I'm not about to sit back and watch someone else call the shots.
Especially not George. He's neither qualified nor experienced, and I am. "
She can't argue with that, so she says nothing.
"I'll tell you why Dad's really panicking," I go on.
"He expected me to be around to cover George's screwups.
That's the plan—me doing the work while George takes the credit, just so Dad can stroke his ego enough to make sure he raises his own son to take over later.
If he wanted George this whole time, why didn't he train him like he trained me? "
"He tried," my mother answers softly—and she's right.
Dad did try to groom George for the business, the same way he did with me.
The problem is, George never had the knack.
He's too soft-spoken, full of self-doubt, can't read risk, makes poor decisions, then doubles down trying to fix them—and just digs the hole deeper.
Worse, he lacks drive. No fire. Business doesn't excite him. You can't have a man-child running a multi-billion-dollar corporation like the Wolfe Group. It won't work, and the shareholders will see it instantly.
"I have to go, Mom," I say at last. "We'll talk later."
"Okay. Will you be coming to dinner on Saturday?"
I'm about to refuse but stop myself. "Sure. Jenna and I would love to come."
"Grayson…" Her voice darkens with warning.
"Bye, Mom."
When I turn around, Jenna is wide awake, watching me.
"Was that your mom?" she asks.
I nod. "Just some work stuff." Then, "Speaking of which, have you told your parents about us?"
"No," she says. "Why would I?"
I lift an eyebrow. "Really?"
"You honestly think your mom is going to send a PI to talk to my parents?"
"I think my mother is unpredictable, and there's no telling what she's capable of. So yeah—you might want to give your folks a heads-up."
She lets out a long sigh and nods. "This is turning out to be more work than I expected. But it's okay. At least when it's all over, I can say I earned every penny of that million dollars."
I smirk and head back to the couch. She shifts over to make room for me, resting her head on my chest.
"What are you going to do with your million dollars?" I ask.