Chapter 23 Jenna
Jenna
Idon't know what possesses me to wear the new heels and show up at Grayson's office unannounced, carrying a late lunch takeout.
Maybe it's because of how drained his voice sounded on the phone. Not tired exactly—more stressed, irritated, and fed up.
I couldn't get the image of him sitting at his desk, unhappy, out of my head all afternoon. Just to clear my mind, I thought I might show up and see for myself if he was all right.
And I decided to wear the heels while I was at it.
I told myself I was only checking on him because I was worried, the way any normal human being would worry about someone they live with.
I especially didn't want him coming home in a bad mood.
It was self-preservation, really. Because if he came home angry, I'd end up angry too—although I guess I could just ignore him and we'd both be fine.
But that's all bullshit. The truth is, I am worried about him, especially after hearing from Steph that their father was introducing George today as joint interim CEO alongside Grayson.
"Can you believe it?" Steph said over the phone. "After everything, he's giving George something Grayson's worked his ass off for, and George, the idiot, is just going to accept it, even though he knows he'd be a terrible CEO. I don't know who put this ridiculous idea into Father's head."
I don't know either, and frankly, I don't particularly care. I'm just worried about how Grayson's taking it—and furious at his father for putting him through this bullshit after everything he's achieved.
Even I know the company wouldn't have been half as profitable these last few years without Grayson in charge. The Wolfe Group has always made money, but profits have practically tripled since he took over.
Take the symposium my event company is managing for the Wolfe Foundation, for example. It wouldn't even be happening without him. He was the one who made the proposal and convinced the shareholders to invest in it.
It's mind-boggling that Grayson's father would risk so much by gambling on George instead—just because he's getting married first. It's deeply unfair.
And what's worse, Grayson's million-dollar bet on me—his fake fiancée—helping to fix things doesn't seem to be paying off at all.
His parents don't appear to be taking our admittedly fake engagement into account whatsoever.
I mean, sure, we're not a real couple, but they don't know that.
Surely, in their eyes, Grayson should have an equal chance of producing the next heir to the Wolfe dynasty as George does.
I sigh, shaking my head, and grab my keys.
I pick up food on the way, partly because he's probably skipped lunch, partly because it gives me a plausible reason for showing up that isn't I wanted to seduce him in my wicked-as-sin red shoes.
When I stroll into the reception area, I find Carissa at her desk.
She bolts upright the instant she sees me.
"Oh," she says, looking startled and uneasy. "You're here."
"I am. Is he in?"
"Oh, um…" She glances toward the office door. "Maybe you should come back later."
I frown. She won't meet my eyes, like she's hiding something she thinks I shouldn't know. Something that, as the boss's fiancée, I definitely should know. In other words, she's covering for him. Loyal, sure—but I wasn't born yesterday.
I smile politely and ask again, "Is Grayson in?"
She shakes her head—but her lie lasts all of two seconds, because then I hear something from inside his office that makes my blood run cold.
A woman's laughter.
Logically, it could be nothing. He knows hundreds of women—hell, maybe thousands. It could be an associate, a partner, a client, even an employee. Maybe it's his mother—no, the voice is too young for that.
But that laughter, combined with Carissa acting shady and denying he's there when clearly he is—and that flash of panic in her eyes—
It tells me whatever's happening in there is anything but innocent.
Rage floods through me, hot and fast.
I can't believe it.
The cheating bastard and whoever's with him are both about to die.
I don't bother reminding myself that our relationship is fake and that I have no right to be this angry.
Rational thought isn't going to calm me down anyway—not right now, not with the way I feel.
I tell myself it's the principle of the thing. I can't believe he has the nerve to tell me not to see other men when he's in there with another woman, laughing it up like it's the Fourth of July.
Let's see what's going on in there that's so funny.
Without warning, I storm past Carissa, throw open the door to Grayson's private office, and stride in—nostrils flaring, pulse pounding, muscles tight.
Grayson is seated at his desk, and because he's facing the door, he sees me first.
The woman he's with is standing across from him, and when she hears the door open, she turns around.
I know that face.
The shock of seeing her here stops me dead in my tracks.
"You," I gasp. It's the attractive brunette from the bathroom—the one who was doing her makeup while I fixed my dress.
"What are you doing in my fiancé's office?" I blurt, glancing between them.
My eyes flick to Grayson, who looks surprised and… amused? Does he think this is funny?
"I guess I should introduce you," he says. "Jenna, this is my ex-fiancée, Marina. Marina, this is my beautiful and apparently extremely jealous current fiancée, Jenna."
"I'm not jealous," I snap, even though every muscle in my body wants to leap across the room and rip this woman's perfect hair right out of her head.
I mean, what are the fucking odds I'd run into her in the bathroom?
Of course, I hadn't even known she was at that event. Probably for the best, given how I feel right now—now that I do know.
Did she know who I was back then? Of course she did. She'd brought up Grayson and told me to be careful, for whatever fucking reason. Like I'd ever take advice from her.
The real question is—why didn't she tell me who she was?
Is there something going on here that I'm not aware of? Something Grayson has "omitted" to mention?
"It's lovely seeing you again," she purrs, her voice low and velvety, her smile soft and guileless. I don't buy the act for a second.
"I wish I could say the same," I shoot back. I glance between them. "Can you excuse me and my fiancé, please? We need to have a… conversation. Now."
"Oh, sure." She seems a little taken aback by my open hostility—probably because she's used to the fakery of high society, or because she expected me to pretend I wasn't bothered. Mostly, though, she looks amused.
She turns to Grayson. "I'm glad we had this little chat, Grayson dear. I'll leave you two lovebirds now to have your… conversation. We'll talk later, Grayson."
"Hmm," he murmurs, noncommittal. But he's not even looking at her—his eyes are locked on me, heat radiating from his gaze, that damn smirk curling his lips.
She brushes past me on her way out, fixing me with a superior little smile. It takes every ounce of restraint not to smack that smug expression off her face. Somehow, I manage to hold back.
As the door closes behind her, I take a sharp breath and turn on Grayson, my eyes blazing. "What the hell, Grayson? You say we have to sell this relationship, and then I catch you alone with your fucking ex? Are you kidding me?"
"Catch me doing what exactly?" He rises and strolls toward me, still wearing that infuriating smirk.
"Catch you talking—about God only knows what!"
"You could ask, you know," he whispers, wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me closer. "If you want to know what we were talking about, just ask."
"I don't care. Let go of me."
"No. You're cute when you're jealous."
"I am not jealous," I bite out.
"You are, and you wore those shoes for me. They're hot as hell. You're hot as hell."
"I didn't… Grayson, stop."
"Oh yeah?" He leans in, his lips brushing my neck, and the heat inside me shifts—anger melting into something else entirely. "You sure about that?"
"Let me go." I don't want to be turned on right now. Not when I'm this mad.
"No," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against my pulse. His eyes meet mine, dark and steady. "I don't want to."
I hold his gaze, torn between fury and desire, my heart racing. I don't know what to do with everything I'm feeling.
While I stand there, frozen, he leans in and kisses me—soft at first, then deep.
That's when I give in. I kiss him back—hard and rough, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance.
I grab his hair, sucking on his tongue as he lifts me effortlessly into the air. His hardness presses between my thighs. Waves of lust crash through me, drowning out every other thought.
He shifts, sits, and pulls me down onto his lap. My fingers fumble with his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping, freeing him. I push my panties aside, trembling with need, already slick with heat.
"Fuck yes," he groans, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded as he watches me.
"I want you," I gasp, breathless.
"I'm right here, baby. Take me."
Our groans melt together as I align him at my entrance and sink down slowly, letting him fill me completely, utterly.
"God, yes…" I breathe, clutching his shoulders, meeting his gaze.
"You're mine, Grayson Wolfe," I whisper between frantic kisses. "No one else's. For the duration of this contract, you're a reflection of me. You are mine."