Page 93 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

Margot’s fingers drum against her arm, a telltale sign that she’s weighing the risks. She exhales. “So what do youreallywant?”

Cassian’s eyes flick to her, and for a fraction of a second, his smirkfalters. It’s barely noticeable, but Iseeit. Then, just asquickly, it’s back. He lifts his glass again, taking a slow sip before responding. “Legacy.”

Across the penthouse,in a private lounge connected to Cassian’s suite, Isabella Monroe isseething. She storms through the dimly lit space, the ambient glow of the crystal wall sconces doing little to soften the fury in her eyes. Her emerald dress clings to her every sharp movement as she paces, her manicured nails tapping against her phone. Cassian’sstuntat the press conference hascomplicatedthings. Not because shecaresaboutPerfectly Matched, but because now,Cassian is playing with fire andhe knows it.

“You’re reckless,” she snaps, whipping around as Cassian steps into the room, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose before smirking again. “You say that like it’s abadthing.”

Isabella glares. “Youknowwhat you just did. You didn’t just make yourself a partner. You made yourself atarget.”

Cassian watches her carefully, his smirk shifting, not disappearing, just evolving into something darker.

“So youareworried about me,” he murmurs.

Isabella scoffs. “I’m worried about what happens when you finallylosefor once.”

Cassian chuckles, low and amused. “I don’t lose.”

She tilts her head. “Everyone loses eventually.”

He steps closer.Tooclose. Close enough that the tension between themthickens, shifting from irritation to something muchmore dangerous.

Isabella swallows, but doesn’t back down.

Cassian studies her, his gaze flicking over her face, down to her lips, then back up. “Youlovethis, don’t you?”

She raises a brow. “Lovewhat, exactly?”

He smirks, leaning in just enough to make herawareof the space, or lack thereof, between them. “Thepush and pull. The way I drive youinsane.”

Her hearthammersagainst her ribs, but she keeps her expressioncool.

“Maybe I justhate you,” she says, her voice lower now.

Cassian’s smirk deepens. “Then why haven’t youleftyet?”

Silence. Achargedsilence. Then, Isabella takes a step back, straightening her shoulders. “You’re insufferable.”

Cassian watches her for a long moment, then lets out a quiet laugh. “And yet,here we are.” She turns on her heel, walking away. But theybothknow, this isn’t over. Not evenclose.

61

MARGOT

Idon’t like feeling out of control.I can handle chaos. I can handle high-stakes business deals, cutthroat negotiations, even last-minute disasters. Butnot knowingwhat Cassian’s next move is?Thatis a problem, and right now, Cassian Laurent istoo powerful,too visible, andtoo unpredictable.Which means it’s time for us to get ahead of him.

The executive suite atPerfectly Matchedis tense as Grayson, Olivia, and I go over everything Cassian has set in motion. The walls of the conference room are lined with digital displays, one screen showing our projected expansion into London, Paris, Dubai, and Tokyo, another highlightingPerfectly Matched’smedia coverage after Cassian’s press conference. The headlines still burn in my mind: “Cassian Laurent: The New Face of Elite Matchmaking”

“Billionaire Investor’s Vision for the Future of Love”

“Perfectly Matched Goes Global—But Who’s Really in Charge?”

That last one makes megrit my teeth. I tap my nails against the glass table, scanning the reports in front of me. “We need to remind people whoactuallyrunsPerfectly Matched.”

Grayson, sitting beside me in his crisp black suit, leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “Agreed. We needour names in the headlines. Cassian’s playing the long game, he’s positioning himself asindispensableto the brand.”

Olivia, ever efficient in her tailored navy suit, scrolls through her tablet. “I’ve lined up exclusive interviews withForbes,The Financial Times, andVogue Business. But it won’t be enough to justtalk. We need astatement move.”

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