Page 64 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

My clothes are still scattered across the room, undeniable evidence of what happened between us last night. I take in the mess, the way my shirt is draped over the arm of a chair, Margot’s sweater tossed carelessly onto the floor, the faint impression of where our bodies tangled together beneath the sheets.

I don’t regret any of it. Not even for a second. I pull my shirt over my head and rub a hand over my jaw before reaching for my phone on the nightstand. The second I flip it over, the screen lights up with an onslaught of notifications. Thirty-two missed calls. Countless unread messages. A sharp, familiar tension coils in my chest. Eleanor isn’t waiting. She has already made her move.

Margot stirs beside me, her brows furrowing slightly as she blinks awake, her voice still rough with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Early.” My voice is quiet, but the edge in it is unmistakable.

She pushes herself up onto her elbows, her blue eyes scanning my face before flicking to my phone, where the endless stream of messages is still lighting up the screen. She doesn’t ask questions. She already knows.

“It’s started, hasn’t it?”

I nod, my jaw tightening. “Yeah.” For a brief moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of what’s coming settles between us, thick and inevitable. Then, with a slow, steady exhale, Margot throws back the covers and climbs out of bed, already moving with purpose. There is no hesitation in her movements, no uncertainty in her stance. She straightens her shoulders,brushes her hair back, and looks at me with a sharp, unflinching gaze.

“Then let’s remind Eleanor exactly who she’s dealing with.”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, despite the tension still coiling in my gut. Becausethisis the Margot Evans I know. The woman who never backs down. The woman who is about to help mewin. But before either of us dives into the chaos, Margot plants a hand on my chest, stopping me in my tracks.

“Sit,” she orders, already halfway across the apartment. “You’re not saving the company on an empty stomach.”

I blink. “We have a war to plan.”

“And I have toast to make. Priorities.”

I start to protest, but she spins around and points at the barstool by the kitchen island like she’s summoning a toddler. “Grayson. Sit.”

I sit.

Within minutes, the smell of coffee fills the apartment, strong, dark, probably capable of reviving the dead. She hums softly as she moves, hair still wild from sleep, wearing my button-down shirt like it's hers now. Maybe it is. She slides a mug toward me and sets a plate down with something resembling breakfast. “Behold. Food.”

I raise an eyebrow at the lopsided scrambled eggs. “Is that... cheese?”

She tilts her chin up. “Maybe. Or it might be butter. I panicked.”

I grin. “You panicked while making eggs?”

She shrugs, sipping her coffee with regal nonchalance. “You were watching me. Shirtless. It’s distracting.”

I lean in, my smile turning wicked. “You like when I’m distracting.”

“Eat your eggs, Captain Abs.”

Despite everything, the calls, the threats, the power struggle looming just beyond these walls, I laugh. And in this strange moment of burnt toast and black coffee, something clicks into place. We’re not just fighting Eleanor. We’re doing it together.

45

MARGOT

The boardroom atPerfectly Matchedis a battlefield this morning. Eleanor is already seated at the head of the long glass table, a poised, practiced smile on her face, as if she hasn’t spent the past twenty-four hours orchestrating an all-out war. Around her, the board members sit in their designated places, some of them unreadable, others blatantly favoring her side. The tension in the air is suffocating, thick with the weight of what is about to unfold.

And then Grayson walks in. Even in the midst of a crisis, he commands the room the moment he enters. He’s dressed in a charcoal-gray suit that fits him obscenely well, every tailored inch emphasizing the lean, sculpted strength of his body. His white dress shirt is crisp, the top button undone just enough to hint at the golden skin beneath. His blonde hair is neatly styled, though there’s the slightest hint of disorder, like he ran his fingers through it on the way here, like he’s been running his fingers through it all morning. He left my place to change, to pull himself together before walking into the fire and of course, he still looks unfairly good doing it.

He looks like a man who does not lose, and yet, beneath the outward calm, I know the storm is still raging inside him. I know he barely slept last night. I know he spent hours staring at his phone, preparing for the inevitable, knowing that today might be the day he loses everything, but no one in this room would ever guess it. He moves like a man whoownsthis space, his broad shoulders squared, his blue eyes razor-sharp, unreadable as they sweep over the board members. When his gaze flicks to mine, it lingers for just a second longer than it should, a silent acknowledgment, a steady presence in the chaos. Something warm unfurls in my chest. This is why I could never walk away from him. This is why I still believe, no matter what Eleanor tries, no matter what she throws at us, Grayson King willneverbe erased.

I straighten in my seat as he takes his place beside me, his fingers grazing against mine for the briefest second beneath the table. Eleanor watches the silent exchange, her smirk widening ever so slightly. She’s enjoying this. I want to wipe that look off her face. Before she can launch into her carefully planned speech aboutPerfectly Matched’sso-calledleadership crisis, the doors swing open again, and Cassian Laurent strides in like he owns the place. Which, in fairness, is exactly how he walks intoanyroom.

He doesn’t glance at Eleanor. He doesn’t acknowledge the board members. He heads straight for the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a casual elegance that somehow manages to feel like a power move. And then, because the universe clearly wants to test my patience, Isabella Monroe follows him in. She is wearing oversized sunglasses despite being indoors, a silk scarf wrapped around her head in fullmovie star incognito mode, and she looksfurious. Oh no.

Grayson exhales sharply, muttering under his breath. “I don’t even want to know.”

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