Page 75 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

Grayson shifts closer. “They can’t steal what’s real.”

I look at him, his hair mussed from leaning against the couch, the faint worry line between his brows, the calm in his eyes when I’m coming undone.

“Then let’s show them what real looks like,” I whisper. “Not curated. Not algorithm-free. Just... us.”

He cups my face. “We already are.”

For a moment, there’s just his breath against my skin, the city humming outside our windows, and the ache of everything we’ve fought to protect.

“I want to fight back,” I murmur. “But I don’t want to lose myself in it.”

“You won’t,” he says. “Not while I’m here.”

My phone buzzes again. Olivia:They’re doing a morning show circuit. First interview’s Friday. Want me to prep a counter-feature?

I stare at the screen. Then at the crib. At the safe, soft, beautiful world we’re building inside all this noise.

“Yes,” I reply. “But not to react. To reframe. Let’s show people what love really looks like. Starting with ours.”

40

GRAYSON

The city is still wrapped in morning haze when I step into the office.Perfectly Matched HQsits high above the skyline, the glass windows still cold to the touch, fogged slightly at the corners like the building itself hasn’t quite woken up yet. The lights flicker on slowly as I pass, sensors tracking my every move, and I welcome the silence.

No phones ringing. No heels clacking. No whisper of PR fires being snuffed out with tightly controlled emails. Just me. A black coffee. And a war to win.

I take the corner office, not mine or Margot’s, but the smaller glass one off the main floor, where the walls are thin enough to hear the pulse of the place. I want to feel the company this morning. Every creak of the building. Every hum of tension in the floorboards. That low buzz of pressure before a storm breaks.

I watch thePulseMatchvideo one more time. Daphne and Carter. Selling fiction. Sellingusrepackaged with their names on it. I’m not angry. Not exactly. I’m done playing nice. By the time Olivia walks in, hair up, blazer sharp, tablet in hand, I’ve already drafted a plan.

“Let me guess,” she says. “We’re not reacting. We’re rewriting.”

“Exactly.”

She nods once, then drops a thick folder on the table. “Preliminary reports: PulseMatch’s engagement is up twenty percent. But credibility? That’s shaky. People are watching. Waiting for us to say something.”

“Good,” I say. “Because we’re going to do something better.”

***

An hour later, we’re in the glass conference room. The one with the long matte-black table and floor-to-ceiling skyline views. The chairs are all filled: Olivia, Priya from PR, Cassian freshly returned from a pitch breakfast, even Sophie patched in remotely from San Francisco. There’s steam curling from coffee cups, but no one’s sipping. The mood is too sharp for caffeine.

“Here’s the move,” I say, standing at the head of the table. “We pivot the conversation.”

Cassian lifts a brow. “From defending to…what? Distracting?”

“Reclaiming,” Olivia says for me. “Grayson wants us to go on offense.”

“Three-part approach,” I continue. “First, we drop a mini-series, unscripted, real clips from clients who trust us. People whochoseour process and saw results.”

Priya’s already typing. “We’ve got signed media releases from Mason, Alexandra, and Mallory. They’re in.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Second, we give people a behind-the-curtain view of how we actually match. No sales pitch. Just process. Truth.”

“And the third?” Cassian asks.

I look at Olivia. She smiles.

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