Page 88 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

Grayson chuckles. “Maybe both. But honestly, I don’t hate the idea. The salons, the exclusivity, it’s smart. He’s right about the direction the industry is going.”

I glance sideways at him. “Did you just admit Cassian Laurent might be right about something?”

He groans. “Don’t make me repeat it. I’m already emotionally scarred.”

I laugh, and he reaches over, sliding his hand over mine, grounding me in that quiet, steady way he always does when the world feels too loud.

“This is bigger than anything we’ve done before,” I say softly.

He nods. “Which is exactly why we do it together.”

I tilt my head, studying him in the glow of the city lights. “No cold feet?”

“Only when you make me watch period dramas without subtitles.”

“That was one time.”

“It wasfourtimes. And you kept pausing to explain historical context.”

I press a hand to my heart. “I was enriching your cultural understanding.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against my temple. “And I love you for it. Even if Cassian’s global domination pitch makes me want to throw him off a yacht.”

I smirk. “We’ll make him work for it.”

“We’ll make everyone work for it.”

Our fingers intertwine over the wine bottle between us, and for the first time all day, I feel something steady settle in my chest. Not fear or pressure, just excitement and a new beginning.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s build an empire.”

He squeezes my hand. “Let’s make it untouchable.”

And just like that, the future begins, with a smirk, a challenge, and the person I never thought I’d be doing this with, but wouldn’t dare do it without.

58

GRAYSON

The weight of the decision lingers long after the meeting ends. Margot and I spent the entire evening dissecting every angle of Cassian’s proposal, what it could mean forPerfectly Matched, what risks it carried, and whether we were truly ready to take a gamble on somethingthis big. Now, standing in the executive suite ofPerfectly Matchedthe next morning, staring out over the city skyline, I know one thing for certain. There’s nosafeoption. There’s onlyforward. And we need to decide if we’re ready to take that step.

The boardroom is eerily quiet as Margot and I stand side by side, waiting for Cassian and Isabella to arrive. The morning light spills through the expansive glass windows, painting golden streaks across the mahogany table. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, but no one touches their cups. There’s too much at stake for distractions. Olivia sits across from us, flipping through the revised contract notes with a level of focus that makes my jaw tighten. She’s reading every clause, every amendment, making sure we don’t walk into something we’ll regret later. Margot, beside me, looks composed, but I know her too well. Her fingers tap against theedge of her notepad, a small, barely noticeable movement, but one that betrays her restlessness. Her ivory blazer is tailored to perfection, draped elegantly over her shoulders, paired with sleek black trousers. She looks like a woman in complete control. And yet, I see the tension behind her eyes. The weight of what we’re about to do.

I lean slightly toward her. “You’re nervous,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.

Margot’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t look at me. “Ipreferto call it beingstrategically prepared.”

I smirk. “Right.”

Before she can argue, the doors swing open, and Cassian strolls in as if he owns the place. Which, if we sign this deal? Hekind ofwill. He’s dressed as sharply as ever, black suit, open-collared dress shirt, platinum cufflinks gleaming under the soft overhead lights. His movements are smooth, practiced, exuding a confidence that borders on arrogance. He steps into the room like it was designed for him. Isabella enters behind him, her emerald green silk dress a bold contrast against the muted tones of the boardroom. Her hair is pulled into a sleek low ponytail, her makeup flawless. She looks completely unfazed, but her sharp gaze flicks between me and Margot with calculated precision.

Cassian pulls out a chair at the head of the table, settling in easily. He steeples his fingers together, leaning back as his smirk widens.

“Well?” he drawls, tapping a ringed finger against the table. “Have you come to your senses?”

Margot inhales deeply, then lifts her chin. “We have.”

Cassian’s smirk deepens, but he waits.

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