Page 7 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

GRAYSON

Ishould be annoyed. Margot is clearly trying to stack the deck against me, setting me up with the most impossible client on our roster. Instead, I’m grinning like an idiot as I leave the conference room, because Elliot Pierce just agreed to my terms.

I don’t lose. Margot thought she was backing me into a corner, but she underestimated me. People assume charm is just surface-level, that it’s all talk, all smoke and mirrors. But I know how to read people, how to find the weak spot in their arguments and crack them open like a safe. Elliot thinks love is a waste of time? Fine. But I just gave him a logical challenge. A competition. A test. And if there’s one thing I can tell about Elliot Pierce, it’s that hehatesthe idea of being wrong.

I take my time walking back to my office, knowing Margot is probably watching, waiting for some sign that her plan worked. Sorry, sweetheart. Not today. Sure enough, as I turn the corner, I spot her by the break room, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her coffee cup in that way that means she’s thinking, plotting.

She looks effortlessly put together, her hair sleek, her fitted blazer sharp enough to cut. And those heels, the kind that make a statement before she even opens her mouth. I really shouldn’t be noticing these things. But then again, when have I ever been able to ignore Margot Evans?

"That looked productive," she says, arching a brow as I approach. "Did you and Elliot bond over your mutual love of crushing emotions?"

I smirk, stopping just close enough to invade her space. "Actually, he agreed to my terms. One month. One match. And when I succeed, you’re going to have to admit that I’m better at this than you."

She scoffs, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "Oh, please. Elliot Pierce agreeing to anything means nothing. The man once signed a deal with a company he had no interest in just to prove a competitor wrong."

"Exactly," I say, enjoying the way her jaw tightens. "You gave me a challenge, Margot. You should know by now, Ilove a challenge."

She huffs, taking a slow sip of her coffee, as if she’s already recalculating her next move.

"We’ll see," she murmurs, her voice deceptively casual. But I don’t miss the way her grip tightens around the cup. The way her throat bobs slightly, like she’s swallowing down her frustration. Oh yeah, she’s definitely scheming something. And I can’t wait to find out what it is. The problem is, I should be focusing on that, on how to counter her next move but my brain is momentarily distracted by something else entirely. Like the way her blazer fits just right, sharp and tailored, hugging her in all the right places. Or the way she tilts her chin when she’s feeling particularly smug, like she’s daring the world to challenge her. It’s infuriating. And annoyingly attractive. I shake the thought away immediately. Absolutely not. This is Margot,my competitor, my most frustrating thorn in the side. I don’t have time to be noticing how good she looks when I should be plotting my next victory. But first, I need to figure out my next move.

Back in my office,I loosen my tie and sink into my chair, drumming my fingers against the desk. Elliot Pierce might be my biggest challenge yet, but I have an edge Margot doesn’t realize. Elliot doesn’t respond to emotional appeals, but hedoesrespond to logic. And what’s more logical than data? If I can frame relationships in a way that feels like an optimization rather than a compromise, I might just have a shot at making this work.

I pull up his profile on my laptop, skimming through his past matches. Predictably, all of them failed. Not because they weren’t intelligent or successful, but because they approached romance the way he did, practical, rigid, lacking in spontaneity. Elliot needs someone who challenges him, who throws him off balance just enough to make him rethink his theories. Someone who isn’t afraid to call him out on his nonsense.

I tap my pen against the desk, a slow grin spreading across my face. I know exactly who to call. Before I can second-guess it, I dial the number. After two rings, a voice answers.

"You better not be calling me about another disaster case," Olivia says dryly.

I chuckle. "Oh, it’s worse than that. I need you to help me break Elliot Pierce."

There’s a pause, then a low, amused laugh. "Grayson King, you really do have a death wish, don’t you?"

"Something like that,” I reply.

"Alright, I’m intrigued. What’s the plan?” Olivia asks.

I lean back, already visualizing the pieces falling into place. "I need the perfect match. Someone who doesn’t just challenge him but makes himthinkhe’s winning when he’s actually losing. Someone who will unravel him in the best possible way."

"So basically, you want a woman who’s as insufferable as he is."

"Bingo,” I reply, very content with myself.

Olivia hums in consideration. "I might have someone in mind. But if this backfires, I’m blaming you."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way."

I hang up, feeling a spark of anticipation. Margot thinks she’s setting me up to fail, but what she doesn’t realize? I’m already three steps ahead. I stretch, leaning back in my chair, tapping my fingers against the desk as my mind spins. I should feel victorious, but there’s something else creeping in an itch I can’t quite scratch. Maybe it’s the look Margot gave me back there, that split second of doubt in her eyes before she buried it beneath cool indifference. She doesn’t trust me to pull this off.She doesn’t think I can. And for some reason, that bothers me more than it should. I grab my phone again, flipping it between my fingers before sending Olivia a text: Find me the best possible match for Elliot. Make it impossible for him to say no.

A minute passes before my screen lights up.Not in the slightest. I chuckle, shaking my head. Liar. Then, I fire off another text to Olivia:And make sure this match is someone Margot won’t see coming.

Her reply comes almost instantly:Already ahead of you, King.

I grin, tossing my phone onto the desk. Margot wants a war? She’s about to get one.

7

MARGOT

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