Page 19 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

I shrug. "Didn’t need it."

For a second, she just stands there, blanket clutched in her hands, staring at me like she’s trying to figure something out. Then, in a move that shocks the hell out of me, she takes a step closer.

"Grayson."

The way she says my name, it’s not sharp, not challenging. It’s quieter. Almost unsure, and damn it, that does something to me.

I clear my throat. "Yeah?"

Her fingers tighten around the blanket, like she’s debating something. Then she shakes her head, exhaling. "Nothing."

But it’s notnothing. I can feel it between us, something shifting, something unspoken stretching too thin. And for the first time, I wonder if maybe…just maybe, I’m not the only one feeling it. She turns back toward her room, pausing in the doorway. "Goodnight, King."

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "Goodnight, Evans."

She disappears behind the door, and I drop back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling once again. I scrub a hand down my face, forcing a slow exhale. This isn’t me. I don’t lose sleep over women. I don’t let them take up space in my head. And yet, here I am, every nerve in my body still on high alert because ofher. The scent of her lingers in the air, something soft, warm, with a hint of vanilla. It messes with me, makes my already restless mind wander. I shift on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, but all I can think about is the way she looked at me before she left. Like she wanted to say something. Like she almost trusted me. And that thought is more dangerous than anything else happening tonight. Yeah. I’m definitely not getting any sleep.

My mind drifts back to the first time I met her. Back when everything between us was sharp edges and competition, when she was just the infuriatingly brilliant woman my grandfather couldn’t stop praising. I remember walking into that boardroom, expecting another forgettable opponent, only to be blindsided byher, all fire and quick wit, challenging me like no one ever had before. Back then, I was convinced she was just anotherobstacle. Just another person I had to outmaneuver. But now, lying here, replaying the way she looked at me tonight, the way her voice lost its usual bite when she said my name…Could it be true? Could she be more than my rival? More than the woman I’ve spent years trying to one-up? The thought is ridiculous. Impossible. And yet, as I stare at the ceiling, the scent of her still lingering in the air, I can’t shake the feeling that something between us has shifted.

That might be the most dangerous thought of all. And the worst part, I don’t think I want to, because in a way, she’s just like me. We both keep people at a distance, both build walls so high that no one can climb them. I use charm, she uses sharp edges. I avoid commitment, she avoids vulnerability. But at the core, it’s the same thing. The same fear of letting someone in, of losing control. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I can’t stop thinking about her.

Then, just as I start to drift into something resembling rest, a noise cuts through the silence.

A sharpthudoutside the apartment. Instantly, I’m on high alert, every muscle tensing as I sit up, listening. Another sound follows, a rustling, like someone moving just beyond the door. My pulse kicks up, instincts flaring.

And then, Margot’s door creaks open. She’s standing there, wide-eyed, her face pale in the dim light. "Grayson… did you hear that?"

15

MARGOT

My heart is hammering against my ribs as I stare at Grayson in the dim light of the living room. He’s already standing, muscles tensed, eyes sharp and alert.

"Yeah," he says, his voice low. "I heard it."

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of my sweater. "What do we do?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he moves toward me, his hand brushing against my arm as he lowers his voice. "Stay here."

I shake my head. "Like hell." A flicker of something, amusement? frustration? crosses his face before he exhales sharply. "Fine. But stay behind me."

He moves toward the door, silent and sure, while my pulse thrums wildly in my ears. Another rustling sound comes from outside, and my stomach clenches. I should have never called him. I should have never let this escalate. But it’s too late now. Grayson reaches the door and presses his ear against it, listening. I can barely breathe as I watch him, my body tense with anticipation. Then, in one smooth motion, he unlocks itand swings it open. Nothing. The hallway is empty, dimly lit by the flickering overhead bulb. But just as my pulse starts to slow, Grayson crouches down and picks something up from the floor. When he straightens, he’s holding a small, folded piece of paper.

He turns, his expression unreadable as he hands it to me. "This was left for you."

I hesitate, my fingers trembling as I take it from him. The paper is slightly crumpled, and as I unfold it, my stomach lurches:Miss me, Margot? You should.

My breath catches, my vision blurring slightly as I read the words over and over again. No. No. No.

"Margot?" Grayson’s voice is sharper now, edged with concern. "Talk to me."

I force myself to swallow, my throat tight, my hands shaking as I clutch the note. "It’s him. It’s Liam."

Grayson’s entire body tenses. His jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "He washere?"

I nod, my head spinning. "He knows where I live."

Grayson curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the door, scanning the hallway again like he expects Liam to still be standing there.

---