Afternoon gradually dissolved into evening, casting a warm glow over the city. The skyline outside his window, typically stark in its glass-and-steel harshness, began to soften. Twilight blues seeped into the horizon, giving way to amber reflections that glimmered like molten gold. Eventually, the scene morphed into the vibrant, electric heartbeat of Manhattan at night, with lights twinkling like stars in a constellation, illuminating the city with their lively glow.
And still, he worked.
He cleared his calendar after lunch, but not to disappear. No, Grayson stayed. Dived into contract revisions, final phase updates, strategic projections for a partner expansion. His team sent updates. George texted three times to ask if he wanted dinner sent up. He ignored all of it.
Because every time he tried to re-center, her name pulled him off-course again. Olivia Webber was a storm brewing at the edge of his composure. He could feel her everywhere and nowhere.
And she kept texting. Little nudges. Just enough to drag his thoughts straight back to her every time he started making progress on anything.
Olivia: If I wandered into Central Park and got lost, would you send a search party or let the wild raccoons finish me off?
Grayson: Depends. Did you bring snacks?
Olivia: Trail mix and poor judgment.
Grayson: You'll last three hours, tops.
Olivia:Bold of you to assume I wouldn't be the one leading the raccoons.
He chuckled.
That low, dry laugh that came out when he didn't want to smile but had no choice.
She didn't tell him where she was—not once, not a single clue. And he hadn't asked directly, not really, just prodded the edges of her vagueness.
But she was out there somewhere, in one of his cities, teasing and testing him. And not once did she ask where he was. This is her game, and he was playing it… whether he wanted to or not.
The clock blinked past 8:17 PM.
He hadn't eaten. He didn't even realize how hungry he was until his stomach gave a low growl. Still, he didn't move.
Instead, he stood at his office window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, cufflinks resting on the desk. The light behind him glowed warmly against the glass while the city beyond roared on.
His fingers tapped against the window frame in a slow, restless rhythm.
The silence was thick. His mind looped back to his mother's voice from earlier.
"You deserve the kind of love your father and I had…"
"…I don't want you to be alone."
He clenched his jaw. Because what his mother didn't understand, what no one did, was that he wasn't afraid of being alone. He was afraid of letting someone in. Especially someone like Olivia. She was different. Effortlessly so.
She didn't cling. She didn't chase. She didn't throw herself at him like most did once they realized who he was. No, she stood just out of reach, watching. Measuring. With that clever smile and those eyes that always looked like they knew more than she said.
And that made him need her even more intensely. His inner beast, the primal part of him simmering just below the surface of his calm exterior, was pacing with restless energy, tugging fiercely at its metaphorical chains. The urge was overwhelming: Go to her. Find her. Take her. Yet, he remained still, rooted in place. Because she had declared it was her turn, and if he pursued her now, he would disrupt the fragile equilibrium they had established. He wasn't going to chase. Not yet. But inside, he felt as if he were unraveling, coming apart at the seams, with each passing moment.
His phone buzzed again, a soft vibration across the dark wood of his desk.He turned—lit screen.
Olivia: You still in that tall building?
A smile ghosted across his lips. He picked up the phone. Typed one word.
Grayson: Maybe.
Grayson's pulse kicked, thumb hovering over the screen. His reply had barely landed before her next message appeared.
Olivia: Because I think I just walked past your security desk…
His entire body stilled. He looked up from his phone toward the elevator heart pacing. Chest tightening. The beast inside him jolted up like it had smelled her. He didn't question it.
He left the spreadsheet half-finished, documents still spread across his desk and moved.
Fast.
The elevator ride down was too slow, which usually didn't bother him, but now it felt like it was dragging on purpose. When the doors opened, he stepped into the lobby, scanning.
It was late—the kind of late when even Manhattan takes a breath. The marble lobby of Steel & Maddox was pristine, dimly lit, and nearly silent. The sleek black reception desk stood like a monument beneath the soft glow of recessed lighting. Polished floors stretched out in clean lines. There were no footsteps, no heels clicking.
No Olivia.
He looked around again, brow furrowing. The space was empty. Too empty.
He approached the front security guard, Carl, a former NYPD officer who'd worked in this building for a decade.
"Evening, Mr. Steel," Carl greeted.
"Carl." Grayson paused. "Did anyone come in? In the last ten minutes? A woman. Brown hair. Ivory coat."
Carl shook his head. "No, sir. Been quiet all night."
Grayson's jaw ticked. Of course.
She hadn't been here at all, and yet he'd come running. He stepped back, and George emerged, holding Grayson's jacket folded neatly over one arm, eyebrows raised.
"There you are," George said, completely unbothered. "I thought you'd already gone home."
"Apparently not," Grayson muttered.
George held out the coat. "Are we calling it a night, then? I'll have the car brought around."
Grayson stared out the lobby's glass doors, where headlights from passing cars streaked across the pavement.
He'd dropped everything. For her. Again. And she wasn't even there. But underneath the frustration… was a flicker of something else. Excitement. Because she'd gotten away. And she'd done it well. He shrugged into the coat, adjusting the lapels with a grim sort of amusement. He sent off a quick text.
Grayson: Congratulations, the little fox slipped in and out of the rooster's house today
They walked together to the waiting black town car out front; doors held open, engine quietly humming. Just as Grayson settled into the backseat, his phone buzzed again.
Olivia: That's funny. I was never in the rooster's house to begin with.
A soft chuckle escaped him. It was deep and genuine. She had outsmarted him, and he found it amusing. He picked up his phone to reply, but it started ringing. He hesitated.
Daniel.
His smile faded, posture shifting as he answered. There was no playfulness in his tone now—only edge.
"Daniel?"
"Finally." Daniel's voice was half laugh, half accusation.
"You ignoring my calls now? Should I be worried?"I was about to send a search team. Or, you know, call your mother. She would've had you tracked in six seconds flat." Daniel's voice came through the speaker like a shot of espresso wrapped in sarcasm.
Gayson: "I've been working."
"Four missed calls, two ignored texts. Did you fall into a boardroom vortex and forget how phones work?"
Grayson closed his eyes for a beat. "What do you want?"
"Oof, cold. Is this how you treat your oldest and most loyal friend?"
"Oldest, maybe. Loyal's debatable."
Grayson sighed. "I'd been a little busy."
"Excuse me for interrupting your empire," Daniel said, not sorry at all. "But I had to remind you of a life-changing, history-making event."
Grayson didn't blink. "The housewarming."
"Our housewarming," Daniel corrected. "Me and Haley. There's charcuterie. A bar cart. Artisan mood lighting."
"I told you—I'm not coming to Boston this weekend."
"Nope, you told me that yesterday. But you'll be happy to know the party is next week, which means the excuse is officially invalid."
Grayson raised a brow. "I didn't realize that's how calendars worked."
"Only when I'm desperate," Daniel said cheerfully. "And I am."
Grayson sighed. "Still a no
"I'm not going to Boston, Daniel."
There was a beat.
"I know what this is," Daniel said.
Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose. "Here we go."
"This is you, classic avoidance behavior. Dodging joy. Rejecting emotional connection. Living off caffeine and disappointment—"
"I'm hanging up."
"Wait! You haven't even heard the bribe yet."
Grayson paused. "There's a bribe?"
"There's always a bribe." Daniel cleared his throat theatrically. "Two words: Lobster sliders. Fresh. Brioche buns. Homemade garlic aioli. I watched Haley harass a caterer for forty-five minutes to get it right."
"Tempting," Grayson said dryly.
"Oh, but wait. There's more. Signature cocktails. No pressed shirts required. You can show up in black jeans and glower in the corner like the brooding menace you are."
Grayson smirked. "I do not glower."
Daniel laughed. "That's the actual word Haley used. 'He glowers with elegance.' That is her exact quote. So come. Glower. Be mysterious. Make eye contact with Liv." There it was. Grayson leaned his head back against the seat.
"Still trying to pawn off Haley's best friend?"
"I'm not pawning anyone. I'm giving fate a little nudge. You'd like her."
Daniel: "I'm not pawning anyone. I'm giving fate a little nudge. You'd like her."
Grayson: "I don't do blind setups anymore, especially by you."
"Those were not my best picks, Dude; I will admit to them. I swear this one is different."
"Daniel…"
Daniel: "I'm just saying. She's cute. Smart. Haley's best friend. You two might actually like each other. You could finally go on a date that doesn't involve someone Googling your net worth under the table."
Daniel: "She's not a setup. She's Liv. Cool, sharp, sarcastic in all the right ways. She's got that 'I know more than you' kind of energy. Honestly, she reminds me of someone."
Grayson raised a brow. "Who?"
Daniel: "You."
Grayson: "God help her."
Daniel chuckled. "I'm serious, man. I know things didn't work out last time—"
Grayson: "Don't."
"Alright, alright," he said quickly. "But look. It's been a minute. You've been doing this CEO monk routine. Building the empire, looking untouchable. You deserve a break."
Grayson: "I don't need a break."
"You do need something," Daniel said, softer now. "I know that look. The one you had at dinner last week? You were somewhere else entirely. You've got that distracted, edge-of-something look in your eyes. Whatever it is—it's not going away."
Grayson didn't respond. Couldn't.
"She's not a setup. She's Liv. You're both sarcastic. She's hot. You're… whatever the hell women think you are."
"Daniel."
"Grayson."
"I told you. I'm not coming."
Grayson hesitated.
His eyes drifted toward the city lights flickering outside the car window. His thumb grazed his phone screen, hovering over Olivia's last message.
I was never in the rooster house to begin with. He could still hear her voice in his head.
Soon.
"You okay, man?" Daniel's voice was quieter now. "I mean it."
"I'm fine," Grayson said finally. "Just… a lot going on."
Because Daniel wasn't wrong, his mind had been caught on one thing for days now. Not numbers. Not deals. Her. The challenge. The voice. The way Olivia had smiled at him like she'd already won. And now, Daniel was dangling another woman in front of him. A different opportunity. Something simpler. But Olivia Webber had already complicated everything.
Daniel let that sit.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then—
"Look," Daniel said, sensing the silence. "Come to Boston. No pressure. Just people who love you, some food, a few drinks. No Forbes profiles. No handshakes or spotlights. Just a night."
Grayson stared at the traffic out the window. The streets pulsing with headlights and motion. His chest was tight again — not from stress. From indecision. Because his mother's voice was still in the back of his head.
"I don't want you to be alone."
And Olivia… Well, Olivia wasn't exactly making it easy to be found. He let out a low breath.
"Fine," he said finally. There was a beat of stunned silence.
"YES." Daniel practically shouted through the line. "I knew I'd get you!"
Grayson: "This doesn't mean I'm staying late. Or socializing."
Daniel: "I will take whatever version of you shows up."
Grayson: "God help your guest list."
Daniel whooped so loud that Grayson pulled the phone away from his ear.
"You just made Haley's day. Mine too. This is going to be fun. Oh, and wear that black henley. Liv's a shoulder girl." Grayson hung up. And smiled—just a little.
When the town car turned onto 53rd Street, the city had hit its after-hours rhythm.
Traffic had slowed to a crawl, not because there were fewer cars — never in this part of Manhattan — but because the chaos had changed flavors. Drivers are impatient to get home, Ubers double-parked in front of bars, and delivery bikes are weaving recklessly between yellow cabs and black town cars. Horns were still honking, but now it was paired with the thump of distant music leaking from rooftop lounges and the echo of laughter bouncing between high rises.
Outside his window, The Selene rose like a glass-and-steel monolith above the rhythm of the streets. The building didn't scream for attention. It commanded it. Sleek. Modern. Discreet.
The car pulled up to the curb, and Grayson stepped out, giving only a brief nod to the doorman as he entered through the tall, sound-dampening glass doors.
Inside, the lobby was quiet — dimly lit, minimalist, all sharp lines and marble floors. But he didn't take any of it in.
He moved with focus toward the elevators, phone still in hand, Olivia's last message still up.
That's funny. I was never in the hen house to begin with.
He smirked.
Well played, indeed.
His finger hovered over the screen, half considering a response when the ding of the elevator signaled its arrival.
He stepped in.
Before the doors could slide shut, a group of women poured in, laughing, loud, dressed for a rooftop party or some velvet-rope club — tight dresses, strappy heels, lashes for days. They smelled like perfume and vodka tonics.
They filled the elevator with chatter and energy, pressing buttons for various floors — 24, 37, 42.
Grayson stepped back against the mirrored wall, scanning his phone, barely making eye contact. He caught one or two curious glances tossed his way, followed by whispered giggles and lips barely mouthing, "Is that him?"
He tuned it out.
All of it.
His mind was still on Olivia. The silence that followed their last exchange was intentional — she wanted him off balance. And it was working.
Was she really going to find him?
Or was this just another expertly played stall? Another clever retreat behind a teasing smile?
The elevator slowed and opened. The women stepped off in pairs, still laughing, still buzzing, tossing him one last glance over their shoulders. He didn't flinch. Just watched the doors close again.
More floors passed. Quiet now. Just a few more residents getting off on 50, 55… Finally, the elevator slowed again — his floor.
Sixty-fifth.
He stepped out, the soft lighting of the top-level hallway stretching out in perfect silence. Just as the elevator doors began to close behind him, he glanced back and froze. There. Tucked in the corner. Wearing that smile.
Olivia. She gave a casual wave, her brown eyes lit up with mischief as the doors slid shut.
"Son of a—" He turned and slammed the button again.
The doors opened, and there she was, still leaning in the corner like she'd planned this for hours.
"You really need to be more observant of your surroundings," she said, her lips curling into a playful grin. She wore an elegant, sleek black dress that gracefully clung to her figure. The dress was adorned with bold green and red vertical stripe accents that stood out vibrantly against the dark fabric, adding a striking contrast. A central zipper closure ran down the front, glinting faintly as it caught the light, completing her sophisticated ensemble with a touch of modern flair.
Grayson reached in and pulled her out by the waist before the doors could close again. "And you, little fox," he growled softly, "need to stop meeting me in elevators."
"But it's so easy to find you in them," she teased, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck.
He pulled her into a hug, inhaled the soft, familiar scent of her hair, and let his lips trail along the curve of her neck — slowly, intentionally.
She sighed, a soft sound against his ear.
His grip tightened just slightly before he slid his hand down to take hers.
"Come with me," he said. She followed as he led her down the hall toward the glass double doors of his penthouse.
"That may be so," he added, unlocking the door with a smooth motion, "but I may have to rectify that. Can't have my fox sneaking up on me in my own den."
He glanced back at her as they stepped inside.
"And now," he said, his voice rougher, lower, "I need to touch you… so let me get you in my home before I do something indecent."
Olivia didn't answer with words. She just smiled.