Page 9 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

“This is not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

I bury my face in a throw pillow. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Now spill. I wantallthe details.”

I sigh, leaning back into the couch. Maybe talking this out will remind me exactly why I need to destroy Grayson King. I sigh, leaning back into the couch. Maybe talking this out will remind me exactly why I need to destroy Grayson King.

“There’s just… somethinginfuriatingabout him,” I say.

Sophie hums knowingly. “You mean besides the devastating bone structure and the smirk that saysI know I’m hot and I’m going to ruin your life in a three-piece suit?”

“That’s not…no. I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the way you light up when you talk about how much you hate him.”

“I don’t light up,” I protest.

“Oh, please. Last week, you ranted about him for twenty straight minutes, then ended it by sighing and whispering,God,he’s so irritatingly golden.Like he’s a Disney prince who also ruined your pitch deck.”

I blink. “I said that?”

“Verbatim. I wrote it down.”

“You’re a menace.”

Sophie cackles. “Andyouare so far gone.”

I clutch the throw pillow tighter. “He’s the worst, Soph. Today, he showed up in this navy suit, liketailored within an inch of its life, and then had the audacity to roll up his sleeves like we were in some kind of workplace romance movie. It’s manipulative.”

“Oh no,” she gasps. “Not therolled sleeves.That’s a known weapon of mass distraction.”

“Exactly! He knows what he’s doing.”

“He probably doesn’t,” she says with an infuriating shrug in her voice. “That’s what makes it worse. He just exists like that. Chaotic and hot.”

“Stop validating this.”

“You mean stop accurately describing your slow descent into enemies-to-lovers madness?”

I groan. “There isnolovers part. There is only enemies. Pure, focused, mutually assured destruction.”

“Right. That’s why you accidentally liked a three-month-old photo of him at some rooftop event last night.”

My eyes widen. “How do you know about that?”

“Because I got a panic text from you at 1:17 a.m. that just said ‘delete me from the internet.’”

I bury my face in the pillow again. “This is a low point.”

“It’s okay. We’ve all been there. Some people fall for mysterious bad boys. You fell for an organizational nightmare in expensive tailoring.”

“I’m not falling for him.”

“Sure,” she says, clearly not believing me at all. “But just in case youdofall, can you please make sure it’s not in front of investors?”

I groan louder. “You’re fired.”

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