Olivia lay stretched across the bed, her body sinking into the soft sheets, the fabric cool against her skin. The stolen hotel robe—thick, luxurious cotton—hung loosely around her, barely cinched at the waist. She pulled at the sleeve absentmindedly, his crisp scent still clinging to the fabric. She should probably feel guilty for swiping it from his room this morning, but instead, she only smirked.
It wasn't the first time she had seen him.
Paris, three years ago. She had been sitting at a tiny café with friends, sipping red wine and arguing about whether love at first sight was a myth. A sudden burst of laughter from across the street had pulled her attention, and there he was—standing outside a restaurant, deep in conversation with two other men. He had been listening intently, nodding at something one of them said, completely unaware of her presence.
Istanbul, the year after. She had been with a colleague, wandering through the Grand Bazaar, her arms full of colorful scarves she had no intention of buying. They had ducked into a small shop when she caught a familiar figure just outside, seated at a table under the shade of an awning. He had been reviewing something on his tablet, expression focused, while an older gentleman spoke beside him, gesturing like businessmen did when negotiating something important. Olivia had paused for only a second, heart racing with the ridiculous notion that he might look up. But he never did.
Then, Chicago.
That was the first time they really met.
She had been alone that night. The conference had drained her, and she wasn't in the mood for forced small talk or overpriced cocktails with people she barely knew. So, instead, she had slipped away to a bar near her hotel, grabbed a seat in the corner, and settled in to watch the game playing on the overhead screens.
She had barely gotten through her first drink when the door opened, and he walked in.
Grayson.
Still, in his suit, tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd been stuck in meetings all day. He hadn't been alone—his assistant had followed closely behind, speaking to him in a low voice, flipping through something on a tablet.
She had watched him in the reflection of the bar mirror as he spoke, nodding absently before dismissing the conversation with a short reply. His assistant had given a quick nod and exited just as quickly, leaving him alone as he loosened his tie a little further and scanned the room.
His gaze landed on her.
Not in recognition—he didn't know her yet—but in curiosity.
And somehow, that's how it started. A few words exchanged, a shared drink, a game of darts she hadn't intended to play.
He had been confident. Smug, even, as he lined up his first shot.
And then she beat him.
Not just by a little. She wiped the floor with him.
The disbelief on his face had been delicious, his smug expression shifting into something slower, more assessing, as if she had suddenly become a puzzle he needed to figure out.
She had left that night with nothing more than a smirk and a tossed, "Better luck next time."
Then London.
The airport had been chaotic, people rushing in every direction, yet somehow, there he was again. She had been waiting for her connection when she spotted him, casually leaning against a bar inside the terminal, scrolling through his phone. She almost hadn't said anything. Almost.
But she had.
And before she knew it, they were playing darts. Again. And she beat him again.
His frustration had been exaggerated, but the competitive fire in his eyes had been real. They had parted with a handshake that had lingered a little too long, a silent acknowledgment that this thing—whatever it was—wasn't over yet.
Then, DFW.
Dallas had been the tipping point, the moment things had shifted. She had been so sure she wouldn't see him again, but then there he was, standing too close, his presence too familiar by now to ignore.
She had kissed him.
She didn't even remember thinking about it. One second, they were trading barbs, teasing in that way that had become second nature, and the next, she was on her toes, pressing her lips against his. It had been quick, impulsive, but enough.
Enough to make him look at her differently.
Enough to make her realize this wasn't just coincidence anymore.
And now, here.
Of all the hotels, all the rooms, all the people in this city—he was here. Again.
But this time, she wasn't just watching.
She giggled softly, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. At what point did coincidence start to look a lot more like fate?
It had been a fun night. A reckless, heady kind of fun that she wasn't sure she'd be able to forget as easily as she'd planned.
But there was no time to dwell on that now. In just twenty-four hours, she'd be on a flight to Boston.
Haley had practically demanded she come stay while her apartment was being repaired, insisting Olivia needed the break. And maybe she was right. But more than anything, Olivia had her own reason for going—her books.
The ones she had collected over years of travel, tucked into suitcases, shipped home in careful parcels. Some of them lost forever, waterlogged beyond saving. But Boston had bookstores filled with forgotten stories, estate sales with shelves that held history. If she was going to start rebuilding, that was the place to do it.
Boston could not wait.
And yet, as she lay there, fingers toying with the lapel of his robe, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.
She had always seen him first.
Always caught glimpses of him in places where they were close, but never close enough. Always in passing. Always with people, always engaged, always just out of reach.
Until Chicago. Until London. Until Dallas.
But last night? Last night, there had been no more distance. No more almosts. No more missed chances.
Coincidence could only explain so much.
Fate, however… fate had never been so persistent.
The cool sheets brushed against her bare skin
reminding her again how easily he had opened her dress, how it had fallen away with a look.
She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the buzzing beneath her skin, but even the air tasted like him, teasing her with a longing she could no longer ignore.
She took a deep breath. She she lightly touch her lips and and she remembered his mouth on her. How his hands moved across around her body caressing. Now alone she her hand slipped inside the rope touching one of her breasts and squeezing it. The nipple was already getting hard by the light air seeping through the crack of the robe. Her eyes closed, envisioning his mouth on her.
She breathed in deeply, trying to calm the buzzing beneath her skin, but even the air tasted like him, teasing her with a longing she could no longer ignore.
Her fingers drifted lower, trailing over her body's soft planes and shadows.
The anticipation was electric, humming through her with each slow beat of her heart until she felt too full of it, like she might burst open from wanting. Her pulse quickened, the robe slipping further as she arched to touch more, feel more. She exhaled his name into the empty space around her.
Then, just as suddenly, she stopped. Lips parted and breath held in a moment of stillness where everything was quiet and aching. Her thoughts spiraled back to last night, to the way his eyes had lingered on her with a hunger that was both familiar and new. She could still see the afterimage of him illuminated by the city lights, shadows cast across his jaw and chest as he leaned into her.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to want him this much, to need him like this.
But oh, when he laughed—the sound low and rich as velvet against her skin—how could she do anything but fall apart at his
feet, undone by the rasp of his voice and the fire in his gaze? A flutter of doubt broke through, reminding her of promises made and boundaries set. She pressed her lips together, trying to drown the uncertainty with the memory of his hands, gentle and rough all at once.
Olivia shivered, wrapping the robe tighter around herself. She stood from the bed, her legs shaky as she moved to the window. The city sprawled beneath her in a glittering haze of movement and noise. She placed a palm against the cool glass and ground herself. Outside, a cab honked impatiently at a cyclist. The sound was jarring and honest, pulling her back from the edge of longing she'd teetered so dangerously close to.
The previous night seemed like a dream she wished could last forever, but she was determined not to let herself fall for another charming sweet-talker. She had a clear plan in mind. With a chuckle, she sent the text and headed into the shower.
The St. Regis Chicago lobby was designed to impress, and it did. A blend of modern luxury and effortless sophistication, it was the kind of space where people whispered about deals worth millions over lattes that cost twenty dollars. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, their reflections shimmering across the marble floors. Sculptural chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings, casting soft golden light over guests who moved with the unhurried confidence of those who had nowhere to be unless they chose to be there.
Olivia fit right in.
She was seated off to the side, tucked just beyond the line of sight, her chair positioned deliberately in a way that let her watch everyone come and go without being immediately noticed herself. A curved velvet armchair enveloped her, making it easy to cross one leg over the other, her laptop balanced effortlessly in her lap. Beside her, a small, polished table held an untouched cup of coffee, its steam curling lazily toward the light.
She looked like she belonged there—because she did.
Her black high-neck asymmetric belted A-line dress hugged her waist before flowing elegantly to just above her knees; the deep burgundy shade perfectly matched the pointed heels on her feet. She had chosen the color intentionally. Not for him, of course. But it was a damn good choice nonetheless.
Her chestnut hair was secured in a sleek, clean bun, with a few softer strands tucked neatly behind her ears. The effect was polished, effortless, and controlled—just like her expression as she took a slow sip of coffee, her eyes lifting at the soft ding of the elevator.
Then—Grayson.
The moment she saw him, Olivia smirked behind her cup, the kind of smirk that suggested she knew something no one else did.
He walked out of the elevator mid-conversation with his assistant, and even without seeing his face, she felt his presence settle into the room. He carried it with him, that quiet, unshakable authority that made people glance up without knowing why.
He was wearing his dark gray suit, which fit like a second skin, tailored to every precise angle of him. Underneath, a crisp light blue dress shirt was offset by the unmistakable royal blue tie, which added just enough contrast to make it clear nothing he wore was accidental. Even now, standing still in the middle of the lobby, he looked as if he could be stepping into a boardroom, onto a private jet, or into a situation that was about to get complicated.
And he had no idea she was sitting right there, watching.
The tap of his thumb against his side—his version of impatience—gave him away as his assistant spoke beside him, tablet in hand. Olivia tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering behind her dark eyes.
No luggage.
That part made her hum softly in the back of her throat, swirling her coffee as if it were nothing more than a casual observation.
Interesting.
He had texted her earlier, hadn't he? Said he was leaving Chicago.
And yet, here he was.
Olivia shifted, adjusting her laptop slightly—not because she needed to, but because she could. Because she had the luxury of sitting here unnoticed, watching him in a way she was certain he wouldn't like if he knew.
A secret, then.
One she had no intention of giving away too soon.
Grayson stopped near the center of the lobby, his assistant still speaking. His back was to her, making it even easier for her to watch without interruption. And as luck would have it, the acoustics of the lobby—curated and refined as they were—carried the conversation clearly to where she sat.
She took another slow sip of coffee.
And listened.
Grayson's voice was steady, clipped, businesslike—but beneath it, there was something else. Something deliberate.
"Go ahead and book the two residence conference rooms. Each room has a Zoom connection."
Olivia leaned in slightly, watching as his assistant, George, nodded without looking up. His fingers moved rapidly over the tablet in his hands, filling the momentary silence with the rhythm of his tapping.
Then—Grayson's voice lowered.
"Have someone check the hotel's car service records. If she didn't book one through us, I want to know if she called for a ride from an outside service."
Her fingers froze around the handle of her coffee cup.
He's looking for me.
George, still typing, responded smoothly. "Already on it, sir. I also checked with the front desk, but no one remembers seeing her leave. It's almost like she disappeared."
Olivia leaned back into her chair, suppressing the laugh bubbling at the back of her throat. Disappeared? How dramatic.
Why would he still be here?
Her gaze flickered toward him again, studying his stance—the tension in his shoulders, the way he adjusted his cuff slightly, like a man used to control. He didn't like not knowing things. That much, she had figured out about him early on.
And right now? He didn't know where she was.
Oh my god.
He's really trying to find me.
The laugh finally escaped—a quiet, breathy sound she covered with a sip of coffee, shaking her head as pure amusement curled inside her.
This is going to be fun.
She could go over there. She could slide up beside him, give him that same infuriating smirk she had perfected, and say something careless, like "Looking for someone?"
But that wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as making him work for it.
No. First, she needed a plan.
Her smirk turned calculating as she settled deeper into the chair, mentally working out the steps. He expected her to slip out of the hotel unseen. To have already left, vanished into the city, leaving only breadcrumbs behind.
So she would do the exact opposite.
She stayed there for twenty-five minutes, fingers casually skimming over her laptop, not really working—just plotting. The best moves were the ones unseen. The ones where he'd think he was closing in, only to realize he had been three steps behind the entire time.
And then, without urgency, she stood.
She didn't take the front elevator—the one closest to the lobby, where he might accidentally catch a glimpse of her.
Instead, she walked to the far end of the hotel, where the secondary elevator sat, mostly unused. A cleaner, quieter way to the upper floors. No accidental encounters. No chance of running into Grayson.
Her lips curled upward as she leaned back against the cool metal of the elevator wall.
Oh, Grayson. Let's see how long it takes you to find me.
The doors closed, and she headed upstairs to her room.
Back in her room, Olivia kicked off her heels the second the door closed behind her. The plush carpet felt like heaven under her aching feet. She walked straight to her suitcase, unzipped the main compartment, and mentally checked off each item as she packed it away.
Boston was still happening. She was still going.
She just... needed to make a slight adjustment to her itinerary.
Two days in New York. Nothing huge. Just a detour.
It shouldn't be a problem. Haley might grumble, but Olivia already had a plan for that.
She grabbed her phone off the bed and hit the FaceTime icon next to Haley's name.
The call connected instantly. Haley's face popped onto the screen, her messy bun lopsided, and a suspiciously green face mask smeared across her cheeks.
"Okay," Haley said without preamble, squinting at the camera. "Good news or bad news first?"
Olivia blinked. "Wait, I was going to ask you that."
Haley gasped. "If you're about to tell me you're not coming, I swear to God, Olivia, I will disown you. I'll keep all your clothes, your shoes, your hairbrush collection—and I will finally tell Emma what actually happened to her extensions junior year."
Before Olivia could reply, a second face suddenly popped into the frame behind Haley was Daniel, grinning like he was walking into a reality TV confession booth.
"Wait, what happened to Emma's extensions?" he asked, eyes wide with way too much excitement. "You have to tell me now. You can't drop that and then move on—"
Haley shoved at him without looking. "Privacy, babe!"
Daniel ducked out of frame with a laughing "Rude!" but not before whisper-shouting, "Emma deserves the truth!"
Olivia was already laughing as she held up her hands. "Okay, relax! I'm still coming."
Haley eyed her suspiciously. "Define 'still.'"
"There's just a slight delay," Olivia said, holding up two fingers. "Two days. I have a work thing I need to handle in New York first. I can't get out of it."
"You work from home," Haley said flatly.
"Yes, and occasionally, I have to leave home," Olivia deadpanned. "I meet with other pharmacists. I attend professional conferences. I wear adult pants. Sometimes."
Daniel popped his head back in. "She does! She has, like, twelve pairs of boring work heels."
"Daniel!" Haley swatted at him again, laughing.
He retreated, but not before throwing Olivia a mock-scandalized look. "Is this conference a cover for something shady?"
"You're shady," Olivia called out.
Haley shook her head. "Okay, as long as you're coming, I'll allow it. No take-backs."
"What are we, five?"
"Yes," Haley said without missing a beat.
There was a pause. Then Haley narrowed her eyes and leaned in closer to the screen. "Wait. If that was the bad news... what's the good news?"
Olivia shrugged, smug. "There might not be one."
Daniel's voice rang from the background. "If she says she's bringing Henry Cavill, I swear to God—"
"Henry Cavill is MINE," Haley snapped over her shoulder. Then, to Olivia, "You are bringing him, right?"
"I'll see what I can do," Olivia said with a smirk. "No promises. I hear he's pretty booked."
"Bring chocolate too," Daniel called. "It's the only way to repair the betrayal."
Olivia rolled her eyes, grinning. "Talk soon, drama twins."
"Soon," Haley said. "And I want details. So many details."
"Oh, don't worry," Olivia said, her smirk deepening as she ended the call. "You'll get them."
She tossed the phone onto the bed and zipped up her suitcase.
After hanging up with Haley and Daniel, Olivia settled onto the edge of the bed and clicked into her Outlook calendar. A meeting reminder flashed at the top of her screen—one she'd nearly forgotten about in the chaos of her carefully orchestrated vanishing act.
She clicked into the call, sliding her earbuds in just as the presentation began. The camera stayed off. Her expression stayed neutral. But her mind? Spinning.
Today's meeting had two special guests: Wallace and Donnelly, two heavyweight private shareholders with deep ties in multiple industries—marketing, pharmaceuticals, art, and AI technology. Their reach was long, and their influence even longer.
She listened intently as they laid out new projections, acquisitions, and upcoming moves across several of their portfolios. It was informative, even interesting. But it wasn't until one particular segment that Olivia's brow lifted.
A merger.
One that hadn't been made public yet, but was clearly being positioned as a cornerstone piece for the upcoming Pharmaceutical Convention in London next month—one that Olivia would be attending in a very big way.
But the kicker?
The name she hadn't expected to hear: Steel.
As in Grayson Steel.
And apparently, Wallace and Donnelly were meeting with him tonight.
She leaned back in her chair, letting the soft hum of the meeting continue in the background, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Fate really did have a sense of humor.
After the meeting wrapped, she didn't waste time. She closed her laptop, changed out of her tailored dress, and pulled on her most nondescript outfit: a Chicago tee, worn-in jeans, clean white tennis shoes, and a classic Cubs hat. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, tucked cleanly beneath the brim.
Not glam. Not polished. Just native Chicago casual. Exactly what she needed to disappear in plain sight.
She picked up her phone and dialed, waiting only a beat before someone answered.
"How's it going?" she asked, her voice light and teasing.
"Quick," came Grayson's reply, his tone cool as ever. She could almost picture him, stepping toward a window, one hand in his pocket, jaw flexed like it always did when he talked about business. "Wrapping up the trip home. Made a quick merger with the Hampton Group."
She giggled. "Yeah, well... there's going to be a great surprise at the Clock Tower in three weeks."
There was a pause. "Huh? What does that mean?"
"You, my friend, are full of riddles," he said, with humor in his voice
"I'm full of—? You're the one dropping cryptic nonsense."
She hummed, playful and mysterious. "Well, I guess you'll have to keep up with your hunt for me, won't you?"
A beat.
Then—"Your assistant is still in Chicago, right?"
"Olivia—"
"Gotta go!" she cut in brightly.
Click.
She tucked the phone into her back pocket before he could protest. Her smirk lingered as she glanced down the hallway, then made her way to the back elevator. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she stepped out onto the street, head low beneath her hat.
Outside, the city buzzed with its usual rhythm—horns, footsteps, laughter echoing off glass. She hailed a taxi, slipping into the back seat and giving the driver a location without hesitation.
She paid the taxi driver in cash, slipping the bills through the divider without a word. The car pulled away as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her Cubs hat low, her stride easy and unhurried.
The vintage clothing store was small—narrow, tucked between a corner bakery and a florist—and smelled faintly of cedarwood and old perfume. The bell above the door jingled as she walked in, and Olivia took her time.
She wasn't sure what she was looking for, not really. She wandered past color-coded racks of cardigans and wool skirts, through aisles of old denim jackets, hand-beaded clutches, and forgotten suits with outdated shoulder pads. Her fingers brushed fabrics absently, waiting.
Then she saw it, an old royal blue trench coat, hanging on a rack near the back of the store. The color caught her eye first—not quite bold, not quite subtle. Striking without being flashy. It looked just worn enough to feel like it had history, but clean enough to pass for intentional style.
She slipped it off the hanger and checked the tag. Forty bucks, that was perfect. It would be exactly what she needed just in case she got spotted while out. A pop of color, something for someone to notice. Something to remember. She paid in cash again, nodding politely to the woman at the register, then stepped back outside into the late afternoon sun.
She adjusted the coat over her arm and kept walking. Not too fast. Not too slow.
Just enough for the game to stay in motion.
As she walked down the street, trench coat tucked over her arm and the wind tugging at the brim of her Cubs hat, Olivia pulled out her phone and opened her messages.
She smiled to herself as she typed.
Olivia:I hope you're not too distracted in your meeting. I'd hate to be the reason Mr. Steel isn't at the top of his game today. 😉
It didn't take long.
Grayson:Nice try. You don't distract me.
She snorted softly. Classic Grayson—controlled, clipped, and lying through his teeth. Her fingers were already flying over the screen.
Olivia:Oh, I think I do. You're just too stubborn to admit it.
She didn't wait for a response. Instead, she turned the corner and wandered a few blocks farther down, letting the energy of the city carry her forward. Chicago had that buzz about it—busy but familiar, like a well-read book she knew by heart.
Now she had spent the past couple of hours wandering from store to store, skillfully blending in while remaining three steps ahead. Olivia needed to choose if she should reveal herself or continue to let them pursue illusions.
A used vinyl store. A narrow corner café with bad espresso but excellent biscotti. A hole-in-the-wall antiques shop with cracked glass jewelry cases. And finally, the old bookstore that smelled like time itself—ink, dust, and stories long forgotten.
She had no destination. She wasn't really shopping. She was waiting.
Waiting to see if the game would continue.
And it did.
Out the corner of her eye, through the bookstore's large front window, she spotted a sleek black town car pulling up at the end of the block, not far from where she'd last been seen near the vintage shop.
It didn't move.
Didn't idle like it was just dropping someone off.
It lingered.
She slipped behind the open side display window again, careful not to draw attention. Her phone was already in her hand as she typed, smirking to herself.
Olivia:Still looking for me? Cute. Let me give you a hint—you're not even close.
She watched.
A moment later, the passenger door opened. Grayson stepped out, followed by his assistant. Something was said—brief, too quiet for her to catch from this distance.
Grayson ran a hand through his hair, that familiar gesture of frustration and concentration she knew too well. He checked his watch. Then he grinned.
And looked directly down the street. Right toward the bookstore.
Olivia stiffened slightly behind the rotating paperback rack, breath caught in her chest.
No. He couldn't have seen her.
She was too far. Too shadowed behind the window. She wore the royal blue trench coat, her Cubs hat still pulled low, her hair hidden. No way he could have spotted her—unless...
He was just guessing. Or maybe? Maybe he was that good.
Grayson said something else to his assistant, then slid back into the car. The door shut with a soft thud, and a few seconds later, the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the street.
Olivia watched the corner for another full minute. Then another, just to be sure.
No return. No circle back. Smart man. But she was smarter.
She tapped on her Uber app, already placing the pickup location a few blocks away. Once she was confident the car hadn't returned, she slipped out of the bookstore and climbed into the backseat of the waiting car.
"Destination?" the driver asked, making small talk.
She smiled faintly. "Home."