Chapter 2
GRADY
“What do you mean my package was delivered?” I said, keeping my tone calm even though my pulse was sprinting. “I’m standing in my office. No package.”
The woman on the other end of the line hesitated. “It looks like it was delivered to the lobby of…Reboot? Does that sound familiar?”
It definitely sounded familiar. Reboot was my building. My penthouse. My sanctuary. Also, apparently, my backup warehouse.
“How big is the package?”
“Uh…pretty large, sir.”
Of course, it was. The custom light installation I’d ordered for tonight’s Sparkle & Spirit Benefit was roughly the size of a small refrigerator. And without it, the event—and Evergreen’s reputation—would crash and burn.
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
I hung up and pressed my fingers to my temples. Everything was fine. Totally fine. I just had to—
A knock at my door. Two o’clock on the dot. Mollie Gregory was nothing if not punctual.
“Come in,” I said, straightening my tie.
The door opened, and there she was—wearing jeans, a cream sweater that looked way too soft for its own good, and a cautious smile that should’ve come with a warning label.
“Mr. Thorne.”
“Ms. Gregory.” I gestured to the chair across from my desk. “Please, try not to destroy anything today.”
That earned me a smile. Dangerous, that smile.
I’d been thinking about her for three days.
Told myself it was professional concern—that I needed to make sure the coffee incident hadn’t scared off a client, that her vision board had interesting elements, that someone needed to teach her about realistic event planning.
That was a lie. I’d replayed that meeting at least two dozen times. The way her eyes had flashed, the way she’d accused me of sucking the joy out of Christmas. The way she’d taken those damn muffins with her when I’d secretly hoped she’d leave them.
“I promise I’m on my best behavior,” she said, crossing her legs.
“Good to know. Now, before we dive in—how did you get here?”
She blinked. “Rideshare. Why?”
Perfect. “Because I have to pick up a package from my building, and I don’t want to reschedule. I could drive you home after, and we can talk through your event on the way.”
“You live nearby?”
“Reboot Condos.”
Her eyes widened. “I live there.”
I stopped mid-thought. “You’re kidding.”
She laughed, and the sound hit low in my chest. “Small world.”
Apparently.
Five minutes later, we were in my car—a midnight blue Porsche so clean, it could’ve been a surgical suite. She slid into the passenger seat and looked around before shaking her head.
“Do you detail this thing daily?”
“Weekly.”
She grinned. “Of course you do.”
The grin did not help me focus on the road.
We pulled into downtown traffic, and she opened her laptop. “I’ve been thinking about the ceiling issue. What if we used freestanding trees instead of hanging ornaments? Same effect, no weight-load drama.”
I shot her a quick look. “You’ve been thinking about weight loads?”
“Fire codes too. We could use LED candles instead of real ones.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
She shrugged, but I could see the pleased flush on her cheeks. “I want this to be perfect. These people…they’re my family. Not by blood, but by choice. They took me in when I had no one.”
Something in her voice made me look at her again. She was staring out the window, her expression softer now. Vulnerable. Something about it made my hands tighten on the steering wheel.
“Tell me about them,” I heard myself say.
She turned to me, surprised. “Really?”
“You said this party matters. I should understand why.”
For a moment, I thought she might deflect.
But then she started talking. “I moved to Seattle when I was six. My parents died, and I was sent here to live with my uncle—my dad’s brother.
He didn’t really want kids. Never married, worked constantly, drank too much.
Christmas was just another day to him. Sometimes he’d leave a gift card on the counter. Most years, he forgot.”
My chest tightened.
“When I got to college, my roommates started inviting me home for holidays. Their families welcomed me like I’d always belonged there.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter—I had somewhere to go.
People who asked how I was doing and actually wanted to know the answer.
” She paused. “They gave me what I never had growing up. So this party is my way of saying thank you. Of creating the kind of Christmas I always dreamed about and sharing it with them.”
I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? That I understood? I didn’t. My childhood was stable, loving, secure. Everything hers wasn’t.
“That’s why the magic matters,” I said quietly.
“Yeah.” She looked at me, and something passed between us. An understanding. “That’s why the magic matters.”
We pulled into the Reboot parking garage, and I found my designated spot on the top level. The silence felt heavier now, charged with something I couldn’t quite identify.
The lobby of Reboot was all modern luxury—polished concrete, floor-to-ceiling windows, and minimalist furniture that cost more than most people’s cars. Jonathan, the concierge, looked up as we entered and did a double-take when he saw I wasn’t alone.
“Mr. Thorne. I have your package in the back. It’s, uh…substantial.”
“I’m aware.”
He disappeared and returned a moment later, wheeling a dolly with a crate the size of a dining room table. Mollie’s eyes went wide.
“That’s your package?” she asked.
“That’s my package.”
“What’s in there?”
“Custom lighting installation for tonight’s benefit.” I pulled out my phone, already texting my transport team.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Sir, that’s too large to leave in the main lobby. Would you like me to wheel it into the mail room? You can wait there while your team arrives.”
“That would be fine. Thank you, Jonathan.”
The mail room was tucked behind the lobby, a utilitarian space with sorting tables, package shelves, and the faint smell of cardboard and packing tape. Jonathan helped us maneuver the crate inside, then disappeared back to his desk, leaving us alone.
Mollie looked around at the towers of packages and the cubbies labeled with unit numbers. “This is very…behind-the-scenes.”
“Not exactly The Evergreen Room.”
“No, but it’s real. I like real.”
She leaned against one of the sorting tables, and I found myself doing the same, both of us facing the crate like it was some kind of modern art installation we were meant to contemplate.
“So what happens if it’s broken?” she asked. “The lighting thing?”
“Then I spend the next four hours trying to find a replacement or create something equally impressive from scratch.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“It’s the job.”
She studied me for a moment, and I felt exposed under her gaze. “Is it always like this? Always one crisis away from disaster?”
“Event planning isn’t for people who need certainty.”
“But you seem like someone who needs certainty.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d built my entire life around control, structure, predictability. Evergreen Apps had succeeded because I’d created systems that eliminated chaos. But lately—especially in the last three days—I’d been questioning whether control was the same as living.
“What about you?” I asked, deflecting. “What do you do when you’re not planning impossible Christmas parties?”
“I work at Ultra Bright Technologies. Project coordination.”
That explained a lot. The vision board, the organized layouts, the way she’d already started problem-solving the ceiling installation issue… She might seem scattered with her coffee disasters and enthusiastic Christmas plans, but there was structure underneath the chaos.
“That explains the punctuality,” I said.
“Does it?” She tilted her head, her expression curious. “You barely know me.”
“I know you threw a cranberry-orange muffin at fate and won an eight-thousand-dollar venue. I know you’re planning a party for people who took you in when you had no one.
I know you think magic matters more than fire codes.
” I paused. “You’re also the kind of person who offers to help a stranger wait for a package in a mail room. ”
She was quiet for a moment, and I worried I’d said too much. Revealed too much. But then she smiled—a smile that was both genuine and devastating at the same time.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said.
“What did you expect?”
“More…stuffy? You run a successful company, you own a penthouse, and you drive a car that probably costs more than I make in two years. I thought you’d be all business, all the time.”
“I am all business.”
“You’re sitting in a mail room with me right now instead of sending an assistant to wait for your package.”
Fair point. “Maybe I wanted to make sure it arrived intact.”
“Or maybe,” she said, her voice softer now, “you’re not as rigid as you pretend to be.”
Before I could figure out what to say to that, my phone vibrated. The transport team was ten minutes out.
“They’re close,” I said, grateful for the interruption.
Mollie nodded but didn’t move from her spot against the table. We stood there in comfortable silence, surrounded by other people’s packages and the hum of the building’s HVAC system. It should have been awkward. It should have felt like wasted time.
Instead, it felt like the most honest moment I’d had in months.
“Can I ask you something?” she said finally.
“Go ahead.”
“Why event planning? You clearly have the brain for any number of tech ventures. Why build a platform around something so dependent on other people’s happiness?”
No one had ever asked me that. They asked about revenue, scalability, market share. Never about why.
“My sister got married five years ago,” I said.
“She hired this wedding planner who promised the world and delivered chaos. Wrong flowers, late vendors, a cake that collapsed. She spent her wedding day crying in the bathroom while I tried to fix everything.” I paused, remembering.
“That’s when I realized events are these fragile, precious things.
One wrong move, and you’ve ruined someone’s most important memory.
I wanted to build a platform that would never let that happen.
A system that connects people with reliable vendors, manages timelines, and prevents disasters. ”
“So you created the technology to make perfect events possible.”
“Exactly. Though this time of year, I shift more toward hosting. The Evergreen Room, community benefits, corporate parties—it’s part of being involved locally. Plus, it lets me test the platform in real-world conditions.”
“And maintain control,” she added, but she was smiling.
“That too.”
“So you became the control freak who makes magic happen perfectly.”
“Essentially.”
She was smiling now, not mocking but understanding. “That’s actually really sweet.”
“Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” She glanced at the crate. “So tonight’s benefit—if it goes well, what happens?”
“If it goes well, Evergreen Apps becomes the go-to platform for every major charity event in the region. Which means more revenue, more staff, more—”
“Control?”
I looked at her. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s not bad. But it’s also not everything.” She pushed off from the table, moving closer. “What happens when you can’t control something? When life throws you coffee on your desk or a package that might be broken or a woman who wants twelve toppings on her hot chocolate bar?”
“I adapt.”
“Do you?” She was close now, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her eyes. “Or do you just work harder to force it back into your plan?”
My phone buzzed again. The transport team was here. Saved by technology.
“I should go meet them,” I said, not moving.
“Yeah,” she agreed, also not moving.
We stood there for another heartbeat, the air between us electric with something I couldn’t name and wasn’t ready to examine.
Then I forced myself to step back, to pull out my phone, to become Grady Thorne, CEO of Evergreen Apps, instead of whoever I’d been for the last twenty minutes in this mail room.
“Thank you,” I said. “For waiting with me.”
“Thank you for the ride home. And the conversation.” She picked up her laptop bag, and I realized I didn’t want her to leave yet.
The words came out before I could stop them. “Actually—the benefit tonight. If you want to see what The Evergreen Room looks like when everything comes together, you’re welcome to come.”
She turned back, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”
“Seven o’clock. Cocktail attire.” I kept my voice steady and professional, even though my heart was pounding. “Consider it research. For your party.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Research. Right.”
“Unless you have other plans—”
“No. No other plans.” She was trying to play it cool, but I could see her eyes light up. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
We stood there for another moment, neither of us moving, and I had the sudden, irrational urge to say something more. Something that would explain why I’d just invited her, why the thought of waiting until Thursday to see her again felt impossible.
Instead, I said, “Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.” She started toward the door, then paused once more. “And Grady? I hope your event tonight is perfect. You deserve it.”
She left before I could respond, disappearing into the lobby.
I stood in the mail room surrounded by other people’s deliveries and realized two things. One, I was in serious trouble. And two, I couldn’t wait until seven o’clock.