Olivia leaned in closer to Grayson, her voice gentle yet probing, as she posed the question that had been haunting him since their very first night together. The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with anticipation and unspoken tension, as Grayson felt the weight of the inquiry settle over him like a shadow he couldn't shake
Why me?
Grayson paused, hesitating before responding. He didn't respond immediately, primarily made because he feared his voice might betray the emotions swirling beneath his calm exterior. His throat felt tight but, The words were there, as if any words he uttered would unravel the composure he clung to so desperately.
She sat across from him in that high-backed first-class seat, cool and collected in her perfectly tailored ivory coat, looking like she hadn't just undone him one breath at a time for the last ninety minutes. And yet, she had.
He hadn't expected her to be on this flight. He didn't know where she was going when she walked out of his suite earlier that morning just that she was going.
But when he saw her at the gate, that perfectly timed coincidence? That was fate pulling its favorite trick again. It knocked the air right out of him. And it hadn't given it back since.
He barely listened to George ramble about calendar blocks and boardroom decks once he saw her walking down the aisle. And when she sat across from him, one row to the left, he knew immediately that wouldn't do.
Her seatmate a tired-looking older guy already elbow-deep in his Economist was offered a smooth bribe of a drink and the empty aisle seat behind Grayson in exchange for his place.
The man didn't even hesitate. Grayson didn't even blink. Because he needed to be closer to her. Had to be.
Olivia Webber wasn't just a woman he'd spent the night with. She was a fire that kept changing direction. Mysterious. Magnetic. She surprised him every time she opened her mouth and tonight, asking him the questions?
That was the real surprise.
He'd braced himself for guarded silence or quick shutdowns, but she surprised him with curiosity. Not the kind that cracked open trauma or childhood wounds the kind that let him be a person. It was playful. Clever. Personal in a way that slipped under your defenses and made you answer before you knew you had.
Grayson Steel had never been asked questions like those before. He had never felt the urge to respond to anyone. But she did that to him
He was not accustomed to feeling the urge to respond, to share his thoughts and emotions. Yet, she had a way of breaking through his defenses. Her curiosity was different, laced with a genuine interest that beckoned him to open up. Now, she sat before him, her eyes filled with earnestness, eager to understand the reasons of why her.
Because you're exquisite. That was the truth.
It wasn't just the way she looked though, Jesus, that didn't hurt. It was the way she always had this calm knowing about her. Like she was two steps ahead. Like she'd already seen how things would unfold and was just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
It was killing him. That smile. That confidence. That maddening ability to retreat emotionally just when he thought he was getting somewhere. He needed to know more. He needed to know everything.
"Little fox," he said slowly, turning slightly toward her, voice low, "do you want to get into a deeper conversation?"
Olivia smiled, casually switching the way her legs were crossed. "No, I don't. I told you if I ask deep questions, then you're going to want to ask them in return."
"And you're not ready to answer them?" he asked.
"I haven't decided," she said with a smirk. "Besides… you're the most eligible bachelor in the city. You could be with some famous model or movie star. Someone shiny."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then leaned in, smile curving slow and certain. "Yes, I could," he said. "But they're not you, are they?"
She giggled, lightly pushing his shoulder. "Please. Do you really think that line is going to work?" He tilted his head, enjoying her far too much. "Is it?" She paused. Considered. "Maybe."
And then serious again, her voice soft but direct she repeated, "But really… why?" He didn't smirk this time. Didn't joke. He just looked at her.
"Because you keep me guessing. Because you say things like 'I contain multitudes' and then spend the next five minutes defending peanut butter from a spoon. Because I never know what you're going to say next, but every time you do, it's something I want to hear." She blinked, just once. But he saw it.
"You're not like anyone I've ever met, Olivia Webber," he added. "And I can't seem to get enough." She didn't reply. But the way she looked at him like maybe, just maybe, she didn't hate that answer?
The plane touched down with a soft but certain jolt, the city of New York crawling into view through narrow, fingerprint-smudged windows. LaGuardia, as expected, was a blur of motion.
Overhead bins snapped open. Seatbelts clicked free. People surged into the aisle with the kind of energy only a New York landing could inspire—impatient, loud, already planning their next move before their feet touched the jet bridge. Olivia remained seated a moment longer.
She smoothed her coat, re-crossed her legs briefly, and finally rose with her usual graceful precision. Around her, chaos pulsed cell phones ringing, flight attendants calling out reminders, someone arguing over a carry-on that wouldn't budge.
Grayson stood beside her, already holding her bag, offering it to her without a word. She took it with a slight nod. No thank you. No theatrics. Just that electric, knowing tension humming between them again.
They walked down the jet bridge together in silence, swallowed up by the terminal.
New York welcomed them in its usual way: fast, impatient, unapologetically alive. The scent of coffee, cold air, and too many people hit at once. Travelers darted in every direction — some running, others arguing, most glued to their phones with the kind of desperation only a city like this inspired.
The overhead speakers called out baggage claims and connecting flights. Wheelie bags clacked across tile. Children cried. Cabs honked faintly in the distance.
Still, for a breath there was a pause. They stood just outside the baggage claim area, at the edge of the crowd. The city loomed beyond the sliding glass doors. And Olivia? She was still a mystery.
She stood there, phone in hand, waiting. For an Uber, a driver Grayson didn't know. She hadn't said. Because he hadn't asked. Not really. Not when she'd kept things light.
She wanted playful banter, not destination details. So he'd played along. For now.
But standing here now, with her coat buttoned tight, her hair still perfectly pinned, and her lips curved in that quiet, unreadable almost-smile… he knew she was about to vanish again.
Into this city. And he didn't even know why she was here. It was killing him.
Grayson stepped a little closer, not invading, just enough to make sure she heard him over the noise. "Just so you know," he said, voice low, "I'm still waiting for you to catch me."
Her gaze flicked toward him. That smile deepened, just a touch. Cool. Calm. As if she hadn't derailed him in every possible way.
"I know, Mr. Steel," she replied, turning to face him fully. "No doubt about it… I will."
His brows lifted slightly. "Good. Then I assume our game has resumed?"
Olivia smiled, slow and deliberate. "Indeed. Trust me… you're not too hard to find, Mr. Steel."
He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping even lower. "We'll see, little fox… won't we?"
And then she turned. No dramatic goodbye. No final glance. Just a soft click of her heels against the tile as she walked toward the curb, her ride arriving with perfect timing.
Grayson stayed there, hands in his coat pockets, watching until she disappeared into the traffic of yellow cabs, black SUVs, and never-ending city noise. She was gone. Again. But this time? She said she'd find him. And God help him he wanted her to.
The city moved around him in a blur of yellow cabs, steam vents, honking horns, and tightly wound energy. Classic New York. But none of it cut through the fog of Olivia Webber still lingering in his system.
She had walked away from him again but not before leaving him with a promise. A promise to catch him. And damn it, he wanted to be caught.
Grayson leaned back in the back seat of the sleek black SUV, one arm slung casually over the leather. George sat across from him, tapping rapidly on his iPad.
"Your first meeting is at the downtown location," George said, voice clipped and efficient. "Investors at ten, then the legal team at eleven-fifteen, followed by a lunch meeting with potential new partners. I rescheduled the acquisition call to late afternoon, per your request."
Grayson nodded once, eyes focused on the window.
Tall buildings stretched upward, cold and gray against the sky. The traffic crawled, as always, but the city didn't slow down—it pulsed forward like a living thing. A thing he used to be perfectly in step with.
But today? He wasn't sure he'd caught up yet.
"Did you find out where Ms. Webber is staying?" he asked casually, not looking at George.
George blinked. "No, sir. You didn't ask me to."
"Right." He exhaled. "Let's keep it that way."
George raised a brow but didn't question it.
Because Grayson wasn't used to being the one left guessing. Not in business. Not in life. And Olivia? She kept him on the edge of his seat. Every damn time.
She'd asked him why her—and he'd answered truthfully. Because she was exquisite. Because she wasn't impressed by his title or his money. Because she didn't play games, but she did play him in a way that was different. Addicting. Infuriating. And because when she smiled like she knew something he didn't it destroyed him.
He hadn't asked her why she was in New York. There hadn't been time. And if he'd asked… she might've made it too real. So he'd let her keep her mystery. For now. But the curiosity was coiling in him, sharp and relentless.
They pulled up in front of the mirrored glass façade of Steel & Maddox's New York office. Grayson buttoned his coat, stepped out, and adjusted his cufflinks with a flick of his wrist.
The doorman greeted him with a nod. The security guard inside immediately buzzed him through private access. Everything operated exactly the way it always did when Grayson Steel entered a room. But everything felt different. He stepped into the elevator, watching his reflection in the steel doors.
He looked the part: polished, controlled, untouchable. But inside? He was still thinking about a woman in an ivory coat, disappearing into the city with a smirk and a promise. A woman who said she'd find him. And he hoped like hell she did.
The boardroom was humming with low conversation as Grayson closed his laptop and stood.
His team knew that look. One nod from him and the meeting wrapped in seconds. George trailed behind, already pivoting to the next call on their schedule when Grayson's phone buzzed — the distinct tone reserved for one person only.
His mother. He checked the screen.
Mom.
4 missed calls.
2 voicemails.
Grayson didn't even hesitate. He spun on his heel and was out of the room, cutting across the glass hallway and into his corner office with long, quick strides. His heart had already started racing.
He'd told her to call anytime something was wrong. He'd meant it. He tapped redial before George could even close the door behind him. She picked up on the first ring. His chest tightened. He didn't hesitate. He stepped into his office, shut the door, and hit redial before George could even follow him in. She picked up immediately. "Grayson Preston Steel," she gasped. His heart jumped.
"What happened? Is it your heart?"
"No, no, we're fine," she rushed out. "But the centerpieces for the gala they're on back order."
He blinked.
The weight that had just built in his chest immediately dropped to frustration.
"I'm sorry what?"
"The crystal-trimmed candelabras. They matched the florals. They were supposed to anchor the entire table design and now everything is completely off theme. We ordered early! Early! And now I have to reimagine the entire table layout and."
"Mom."
"And the florals have already been matched to the base of the silver, so now we're completely out of alignment and"
"Mom," he said, cutting her off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You scared the hell out of me."
"I didn't mean to!" she said, defensive. "But this is a big event."
"I thought you were in the hospital. Or Lainey or Belle."
"Well, we're not," she said, quieter this time. "You know I'd tell you first."
"You called four times. You don't get to throw a décor emergency at me like that without context."
She exhaled loudly into the phone. "Fine. I may have panicked."
"You did panic."
"But it's really important," she added with a huff. "It's the biggest fundraising night of the year. And I want it to be perfect. For your father."
That part always hit him.
Grayson exhaled slowly. "I know. And we'll make sure it is."
There was a long pause. Then her voice softened in a way only a mother's could.
"You work so hard," she said. "And I know why."
He didn't answer.
"I know why you haven't let anyone in. Why you don't want to do this again."
Still, silence.
"I know what she did, Grayson," his mother continued gently. "Your marriage...your ex it... it left more damage than you'll admit out loud. The lies. The manipulation. She hurt you. She hurt all of us." Grayson's jaw flexed, but he didn't stop her. He knew this wasn't about the gala anymore.
"And I understand. God, I understand," she said, her voice cracking just a little. "But I don't want you to shut yourself off because of someone who never truly loved you."
He swallowed hard, eyes drifting toward the skyline just outside his office window.
"You deserve the kind of love your father and I had," she said, quieter now. "Not the kind that parades around in diamonds and appearances… but the kind that stays. That roots itself. That grows."
"If he were still alive," she added, "we'd still be dancing in the kitchen, Grayson. We'd still be laughing at dumb jokes and stealing bites of dessert from each other's plates. I want that for you." He didn't respond right away. He didn't know how to. "I don't want you to be alone," she finished.
"I'm not alone, Mom," he said softly. "Not technically, no. But you know what I mean." He nodded to himself, letting the words settle.
"I'll be fine," he said. "I don't want you to just be fine," she said. "I want you to be happy." There was a pause. Then she added with a slyness he should've seen coming, "And since I have you," she added sweetly, which instantly made his left eye twitch, "Elizabeth has been asking about you again. I told her I'd try "And no, I'm not talking about Elizabeth." He groaned. "Oh my god" "I know! I'm just saying! She was asking"
Grayson: "Nope."
Mom: "But she's lovely."
Grayson: "No."
Mom: "She's educated and poised and perfect for."
Grayson: "Mother."
Mom: "I just don't see what's so terrible about a nice dinner—"
Grayson: "For the last time, Mom, my love life is mine."
"Mom," he cut in sharply. "We've talked about this."
"I know, I know," she said with a sigh.
Grayson: "Thank you."
she huffed. "You're the stubborn one in the family."
Grayson: "I am the family."
"That too," she muttered.
She sighed dramatically. "So dramatic, just like your father." He smiled despite himself.
The call had ended five minutes ago, but Grayson was still standing in front of his office window. His office returned to its quiet hum. Outside, the city churned cabs zipping by below, tiny ant-sized people crossing streets, a blur of umbrellas, coats, and corner hustle. It was the same view he always had. Grayson smiled despite the headache and panic attack she nearly gave him. Everything he built for the company, the reputation, and the image was for her and his sisters. They were the reason he worked himself into exhaustion most days, the reason he stayed composed, sharp, and untouchable. He'd spent years rebuilding his life after the wreckage of his marriage. He had learned how to compartmentalize. To control. To filter emotion through logic.
Recently, Olivia Webber was putting everything at risk. Her smile, playful antics, and constant movement made it impossible for him to anticipate her next move. At this moment, he couldn't shake the thought of how effortlessly she had eluded him once more. Unlike Elizabeth, Olivia wasn't interested in taking his last name. She didn't even appear to need him at all. And that? That was the intoxicating mystery that made him desire her all the more.
His mother's words lingered. You deserve the kind of love your father and I had.
He'd witnessed that kind of love during his childhood. The kind that was playful and enduring, where a gentle hand would rest reassuringly on the small of your back. It wasn't flawless, but it was steadfast. Secure. Genuine. What he'd experienced with his ex-wife had been the complete opposite: calculated, twisted, and manipulative. It was like a theatrical production where she had the starring role while he unwittingly funded the performance. So, no, he hadn't been precisely keen to dive back into the world of relationships again.
His gaze drifted down to the phone in his hand To the last text message he'd gotten that morning from Olivia. A single word.
Olivia:Soon
Now, she occupied every corner of his mind, refusing to be ignored. Where was she staying amidst the sprawling skyscrapers and bustling streets of New York City? What brought her to the bustling streets. Who might she be meeting in this vibrant network of connections and chance encounters? weigh so heavily on his heart?
He crossed the room and sat behind his desk, still not touching the stack of reports George had laid out. His fingers hovered above his phone. He tapped the screen. Opened his messages. Stared at the last text from her again.
Olivia:Soon.
One word. That was all she gave him.
And yet, it was enough to have him considering calling in favors and running her name through half a dozen contacts. Finding her hotel. But he didn't because Olivia Webber didn't want to be chased.
She wanted to do the chasing. That had been clear at the elevator. In the suite. At the airport curb.
"Isn't it my turn to find you?" she whispered. God, she made him want to play along. But not because he liked this game. With her, the game was alive, thrilling, and dangerous. And he was already losing. His intercom buzzed.
George's voice came through. "You've got fifteen minutes before the next investor meeting. Anything you need in the meantime?" Grayson's eyes flicked back toward the window. He didn't answer right away.
"Sir?"
Grayson finally spoke. "Clear my calendar after lunch."
"Everything?"
"Yes."
There was a pause on the line, but George knew better than to question.
"Understood."
The intercom clicked off.
Grayson leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle over his knee because the day was already off-script. And if Olivia Webber was in his city? He'd be damned if he didn't find a way to tilt the board in his direction.
He tried to work. Tried being the operative word. The spreadsheet in front of him was clean, color-coded, forecasted six quarters out and he couldn't make sense of a single cell. The conference call on his screen? Mute button firmly on. He was nodding when needed, scanning contracts out of habit, but his brain was elsewhere. A woman. A laugh. A damn fox in heels. His phone buzzed.
He opened the message.
Olivia: If I told you I was in the mood for pancakes and bad decisions… would that narrow down your location?
Grayson's lips twitched.
The numbers on the financial report blurred into meaningless shapes as he stared at her message. Just like that, she'd reached across a city of eight million people and unraveled his focus.
He typed back:
Grayson: Depends. Are the pancakes stacked high, and are the decisions spontaneous or planned?
Three dots.
Olivia: One must always stack high. And spontaneity is kind of my thing, Mr. Steel.
He leaned back in his chair, phone in one hand, thumb tapping the edge of the screen. She was baiting him. And it was working.
Grayson: Should I be worried?
Olivia: Definitely. I have a guidebook, remember.
He laughed quietly.
God, she was good.
Grayson:Am I in it?
Olivia: There's a chapter devoted to you. It's short but dangerous.
He stared at the message, smile fading just enough to let something deeper slip in. She was teasing. Light, clever. But intentional. She was doing exactly what she said she would. Finding him.
Grayson dropped the phone on his desk, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he tried to center himself. Tried being the key word again. He had no idea where she was, what her plan was, or how long she intended to stay in New York. But what he did know? He was no longer thinking about investor portfolios or product launches. He was thinking about Olivia Webber. And she hadn't even started playing yet.