18. 404 Trust Not Found
18
404: TRUST NOT FOUND
ROSALIND
Nine days until Valentine's Day, and the sun hasn't quite reached the mountain cabin's frost-covered windows. The winter storm that drove us inside has transformed the landscape into something from a snow globe
Pristine white drifts pile against ancient pines. Icicles catch the pre-dawn light like crystal wind chimes.
And the first thing I notice upon waking is warmth – the fire's burned low but Grayson radiates heat like some sort of efficiently-designed space heater.
His body is pressed firmly against mine, his long frame curled protectively around me on the obscenely comfortable couch. His dark hair is adorably mussed, silver temples catching the grey morning light, and there's something about seeing Seattle's most controlled tech CEO looking so... undone that makes my chest tight.
The second thing I notice is how perfectly we fit together – my back against his chest, his arm draped possessively across my waist, our legs tangled beneath the cashmere throw that definitely costs more than my car. He's still wearing those ridiculously expensive flannel pants, while I'm swimming in his Stanford t-shirt, the soft fabric carrying his cologne in a way that makes focusing difficult. His hand rests gently on my stomach.
The third thing I notice is Emily Hanning's increasingly urgent emails lighting up my phone, bringing reality crashing back with all the subtlety of an avalanche.
Feature deadline approaching. Sources say your relationship with Seattle's most eligible tech bachelor has revolutionized the dating scene. Care to comment on merging traditional matchmaking with modern algorithms?
The real world intrudes worse than a wine stain on an expensive Tom Ford shirt. With a sigh, I start to move, but Grayson's arm tightens around me, pulling me closer to him. His breath is warm on my neck, his voice a low growl.
"Your heart rate's up,” he murmurs against my neck, his lips brushing against my skin. "Calculating possible causes..."
"Don't you dare start with tech geek-speak right now," I whisper, my voice already breathy.
His laugh rumbles through both our bodies, and I can feel his chest vibrate against my back. "Would you prefer a more hands-on analysis?" he asks, his hand sliding down from my stomach to my hip, his fingers digging gently into my flesh.
Before I can respond (preferably with something witty and not at all affected by the way he's trailing kisses down my shoulder), my phone buzzes again. This time it's Dani:
EMERGENCY. New client (professional feng shui consultant) just rearranged entire lobby according to "optimal chi flow." William's baking station now faces northeast. Claims it will improve his sourdough's spiritual alignment.
“Dani again?” Grayson asks between kisses, his hand now sliding up my thigh, pushing the t-shirt aside.
"Just the usual chaos," I manage to say, my breath hitching as his fingers brush against the apex between my thighs. I show him the text. "Though I have to admit, spiritual sourdough is a new one."
"We could stay here," he suggests, pulling me even closer, his hips pressing against mine. I can feel his arousal, hard and insistent against my back. "Let the feng shui revolution sort itself out..."
"Very unprofessional of you," I gasp, as his hand moves to cup my breast, his thumb brushing against my nipple.
"Completely inefficient," he agrees, his voice a gritty sigh. But his smile makes my chest tight. "Though I'm starting to think some inefficiencies are worth exploring."
Another email from Emily: Sources suggest Heart & Soul's traditional approach is being enhanced by SecureMatch's technology. Exclusive feature could position you as the future of matchmaking. What do you say, Ms Carpenter?
My mind races over that last part.
“The future of matchmaking.”
The kind of publicity that could keep Heart & Soul relevant long after our fake relationship ends. After Grayson goes back to his algorithms and I go back to...what? Pretending last night never happened?
“I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head,” Grayson observes, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me properly. The morning light does unfair things to his already perfect bone structure. His whiskey-brown eyes are dark with desire, his lips slightly parted. "Want to share your data analysis?"
"Just wondering how this fits into your optimization protocols," I say, my voice barely a whisper as his hand slides down my body, his fingers finding their way beneath the t-shirt.
"It doesn't," he says, his voice rough. "That's what makes it interesting."
"Interesting enough to disrupt your careful systems?" My breath hitches as his fingers find their mark, stroking me gently.
Instead of answering, he kisses me – the kind of kiss that erases rational thought. I arch into him, tangling my fingers in his beautiful, mussed hair as he pulls me closer, his fingers moving in rhythm with his tongue.
My phone buzzes again.
Dani: Update: Feng shui guy says office door faces wrong direction for maximal romance energy. Currently reinstalling it while William bakes crystal-infused croissants.
"Ignore it," Grayson murmurs against my mouth, his fingers moving faster. “It would be very professional for us to maintain focus on immediate priorities."
"Is that what we're calling this?" I manage to ask, my body trembling as he brings me closer to the edge.
"Would you prefer a more technical term?" His hand moves faster, his fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. "I could create a spreadsheet of optimal morning activities..."
"If you start calculating anything right now, I'm leaving," I gasp, my body tensing as waves of pleasure wash over me.
His laugh vibrates against my skin, his fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm. "Noted.”
What follows is definitely not in any business agreement. I take a deep breath, the scent of him—a mix of cologne, soap, and Grayson—wafting over me.
“I’ll have you know that I’m much less focused on calculating, and more focused on us.” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine. His hand slides down to my hip, pulling me closer. “And my focus is very thorough.”
Before I can respond, his mouth captures mine in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue explores, teases, and claims, leaving me breathless and wanting more. I arch into him, feeling the hard planes of his chest and the growing erection making itself known between us .
His hands roam over my body, tracing the curves and dips with a familiarity that sends a wave of heat through me. He knows exactly where to touch, how to touch, to make me come. His fingers slip under the hem of his Stanford t-shirt I'm wearing, skimming over my bare skin, making me gasp.
"Grayson," I murmur, my voice a plea. He responds with a guttural groan, his hand moving higher, cupping my breast, his thumb circling my nipple until it hardens under his touch.
"You're so responsive," he whispers, the words full of gravel. "It drives me crazy."
I reach up, tangling my fingers in his hair, tugging him closer. Our kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more demanding. His hand slides down, slipping between my legs, finding the heat and wetness that betrays my need for him.
"You're already so wet," he growls, his fingers stroking, teasing, driving me to the brink. "I love how ready you are for me."
I moan, my body bowing into his hands, craving more. He doesn't disappoint, his fingers slipping inside me, stroking, building the tension until I'm panting, desperate for release.
"Grayson, please," I beg, my voice a ragged whisper. He responds with a low chuckle, his thumb circling my clit, making my body bend and tremble.
“Please what, Rosalind?" he teases, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I gasp, my skin humming. "I want you."
He growls, a primal sound that washes over me like a sensual wave. In one swift movement, he rolls me onto my back, his body covering mine. He kisses me deeply, passionately, before trailing kisses down my neck, my collarbone, my chest. He pauses at my breasts, lavishing attention on each one, his tongue and teeth tugging at every sensitive valley and peak.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he continues his descent, kissing, licking, nipping at my skin. He nuzzles his nose into the nakedness below my hips, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity of his gaze, the raw hunger in his eyes, makes my heart race.
Gripping my thighs, he spreads them wide. His gorgeous face settles between my legs, his breath hot against my skin. "You're so beautiful, Rosalind”ind he murmurs, "I could spend hours just looking at you."
I blush, the heat spreading from my cheeks down to my chest. "Grayson…”
He smiles, a devious one that makes my heartbeat triple in time. "But I have other plans," he says. And with that, he lowers his head, his tongue finding my clit, circling, teasing, swerving in a maddening pattern over my pussy.
I gasp, my body arching off the couch, my hands gripping the cushions. He doesn't let up, his tongue and lips working magic, building the tension until I'm panting, gasping, peaking.
“Grayson," I moan.” Please."
He hums low against me, the vibration shooting my body even higher. He slips two fingers inside me, stroking, curling, sending me over the edge. I cry out, my body trembling, the orgasm crashing over me, leaving me breathless and shaking.
Grayson doesn't give me time to recover, his body covering mine, his mouth capturing mine in a deep, passionate kiss. I can taste myself on his lips, a heady, intoxicating mix that makes me wet all over again.
I reach down, my hands finding the waistband of his flannel pants, pushing them down, freeing his erection.
The sheer size of him is shocking, the tip of his thick dick plump and poised towards me in way that makes my mouth water where I lay. When he finally covers my body with his again, the hard length of his perfect dick pressing against my thigh, I groan.
"I need you, Roz,” he tells me, each syllable soaked in desperation. "Now. "
I nod, my body aching with need. He reaches for another condom, quickly sheathing himself.
By the time he lines himself up between my shaking thighs, I’m about to implode. Then, with one swift thrust, he's inside me, filling me, stretching me. I gasp, my body adjusting to his size as he starts to move, his hips thrusting, his body claiming mine.
I wrap my legs around his waist, meeting each thrust with one of my own. Our bodies move in sync, a dance of passion and need, each thrust building the tension, driving us closer to another peak.
"Rosalind," he grits out. "You feel so good."
I moan, my body trembling, the pleasure building, threatening to consume me. "Grayson," I gasp, my voice a ragged whisper. "I'm close."
With that, his thrusts become more urgent, more demanding. He reaches between us, his thumb pulsating against my clit, and I gasp out.
This climax is anything but gentle. Anything but soft.
It’s hard. And fast. And intense. And raw.
My body devotees into a breathless and shaking mess. A beautiful mess made by this man alone.
As Grayson follows, his muscles stiffening, his release pulsing through him, I know I’ll never have this without anyone but him.
He collapses on top of me, his body slick with sweat and hard. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, feeling the pounding of his heart against my chest, needing him near.
Needing him to know that this—all of this, all of me—belongs to him and him alone.
We lie there, bodies entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal.
After what feels like forever, Grayson lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine, a shadow of a smile on his face .
“What a way to say good morning," he mumbles low.
I smile. “You mean great morning.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a gentle kiss. "I could get used to this.”
I nod. "Me too.”
Seconds later, I can feel his smile against my skin, the slight curve of his lips as he presses another kiss to my shoulder.
"You're tense," he observes, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on my stomach. "Something on your mind?"
I hesitate, my thoughts avoiding being a jumbled mess of deadlines, office chaos, and the undeniable chemistry between us. "Just... everything," I admit, turning to face him. His eyes, a deep bourbon-golden brown, search mine, looking for answers I'm not sure I have.
"Everything?" His thumb trails along the line of my jaw. "Or something specific?
I’m saved from answering when Douglas Franklin's name lights up Grayson's phone.
Wedding shower next weekend. Whole tech community attending. Good opportunity to showcase SecureMatch's best success story.
I feel Grayson tense slightly, his body still pressed against mine, his breath leaving his chest in a rush. “Goddamit. Fucking Franklin. We don't have to?—"
"Yes, we do," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "It's good publicity, right? Very... strategic."
"Rosalind—"
"RSVP yes for both of us," I say, managing a smile that only feels slightly forced. "After all, what kind of fake girlfriend would I be if I didn't support your business interests?"
His dark brows lower but before he can respond, my phone explodes with updates.
Dani: Feng shui crisis escalating. Guy claims office crystals need cleansing. William now incorporating rose quartz into pastry recipes.
Olivia: Dani’s twin yogis returned. Currently teaching meditation techniques to feng shui consultant while rearranging furniture into "sacred geometry." I wish my family never taught my sister the word ‘dating’
Emily Hanning: Sorry to bug. But the feature submission deadline is approaching, Ms. Carpenter. Like I said, it could could change everything for traditional matchmaking. Change everything for your company. Are you interested in telling the real story of Heart & Soul?
The real story. As if I even know what that is anymore in the midst of this “fake” relationship.
"I should check on the office," I say, scrambling from beneath him to pull on yesterday's sweater dress. “Might be a good idea to prevent crystal-based pastry experiments."
"Of course," Grayson assures me as he reaches for his phone. "I'll handle the RSVP."
We dress in silence, but every accidental brush of contact sends little sparks through my vintage wool, reminding me of exactly how un-fake last night—and this morning—just was.
"So," he says eventually, "about the shower?—"
"It's fine," I say, smoothing my dress, wishing I'd packed something less obviously slept-in. "All part of the plan, right? Maintaining our narrative?"
"Right," he says, but something in his voice makes me look up. He's watching me. "Though lately I'm starting to think?—"
My phone interrupts whatever he's about to say. This time it's Joel: Heard you're coming to the shower. Samantha's thrilled. Says it'll be just like old times.
“Just like old times.”
When I trusted someone and got my heart broken. When I thought I understood love and got proved spectacularly wrong.
"I really should call Dani," I say. "Before William starts incorporating healing crystals into his tiramisu recipe."
"Rosalind—"
“Handle HR crises promptly is just employing good business practices. ”
"Is that what we're doing?" He steps closer, and suddenly the cabin feels very small. “Employing good business practices?”
“Amongst other things,” I say, checking my phone again. “Things I wish I could discuss right now…” I swallow. “But we can’t. We have so much to do.”
Grayson’s gaze lowers before it meets mine again. “You’re right.”
Another email from Emily catches my eye: Not to be presumptuous, but sources say your relationship with Dixon has transformed both your businesses. But don’t you want your business to be more than just a romance, Ms. Carpenter. What happens when the publicity around you and your new beau fades?
What happens indeed.
My phone buzzes one final time. Dani: God help us all. Feng shui guy says office needs complete energetic realignment. William now baking karma-cleansing cookies while manifesting positive vibes. Entire lobby smells like sage and sourdough.
"We should probably..." I wave at the cabin's main room, still cluttered with evidence of Alex's bachelor days. "Handle the actual work we came here to do."
Another glance at my phone, a quick check of road conditions, confirms what the steadily falling snow already tells us – we're not going anywhere for a while. Which means hours more of careful distance, of pretending last night didn't change everything, of trying not to notice how Grayson's t-shirt clings to his shoulders as he moves furniture with irritating competence.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, as I try to remember the two of us are old enough to know better. We’re both in our 40s. Both professionals. We have work to do.
Even if neither of us can quite remember what "professional" means anymore.