Chapter 5
Jasmine
Friday afternoon comes with a surreal quality, like the world shifted just to give me this moment.
I feel like Cinderella, but instead of a carriage and magic slippers, I have a dress that hugs my body in all the right places, and heels that make me walk like I know what I’m doing.
And waiting for me at the threshold, a forbidden dream come true, is Mr. Grayson—suited up, sculpted. He looks at me like I’m someone he sees for the first time.
I put my hand in his large, abrasive hand. Which swallows mine so wholly that my knees buckle. I sway forward and he catches me with a hand on my hip. It lands on the bare skin at my waist, where the dress leaves a narrow panel open.
My skin sizzles as the tips of his fingers press into the indent of my waist. I wait for him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t.
Sophie lingers near the kitchen, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Have fun, you two.”
Her voice cuts through the tension, pulling my focus away. I cross the room to hug her tight. “We’ll be back early tomorrow.”
She pulls back, eyes suddenly sharper. “I can look after myself for one freaking day, Jazz,” she mutters, disappearing down the hall, phone in hand.
Mr. Grayson and I both watch her retreat in silence. I glance up at him, brows knitting. “Did that sound…off to you?”
He shakes his head, mouth softening. “She wants you to have fun, Jasmine. You worry more than I do.”
The moment Sophie’s footsteps fade, the tension snaps back. I turn, and Mr. Grayson’s eyes are already on me. The air grows tight. My breath catches that this man, wrapped in power and silk, is finally, exclusively mine.
He’s no longer just my boss, or Sophie’s stepdad. He’s the man who just looked at me like I was a secret worth breaking rules for.
He takes my small overnight bag without a word and offers his arm. I loop mine through, trying not to shiver at the subtle warmth radiating off him. We fall into step together, and though his stride is longer, he slows to match mine.
The elevator waits at the end of the hallway. With each step, the scent of his cologne wraps around me, both familiar and devastating.
“So, at this reception,” I say casually, keeping my tone light though my pulse spikes, “there will obviously be questions and curiosity about us.”
“Like what?”
“Like who you are to me.”
“I see.”
“I’m going to say you’re my boyfriend.”
Mr. Grayson glances down sharply, his steps slowing just enough for me to notice. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t speak right away—just watches me like I’ve surprised him. Like he’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing.
I shrug, breezy. “It just makes things easier. No long explanations about why I brought my best friend’s dad to a wedding reception.”
His gaze lingers a second too long. I keep walking, like my heart isn’t trying to beat out of my ribs. “That just ensures your extended family will hate me.”
“Why will they hate you?” I say.
“That makes a cradle robber out of me. And probably a—”
I clasp his wrist. “So, like the rest of the world, you see me as someone with no agency of her own?”
He rears back slightly. “No, I never thought of you as weak.” A pause. Then a slow, deliberate nod. “But I see your point,” he says quietly. “Thinking you’re not weak isn’t the same thing as thinking you’re strong.”
“Exactly,” I murmur.
He studies me, something sharper flickering in his gaze—like he’s seeing more than he let himself before. “You’re getting bolder and sassier, little bird.”
“Does it bother you?” I say, licking my lower lip. Not as some coy trick, but because I’m parched at his nearness.
“No,” he says, considering.
“Just setting some ground rules for the evening ahead, Mr. Grayson. I know how much you like everything on the straight and narrow.”
“Are you calling me a grumpy boss?”
I grin. “I was going to say ‘slightly repressed old man with a God complex.’”
He chuckles, before gesturing forward. “Come on. We’ll be late.”
We walk to the elevator in silence, but my pulse roars. The air between us crackles. I’m doing it—setting the tone for the evening, going toe-to-toe with him, flirting. And the best part—Mr. Grayson is listening, shifting his view of me. Hopefully.
Excitement makes me wobble on my heels, and his hard body is a haven, steadying me.
In the mirrored elevator walls, I catch our reflection—his power suit, his sharp jaw, the silver in his hair catching the light. I look flushed, alive. Like I belong next to him. Like I’ve always belonged.
His gaze slides to mine in the reflection. “You look beautiful, Jasmine. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, yeah?”
My chest aches at the gruff tenderness in his words. “Yes, sir,” I say, giving him the sass he seems to like.
He watches me with that thoughtful intensity that’s always been oxygen for me but says nothing.
The ride down is short. In the underground garage, he walks ahead and opens the passenger side of a sleek black car that looks like it belongs in a heist movie. He reaches into the glove compartment, pulls out a small velvet box, and holds it out.
I open it. Inside, nestled on black satin, is a delicate platinum necklace shaped like bird wings—sleek and light, almost ethereal. My breath catches.
It’s stunning. Understated, elegant, but laced with something intimate. The wings curve outward, like they’re ready to take flight. Like they were made for me.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, barely touching the wings. “Sophie didn’t even tell me you asked her what I’d like. And you know how bad she is at keeping secrets.”
Mr. Grayson frowns. “I didn’t ask her.”
I look up. His voice is low. Steady. “Give your old boss a little credit, little bird. I know what you like.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. Does he know how possessive he sounds?
Something shifts in my chest—something unsteady and huge. The realization that he sees me. That he notices the little things. That he calls me Little Bird, and then gifts me this delicate piece of jewelry that looks like it was made for me.
“I—I can’t accept this,” I whisper, fingers curling around the box like it’s too hot to hold.
If I do, how am I supposed to pretend this is just one fantasy evening? How do I walk away, knowing what it feels like to be seen like this?
Suddenly breathless, I thrust the box back toward him. “This is too expensive, Mr. Grayson.”
He looks away, jaw tight. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to give you gifts.”
My fingers fumble the velvet edge. “But why?”
His eyes return, darker now, unreadable. “Because I wanted you to have something beautiful.”
The pause stretches. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. “Something I picked out,” he adds quietly. Then cuts himself off, like the rest is too dangerous to say.
The back of my neck prickles. Every inch of me feels warm and too tight.
I move before I think. I step into him, wrapping my arms around his solid frame. My breasts press his arm, a sweet, tormenting ache.
His breath stutters. One hand finds my waist, anchoring me, the other covering my hand on the box. I lift up and kiss his cheek, soft and lingering. But as I start to pull back, he turns suddenly.
My mouth lands at the corner of his. We freeze.
The brush of skin-on-skin is electric. My lips tingle, my breasts ache, his fingers dig into my waist like he might brand me there.
I hope he does. I want to carry the shape of his touch.
I tremble and whisper against his skin. “Thank you, Nathan.” His name lingers on my lips, an entreaty and an invocation. “No one’s ever made me feel so seen.”
His eyes lock on mine. Silver, fierce. Hungry. His breath is hot against my lips. I move my hand to his shoulder and drag my mouth down his jaw. “No one’s ever made me feel so…”
A sound in the garage startles us, breaking the moment. “I’ll cherish it. Always.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his grip tightens. His fingers dig into my hip, almost painfully, but I don’t flinch. I like the ache as much as the pleasure suffusing me.
Finally, he exhales. Gently eases me back and opens the passenger door.
I slide in, sinking into buttery leather that smells like him—spice, cool air, restraint.
My fingers curl around the necklace.
My heart is full.
My body aflame.