Chapter 30
Grayson
The next day, I read the article Fiennes mentioned—the one that supposedly details my relationship with Jenna.
Unsurprisingly, most of it is horseshit.
It's what I call a polite hit piece: full of insinuation, never quite crossing the line into libel. The writer builds their little house of cards with implication and half-truths—just enough conjecture for readers to form their own ugly conclusions, yet not enough to sue them for.
According to their carefully "balanced" account, Jenna is an out-and-out gold digger.
The story implies she approached me while I was dating Anastasia—which is ridiculous, since Anastasia and I never dated—and that she threw herself at me to win the showcase bid, then used that connection to sink her claws into my family's fortune.
Of course, they never say any of this outright. They simply arrange the timelines, nudge a few numbers together, and let the reader "add two plus two" to arrive at a very convenient five. Totally unfair. Totally biased. But, as I said, not actionable.
What gets under my skin most is that I'm not really the target here.
Sure, the article makes me look weak—an easy mark for a "clever" woman to manipulate—but the focus is on Jenna.
It paints her as cold, calculated, and ambitious to the point of cruelty.
A woman who uses her body to get ahead, trampling anyone in her way.
It erases her talent, her relentless work ethic, her ethics, her decency.
And that pisses me off more than I can say.
Jenna is one of the few people I know who not only has strong moral principles but actually lives by them. She doesn't just talk about integrity; she embodies it. To see her dragged through the mud for no reason—especially because of me—hits right in the chest.
Last night, while she slept beside me, I lay awake wondering whether to tell her about the article. She'll be deeply hurt if I do, but if she finds out on her own… that might be worse. After a lot of back-and-forth, I decide not to say anything. Not yet. Not until I figure out who's behind this.
I note the journalist's name and forward it to my lawyers. They'll know what to do—apply pressure, imply the writer's about to be sued within an inch of their career. Suggest they'll never work again in New York. But honestly, I don't care what happens to the journalist. They're a pawn.
What I really want is the name of the person behind the piece. The one pulling strings behind the curtain like the Wizard of Oz.
If my lawyers squeeze hard enough, maybe the journalist will break and admit who set them up. Because no one writes a front-page smear like this for no reason. Someone powerful had to push it through.
This isn't my first media ambush. Back when my father stepped down and I took over as CEO, a few shareholders didn't like it. They tried to use the press to discredit me. Long story short—they failed. I'm still here; they aren't.
Maybe this is the same playbook all over again.
But why target Jenna? Why go after someone who's practically unknown outside her field? She's not a threat to anyone.
Unless…
My intercom buzzes. I press the button. "What is it, Carissa?"
"Um… Ms. Marina is here. She says she needs to speak with you. Urgently."
"Tell her I'm busy."
"I did. She says it's important, and she's willing to wait all day."
Irritation crawls down my spine. What the hell does she want?
The last time Marina showed up, she talked in circles without saying a damn thing. Then came the "pushed or not pushed" fiasco at my parents' place—hardly something that endeared her to Jenna. I can't blame Jenna for that either.
I'm tempted to tell Carissa to say I'm in a meeting and can't be disturbed, but I owe it to Jenna to get to the bottom of this.
Better Marina deals with me than tries to reach Jenna directly.
I never want those two to cross paths again if I can help it.
Marina brings chaos, and Jenna deserves peace.
God, Wolfe, listen to yourself. You're such a goner over her, aren't you?
I can't help but smile. Yeah, maybe I am. I thought I'd be a lifelong bachelor. I thought my heart was ironclad, impenetrable. But somehow, Jenna Marlowe slipped right past every defense.
It's a little terrifying to admit, but there's nothing I can do about it now.
Either way, better to hear Marina out, let her say whatever she came to say, and be done with it.
"Let her in," I say. "But tell her I've only got five minutes. If she's not out by then, knock and remind me of my important conference, got it?"
I plan to make this quick—ideally, under one minute. Hopefully this time she can actually spit out whatever it is she's come here to say.
Marina strides in confidently in a red pantsuit, her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. It used to be my favorite look on her—used to drive me half mad with lust. Now I just picture that same style on a certain red-haired beauty instead.
Marina smiles. "Nice of you to find time for me, Grayson."
"Hopefully, you can make this quick," I reply flatly. "I have an important conference call starting any minute. You've got two minutes—and if you came here to ask me to hand the CEO position to my brother, you've wasted both your gas and your breath."
Fighting words, I know. Still, with Marina's pregnancy and me breaking the nose of one of Wolfe Group's most important clients, the CEO seat might already be George's by default.
My father still hasn't called about yesterday's circus, but the moment the story reaches him—and it will—there's going to be an explosion.
"I didn't come here for that," she says quickly. Her eyes flick to the newspaper still in my hand, and a look of sadness crosses her face. "Ah. I'm too late. You've already seen it."
I glance down at the paper, suspicion instantly crawling back up my spine. "You know something about this?"
"It's not what you think." She raises her hands defensively, then sinks into one of the guest chairs opposite my desk.
"I got a call from a reporter a few days ago asking for a statement.
I hung up, of course—but I thought you should probably be on the lookout for an article about you.
It's one of the things I wanted to tell you earlier, but I never got the chance. "
You had plenty of chances. You just didn't say anything."
"You didn't give me the chance."
"Or maybe you couldn't get it out for some reason." The suspicion thickens. "Tell me—was it George? Did he pay that reporter to write a hit piece just to secure the CEO role for himself?"
She hesitates, eyes dropping to her hands. "I… don't know."
"Don't lie to me, Marina. For once, be honest. Was it him?"
"I really don't know for sure."
"But you suspect it, don't you?" I lean forward, voice low. "That's why you've been struggling to tell me anything. Because you know I'd put two and two together—and figure out George was behind it."
My mind races. The pieces click together, but the picture still doesn't fit.
It doesn't sound like George at all. My brother's a lot of things, but schemer isn't one of them.
It's always been one of his biggest flaws—too lazy to plot, too spineless to manipulate.
Still, it's been a while since I really knew him. People change.
"So why are you here now?" I ask.
"Because…" She takes a deep breath. "Because I think you deserve to be CEO." Her voice shakes a little. "I know better than anyone how hard you've worked for this. You've earned it. Besides…"
"Besides what?" Her hesitation grates on me. I just want this conversation over.
"I'm…" She exhales sharply, emotion flashing across her face—genuine devastation.
"I'm so sorry for everything that happened between us.
I know I keep apologizing, but I made a huge mistake, and I ruined what we had over nothing.
I thought you didn't care about me." Her voice drops to a whisper.
"And I wanted to do something to get back at you. "
"It's okay," I tell her, uncomfortable as hell. "It's water under the bridge. It was a long time ago, and I'm not angry anymore. Seriously—you and George probably make a better couple than we ever did anyway."
"No, we don't." She lets out a bitter laugh. "Everything between him and me… it's just wrong."
"I'm probably not the person you should be telling that to, Marina."
"Yeah. Probably." She falls quiet, still not looking at me, and the silence drags.
"I thought you were cheating on me," she finally says. "When I saw you working all those late nights with Adella, I thought you were sleeping with her. That's why I did what I did with George. It's not an excuse, but—"
"Adella and I were working on an acquisition," I cut in. "I was never interested in her like that."
"I know that now. I should have known it then. I should've trusted you." Her voice trembles. "But I didn't. I didn't have faith in you… not until it was too late."
"Well," I shrug, keeping my tone neutral. "We can't go back in time."
"Can't we?" she asks softly—and there's just enough suggestion in her voice to make it clear the question isn't entirely innocent.
When I don't respond, Marina gives a small, sad smile.
"Just kidding. I guess I just miss having you give a shit about me."
"I do give a shit about you," I tell her—but the words sound automatic, hollow. My mind's already a million miles away: on George, on Jenna, on my parents, on the company I've spent the last decade building.
"Really?" she asks quietly. "Because I was a little disappointed that you didn't care your fiancée might've pushed me."
"She didn't push you," I say flatly.
"I'm not saying for sure she did, but—"
"But nothing." I cut her off. "You fell. End of story."
I'm done with this conversation. There's no question in my mind Jenna didn't touch her. Either Marina's confused about what actually happened, or worse—she's trying to stir shit up.
And even though Marina can be a royal pain in the ass, tripping pregnant women and throwing them to the ground isn't Jenna's MO. Not even close.
"Of course," Marina says finally, her expression closing off. "Well then, I'd better get back to work."
"That's all you came to tell me?"
"Yes."
"You could've called."
"But then I wouldn't have gotten to see you."
I narrow my eyes. "What game are you playing, Marina?"
"I'm not playing games." She lifts her chin. "Since I've already come this far, I might as well put all my cards on the table. I want you back, and I think, deep down, you want me back too. But I'll wait. I'll wait until you're ready."
Without waiting for an answer, she gets up and walks to the door. She pauses just long enough to glance at me—one last look—then leaves. The door clicks shut behind her.
What the actual fuck?
Where does she get off saying something like that to me?
Maybe months ago—when the hurt was still raw—hearing that might've been gratifying. Maybe.
Now? I feel nothing. Maybe a little irritation. Maybe even disgust.
I don't want her. Not in any way, and as much as George is being a little fuck-up right now, I have no interest in hurting him back. He's in love with her. I can see it. If he ever found out what she just said to me, it would destroy him.
And then there's the baby. God. This is already a mess—and it's about to get worse.
Turns out Marina's visit isn't the last surprise of the day.
My father shows up at my office just before closing, looking like a storm front about to break.
He slams the door behind him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, son?"
I smile lazily. "Depends who you ask, Pops."
"This is no time for jokes." His voice is like thunder. "Have you lost your damn mind? Haigel has a trillion-dollar portfolio. Are you trying to lose his business?"
"Don't be so dramatic. He's not going anywhere. He knows what he said was out of line. He was drunk, and he trash-talked my fiancée. He had to expect some kind of reaction."
"Are you actually marrying this girl, Grayson?"
"Of course. Why else would I introduce her to you?"
He stares at me hard. "Truly? Because I thought this was a joke. Or a ploy to get your mother off your back by picking the most unsuitable woman you could find. Then I thought maybe you were doing it because you heard George and Marina were back in New York and you wanted to make her jealous."
Ah. So close, yet so far.
"That's not it at all," I say. "If I really wanted to get Mom off my back, I'd have picked someone she'd actually approve of. But I don't care if she likes Jenna or not. I'm in love with her, and I'll go against anyone who goes against her. No matter who it is—Father. Believe me when I say this…"
I meet his gaze, my voice low, deliberate.
"I don't make a good enemy."