The shrill buzz of Grayson's alarm pierced the quiet, early morning air. Grayson stirred. His arm shot out blindly, silencing it with one swift motion. .Eyes still heavy with sleep, he turned, reaching instinctively toward the space beside him. Empty, sheets cool and tousled.
Olivia waited.
There was a beat of silence. Then he shot up. Bolted upright like he'd been electrocuted.
He bolted upright in a single breath, the kind of sharp movement that came from panic, not clarity. She watched from the couch as his head turned, eyes scanning the empty space next to him. His whole body went taut. He threw the covers back, standing up completely, gloriously nude and stalked toward the bathroom. Quick, purposeful strides. A man on a mission.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Olivia smirked, amused and if she was honest a little charmed. The panic. The urgency. The fact that she'd already known he'd look for her, maybe even expected it. Still, watching him now? Seeing the wild, unfiltered way he reacted to her absence? It did something to her.
She heard him curse softly from the bathroom. Not there either. He moved fast, bare feet padding across the hardwood as he entered the living area.
He moved fast, bare feet padding across the hardwood as he entered the living area.
That's when he saw her.
Not in last night's slinky pale mauve silk dress, but in a pristine creamy ivory jumpsuit. The bodice blunged into a deep V neckline. Paired with pointed heels of the same shade, the outfit exuded not softness but restraint-controlled power wrapped in monochrome grace.
Her thick chestnut hair, usually down in soft waves, was pinned up with a black ink pen she'd borrowed from his nightstand.
She sat cross-legged on the couch, using his coffee table like a makeshift desk. Laptop open. Phone beside her. Calmly typing, laser-focused — until she looked up.
And smirked.
She looked up at him just as he came to a sudden stop. His eyes widened. She let her gaze drop meaningfully, his body still very much on display.
She tilted her head and gave him a mock salute.
Twice. Once to him. Once to the part of him that had also very clearly woken up.
"Mr. Steel," she said, voice dripping in mischief as her eyes traveled down and didn't stop. "I'm not sure how your day is looking, but I'm sure you have more pressing matters than standing there in all your glory."
"Not that I'm complaining," she added, chuckling softly.
Grayson didn't move. He stood tall arms crossing slowly, brow lifting with a crooked smile. That body of his, carved in some otherworldly dimension broad chest, ripped forearms, a ridiculous eight-pack — all still basking in golden morning light.
"You're the one who disappeared, if I recall," he said smoothly.
Olivia didn't flinch. "I did. But I'm here now. So… before we get into whatever special game we keep playing—" her head tilted slightly, "—don't you have a flight to catch?"
He studied her then. Eyes narrowing. She could practically see the wheels turning behind his gaze.
With a low breath, he finally spoke, turning as he headed back toward the bedroom."That I do, little fox… That I do."
She didn't say a word. Not until he was out of sight. Then she exhaled long, slow, and unguarded.
That man.
He took her breath away so easily, so completely. And he was dangerously close to breaking her, especially last night.
His questions still lingered in her mind — ones she wasn't ready to answer.
About her past. Their future. Could she answer them? Did she even want to?
She wasn't sure. That uncertainty unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Thank God for insomnia.
Her light sleeping both a curse and a blessing had given her the advantage this morning. Just like it had in school, where she'd rested just enough to let her body recover before pouring the rest of her time into studying, while others slept, she worked always ahead, constantly climbing.
That same restlessness had propelled her career. She was the youngest Chief Pharmaceutical Officer in her company's history, a mobile pharmacist who outpaced the system that built her. It gave her freedom to work, to travel, to choose.
Which is exactly how she ended up, washed and dressed, sitting on Grayson Steel's couch like the queen of her own damn island. Her flight to New York was confirmed. Hotel booked. Emails handled. Coffee finished.
And then… Grayson reappeared. This time, he was dressed for war. He wore an Italian-cut black suit that looked as though it had been custom-fitted to every contour of his body, the fabric hugging him with precision. Beneath it, a blood-red shirt glimmered, its vibrancy stark against the dark ensemble, while a matte black tie lay flat and sleek against his chest. His dark hair was just slightly tousled, hinting at the recent touch of a shower's heat that still lingered on his skin, leaving a subtle sheen. He exuded an air of command, his presence controlled yet undeniably magnetic. He was a figure of raw, palpable danger, a storm contained within an impeccable exterior.
Olivia rose to her feet gradually, her eyes absorbing and tracing the contours of his form every detail of his form as he approached.
He moved with purpose, each step measured and deliberate, his presence growing more imposing with every stride. Five long,deliberate strides echoed in the quiet space with an intensity that hung in the air. Then, suddenly, he was upon her, his presence enveloping her completely.
His mouth was on hers, fire and steel. He kissed like he did everything else with full, consuming force. He tasted like toothpaste and heat and everything that wrecked her logic.
She opened to him instinctively, body igniting.
One of his hands slipped around her back. The other reached up, twisting the pen from her hair.
Her thick brown locks fell in a wave, and Grayson's fingers immediately tangled into it. He groaned into her mouth.
A soft moan escaped her lips. This was about to spiral. Fast.
Her body pulsed with the anticipation of him.
Then—Knock. Knock.
They froze.
Olivia's eyes fluttered open against his.
Grayson didn't move, but his grip in her hair tightened just slightly.
The universe, it seemed, had impeccable timing.
Grayson didn't move.
His grip in her hair stayed firm, his chest pressed against hers. Olivia's breath caught somewhere between her throat and her ribs. Her heart was pounding, the heat between them still simmering, her body ready to tip right over the edge again.
The knock came again, sharper this time.
He finally blinked, forehead resting against hers for a moment as if grounding himself. His breath ghosted over her lips. "I swear, if that's room service—"
Olivia chuckled softly. "Then they're about to get a show."
Grayson let out a low growl, deep and frustrated, before gently pulling back. His hand lingered on her waist for a second longer, fingers brushing the fabric of her jumpsuit like he wasn't ready to let go.
Then, just like that, he turned.
She watched as he moved toward the door powerful, composed, but still radiating that caged energy. He checked the peephole, paused, then opened it without holding it and turned back to her.
Two people stood in the hallway.
One was George his ever-composed assistant — holding a suitcase in one hand, a long black coat draped over his arm, and his ever-present iPad clutched against his chest like a shield. The second was room service, wheeling in a polished cart topped with a gleaming silver coffee pot, a basket of bagels, and a tray of carefully arranged fruit.
Olivia raised a brow, watching the scene unfold like theater.
Grayson gave a short nod and stepped aside, letting them both in. George entered first with quiet efficiency, placing the suitcase near the entryway before tapping on his iPad. Room service followed, positioning the cart near the couch. Olivia caught the faint, warm scent of fresh coffee and ripe fruit as the dome lids were lifted.
Grayson's eyes were still on her. They hadn't left her once.
Without missing a beat, Olivia rose from the couch and walked — barefoot and unbothered to the cart. She picked up a slice of strawberry, its edge glistening with juice. She took a slow bite, savoring the moment, the taste, the way she could feel his gaze tracking every move she made.
He was behind her in seconds.
Grayson stepped close, his body all heat and control, and before she could finish chewing, his thumb slid along the corner of her mouth catching the escapee drop of juice. Then he brought that same thumb to his mouth and sucked.
Olivia's smile curled, slow and wicked.
Behind them, George cleared his throat. "Sir… I have the itinerary for today's meetings," he said, his voice slightly higher than usual clearly trying not to look directly at what was happening a few feet away.
Olivia didn't miss the flick of his eyes.
She turned toward him politely. "George, please don't let me get in the way of your job. I was just saying goodbye."
She slid back into her heels, picked up her laptop bag, slung it over her shoulder with one easy motion, and grabbed her phone from the coffee table. As she passed between them, she glanced at George and added with a wink, "Yes, Grayson, I know your assistant's name."
Before he could say anything, she leaned in and kissed him not soft, not light, but with full intent. One hand on his chest, lips pressing into his like a mark she was leaving behind.
And then she turned toward the door. Grayson followed. Of course he did.
As she reached for the handle, his hand landed over hers, flat against the door, blocking her from opening it.
"Little fox," he murmured, voice deep and dangerous near her ear. "You are so full of surprises. I can't keep up."
She didn't move away. Instead, she leaned in, whispering, "Oh, I'm not done yet, baby."
When she looked up into his hazel eyes, she saw it — the hunger, the passion, and something else flickering just underneath. A question he wasn't asking. A feeling he hadn't named.
She blinked. "We don't have time for this," she said, though her body disagreed.
He hovered over her lips. That magnetic pull between them stretched taut — the rubber band holding them together now trembling from tension. A line so close to snapping.
"If you run…" his voice was barely audible, "…I'll find you again."
His breath touched her skin, but not his lips. Just heat. Pure, blistering heat.
She smiled softly. "Grayson… Isn't it my turn to find you?"
That earned her the smallest nod, his hand sliding slowly off the door.
"Then I guess I have to await to be captured, don't I?"
She turned the handle.
"Yes. I'll see you soon, Mr. Steel." She stepped into the hallway, pausing just once more with a wicked glint in her eye. "And I want my prize… since you earned yours."
The door closed gently behind her.
From the other side, she barely heard him murmur — just loud enough for her to catch.
"I would gladly give you any prize you desire."
The door clicked shut behind her. She waited back pressed against the hallway wall for one full breath. Then another. Just in case he came charging after her again. Olivia closed her eyes for a second needing just a breath of clarity space air.
Once her pulse returned to something close to normal, When she was sure he wouldn't follow, she pushed off the wall and walked two doors down, unlocking her own suite. and stepped inside. Her suitcase was waiting by the door — perfectly packed, everything accounted for.
That man was dangerous. And she knew damn well she was already in too deep.
She grabbed it by the handle, gave one last glance toward the hallway, rolled it out behind her, and headed for the elevator. She had at least a thirty-minute head start on Grayson, and she planned to use every second. Not because she was running, not exactly, but because she had no interest in being caught in the same hotel when she'd worked so hard to pull off her quiet goodbye.
The streets of downtown Chicago were already alive with motion, pulsing with early morning urgency. Horns blared. Exhaust curled in soft trails above rideshare lines and delivery vans. The air held the crisp edge of impending fall — not quite cold, but sharp enough to bite if you weren't layered up.
Leaves hadn't fully turned yet, but there was a golden tint on the trees lining the streets, a quiet hint that winter was waiting just around the corner.
Olivia leaned her head back against the leather headrest of the car, watching the city blur past as her driver weaved through traffic toward O'Hare. She'd checked in on her phone the second she stepped inside the car and had avoided looking at the time since then. She knew she was cutting it close. Again.
When the terminal finally came into view, she exhaled softly and smoothed her coat — a stunning white wool double-breasted number with sharp black trim that cinched at the waist and fell elegantly below her knees. Sophisticated. Clean. Intentional.
She stepped out of the car, rolled her carry-on behind her, and made her way through the sliding glass doors of Terminal 2.
Inside, O'Hare buzzed with a typical weekday morning rhythm — business travelers in tailored suits glued to their phones, families juggling strollers and snack bags, students in hoodies and backpacks trying to act like they weren't running on zero sleep. Over the loudspeaker, flight announcements layered over the hiss of espresso machines and the dragging roll of luggage wheels on tile.
But Olivia moved through it all like she belonged to a quieter world. She always did.
With her TSA Pre-Check pass, she glided past the longer security lines, removed nothing, and kept her pace smooth and unhurried, even though her flight was already boarding group A in twenty-five minutes.
When she reached her gate, she finally let herself exhale.
She scanned the monitor.
Delta. Flight 2109. Chicago to New York City – LaGuardia. On Time.
She took a seat near the window, crossing one leg over the other, and let her body relax into the chair with a soft, "Phew." I made it. Barely. Again.
She glanced at the departure time and shook her head. She really had to stop pushing it this close. The fact that she made it at all? A miracle. And, if she was being honest with herself, there was one person she could trace this bad habit back to.
She unlocked her phone and shot off a quick text:
Olivia:I'm blaming you for this.
The response came seconds later. Classic Haley.
Haley:I take full responsibility for it… and don't.
Olivia smirked. She waited, tapping her foot five. Four. Three. Two. One, and like clockwork, the text chimed.
Haley:For what?
A laugh burst from Olivia's chest — unexpected and loud enough to earn her a few glances from people nearby. She smiled politely, looking down at her phone again.
Olivia:It's your fault I've developed this ridiculous habit of barely making it to my flights.
Haley:😬
The typing bubbles appeared again almost immediately.
Haley:Since I have you… our housewarming party is coming up. I need a good gift. Thoughts?
Olivia rolled her eyes playfully, typing fast.
Olivia:Isn't my presence enough of a present?
Haley:I know us peasants are not worthy of your righteousness. But no. Cough up the goods.
A second later, another message:
Haley:I'm thinking… six-month wax membership?
Olivia's brows lifted.
Olivia:How is that a housewarming gift?
Haley:Trust me. If I'm waxed and smooth, it's a housewarming gift for everyone😉.
Olivia snorted and shook her head, smiling to herself as she leaned back in her seat.
Around her, boarding announcements echoed through the terminal, but she wasn't in a rush. Not anymore. She'd made it and with a head start.
The boarding gate had just opened when the overhead speakers crackled, and a flight attendant's voice filtered through the PA.
"Attention passengers of Delta Flight 2109 with service to New York City, LaGuardia—" there was a pause, just long enough to tighten the air "—we've been made aware of an electrical issue on the aircraft. It's minor and repairable, but for safety, our maintenance crew will need additional time. We estimate a delay of approximately two hours. We appreciate your patience, and we'll provide updates as we have them."
A collective groan spread across the terminal like a ripple.
Olivia, who had just stood from her seat to line up with Group A, exhaled through her nose and stepped to the side. Her arm crossed tightly over her chest, the other hand balancing her phone. She watched the gate area shift almost instantly tension brewing like a storm cloud. Some passengers grumbled quietly, others immediately raised their voices. Then came them.
A couple late fifties, maybe early sixties dressed in crisp business attire, already red in the face and halfway through an angry tirade at the gate attendant.
"This is unacceptable!" the woman snapped, her tone so shrill it made Olivia wince. "We have meetings in Manhattan this afternoon. You people think we have all day to sit around here? You should've known this ahead of time!"
Her gray hair was pinned back in a tight twist, every line on her face etched deep with indignation. Her husband Bob, apparently, if Olivia caught it right stood beside her, puffed up and fuming like an overinflated balloon.
The poor flight attendant smiled politely, hands folded in front of her, trying to explain the rebooking options, the alternate flights, the compensation policies. They weren't listening. Not really. Olivia shifted her weight, lips pressed into a thin line. She gave it another few seconds. Then she'd had enough.
"Excuse me," she said, voice loud enough to slice through the noise.
The couple froze, mid-rant.
"We're all in the same situation as you. Our business, our plans, our time is just as valuable," she said, gesturing broadly toward the packed gate. "Now, I'm not saying this delay isn't inconvenient it absolutely is but this woman," she pointed calmly to the attendant, "is clearly trying to offer you options. If you'd stop yelling long enough to listen, maybe you'd realize that."
The woman turned sharply, eyes wide with outrage. "And who are you to speak to us this way?"
Olivia didn't flinch. She tilted her head slightly and crossed her arms.
"Me?" Her voice cooled. "Oh, I'm just some little nobody, I'm sure. But in about two minutes, I'm guessing security's going to speak to you in a much less friendly tone than I am. And then you might find yourself kicked out of this airport entirely or worse, blacklisted from flying."
The couple blinked, stunned.
"I think you've got some choices here," Olivia continued, stepping just a little closer. "One keep going. Keep making this scene. We'd all love the entertainment. Or two shut the hell up and hear what this woman has to say while you still have options."
There was a loaded silence. Olivia glanced past them, just in time to catch two uniformed airport security officers approaching at a steady pace. She arched an eyebrow.
"Tick-tock," she said softly. "I do believe that's your cue."
The woman's lips parted, but her husband grabbed her elbow. "Bob," she hissed, but he was already turning.
"She's right," he muttered. "Let's sit down. Let someone else talk to the gate agent. We'll decide from there." They shuffled back toward their carry-ons, avoiding the security officers' eyes.
The two guards didn't leave. They posted near the edge of the gate area, their presence enough to keep things from spiraling.
The flight attendant looked at Olivia, her posture relaxing for the first time in minutes. A grateful smile bloomed across her face.
"Thank you," she said. "Usually, people just… watch. I'm trained to handle situations, but that was a really nice break."
"I've had my share of crazy entitled customers," Olivia replied, smiling now. "Consider it karma… or solidarity."
"Let's get you rebooked," the attendant said, tapping her tablet. "Looks like we have a flight leaving from Gate 15 in about ten minutes. It's just about to finish boarding. You'd get into LaGuardia maybe twenty-five minutes later, but definitely faster than waiting here."
"I'll take it," Olivia said instantly. "Thank you."
The attendant handed her a new boarding pass. "You're all set. Better hurry. They're on final call."
Olivia made her way quickly through the concourse, weaving between clusters of travelers. Her long white coat fluttered around her calves as she moved, heels clicking confidently against the polished floor. She reached Gate 15 just as they were making their final call.
She approached the counter, a little breathless.
"Ms. Webber?" the flight attendant smiled. "We know you had to change flights last minute due to the inconvenience so we've gone ahead and upgraded your seat to first class, free of charge."
"Oh… thank you. I completely understand. Things happen."
The attendant scanned her ticket and gestured toward the jet bridge. "Enjoy the flight."
A second attendant greeted her at the plane door and helped her stow her bag in the overhead bin. Olivia slipped into her seat, unbuttoning her coat as she exhaled deeply, letting her eyes fall closed for just a moment. Peace.
Until a deep sultry voice spoke words close to her. "Well, well, well… look who we have here."
Her eyes popped open. Across the aisle, angled perfectly to face her, sat Grayson Steel.
Elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting on his knuckles, lips curled in the most deliciously smug smile.
"My, my… little fox. You are full of surprises."