one month after the missed setup.
Olivia stepped out of the conference hall, her heels clicking against the marble floor of the grand hotel lobby. The air was thick with the lingering scent of cologne and business formalities as attendees milled about, networking and exchanging pleasantries. She exhaled, feeling both mentally stimulated and drained. The conference on new pharmaceutical developments had been informative, but after hours of discussions about cutting-edge technology and regulatory hurdles, she needed a break.
Glancing toward the open bar nestled in the corner of the hotel, Olivia decided a single drink wouldn't hurt before heading up to her room. She strode in, her cream three-piece suit still perfectly tailored to her frame, her hair pinned tightly in a bun. She ordered a neat whiskey and sat at the end of the bar, hoping to enjoy a moment of solitude.
Unfortunately, peace was not on the menu.
The first man who approached her reminded her instantly of Paul—the asshat. He was arrogant, too eager, and insistent in a way that made her stomach turn.
"What's a beautiful woman like you doing drinking alone?" he asked, flashing a smirk that made Olivia suppress an eye-roll.
"Enjoying my own company," she replied coolly, taking a slow sip of her drink.
The man didn't take the hint. "I find that hard to believe. Someone like you shouldn't be alone."
Someone like me. Olivia resisted the urge to groan. She had heard it before. Paul had been the king of these tactics—sweet words that dripped with entitlement. As she brushed off the first guy, another one swooped in minutes later, and then another. Each one seemed to be cut from the same cloth: overconfident, persistent, and somehow convinced that they were doing her a favor by talking to her.
She set her drink down, glancing down at her pristine suit. The structured blazer, the elegant trousers—it screamed "business professional." No wonder she was drawing the wrong kind of attention. They saw her as a polished, high-powered woman, someone they could impress with their charm and empty bravado.
No, thanks.
That was her cue to leave. Without finishing her drink, she stood, ignoring the disappointed murmurs around her. She navigated through the lavish hotel lobby, stepping into the elevator that took her up to the penthouse suite she had splurged on for the conference. The moment the doors slid shut, she let out a long breath, rolling her shoulders as if shedding the weight of the day.
Inside her suite, she walked straight to the bathroom, twisting her hair free from the bun. She washed off the makeup, relishing the feel of cool water against her skin. Not that she needed it anyway—her natural beauty always shone through, a fact she had finally come to accept in her adulthood.
She assessed herself in the mirror. Gone was the poised professional, and in her place was just Olivia—the woman who loved baseball, good beer, and nights free of corporate small talk.
Digging through her suitcase, she changed into a pair of well-worn skinny jeans and a snug blue Chicago Cubs t-shirt. She tied her thick chestnut-brown hair into a ponytail and grabbed a matching Cubs cap, tucking it over her head. The transformation was instant. No more businesswoman. Now, she was just another sports fan looking for a cold drink and a casual atmosphere.
Slipping on her favorite pair of sneakers, she slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her phone, pulling up a ride-sharing app. Within minutes, an Uber was waiting for her downstairs. The ride to Timothy O'Toole's Pub was short, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease the further she got from the towering hotel.
The moment she stepped inside the pub, she knew she had made the right choice. The atmosphere was lively but relaxed, filled with the sounds of clinking glasses, low laughter, and the hum of a game playing on the TVs mounted above the bar. This was her kind of place.
Sliding onto a barstool, she ordered a draft beer and leaned back, finally feeling at ease. Here, she wasn't a pharmaceutical expert in a tailored suit, constantly fending off unwelcome advances. Here, she was just Olivia, a woman who loved a good drink, good company, and a night that was entirely her own.
As she took her first sip of beer, she smiled to herself. This was exactly what she needed.
She glanced up at the screen just as the Cubs game was starting. Perfect. A home game. Nothing made her feel more at home than the thrill of watching her team play, even if it was from a bar rather than Wrigley Field. She ordered a plate of wings, her excitement growing as she settled in.
The bar buzzed with energy as the game progressed, with people cheering and groaning with each play. She felt herself completely relax, absorbed in the moment, savoring her beer and the spicy tang of her wings.
Just as she was wiping her hands with a napkin, the door swung open, and a man still dressed in a crisp business suit entered. She barely glanced his way at first, too absorbed in the game as the Cubs managed to turn a double play. The entire bar erupted in cheers, and she found herself high-fiving the guy next to her before taking another sip of her beer. The energy in the bar was infectious, and she was loving every second of it.
Meanwhile, Grayson and his assistant, George, made their way toward the bar, their conversation still in full swing. "I need those reports by morning," Grayson said, his voice smooth yet firm. "And double-check the numbers on the oncology market projections. I don't want to go into that meeting blind."
George nodded, flipping through his tablet. "Got it, sir. Anything else?"
Grayson sighed, rolling up his sleeves. "Just make sure we're covered on regulatory updates before the quarter ends. We can't afford any last-minute surprises."
George tapped a few notes onto his tablet before finally closing it. "Understood. I'll take care of it first thing."
"Good," Grayson replied, running a hand through his hair before finally signaling to the bartender. George gave a short nod and excused himself, leaving Grayson alone at the bar. As soon as his assistant was gone, Grayson's demeanor shifted. He let out a slow breath, loosened his tie, and shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. The tension in his shoulders eased, and for the first time that night, he looked more like a man simply wanting to unwind rather than a high-powered businessman. He signaled to the bartender and ordered a scotch neat, rolling his shoulders as he settled into his seat.
Olivia noticed his presence, but she wasn't interested in distractions. Not tonight. This was her time to unwind, and no well-dressed businessman was going to change that.
Grayson caught her looking and smirked. "You know, you've got a pretty serious game face."
Olivia arched a brow. "That supposed to be a compliment?"
"Absolutely," he said, sipping his scotch. "Most people fake it through sports talk, but you? You're all in. That's rare."
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the game. "I don't half-ass things. If I like something, I know it inside and out."
"Good philosophy," he replied. "So, are you a born-and-raised Cubs fan, or is this just convenient loyalty?"
She smirked. "Born and raised. Skipped prom for a playoff game once. No regrets."
Grayson let out a low chuckle. "That might be the most Chicago thing I've ever heard."
They both turned their attention back to the game for a moment before he spoke again. "I'm guessing your best friend is the one trying to convince you to settle down?"
Olivia scoffed. "That obvious?"
"Oh yeah." He tilted his glass toward her. "Mine too. Apparently, I'm a 'lost cause who needs saving.'"
She laughed. "Same. They act like being single is a disease."
"Right? I keep telling them I'm just enjoying life, but they refuse to accept it."
"Well," Olivia said, draining the last of her beer, "since we're both avoiding their matchmaking efforts, might as well do something else while we're here. You play darts?"
Grayson smirked, setting his drink down. "I do. But I have to warn you—I don't lose."
Olivia rolled her eyes and stood. "We'll see about that. Come on, big shot. Let's see if you can back that up."
They made their way to the dartboard, the casual conversation continuing, unintentional flirty remarks slipping through as the competitive energy built between them.
Olivia picked up a dart, giving it a small spin between her fingers. "So, what's your deal? You look like someone who spends a lot of time in board meetings."
Grayson chuckled, stepping up beside her. "Good guess. International marketing. I spend more time in conference rooms than I'd like to admit."
"Figures," she said, aiming her shot. "You give off that 'I negotiate over whiskey in fancy lounges' vibe."
He smirked as her dart hit just outside the bullseye. "Not far off. But let me guess—you're in something creative, maybe a writer or an artist? You seem too laid-back for finance or tech."
She turned to him, smirking. "Not even close. Pharmacist."
"Grayson blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Huh. Didn't see that coming. So you keep people healthy, and I convince them to buy things they probably don't need. Balance, I guess.""
She laughed, watching as he threw his dart, landing just a bit closer to the center than hers. "Not bad. But I hope your marketing skills are better than your dart game."
"I let you have the first round," he said, reaching for another dart. "Consider it a strategic play."
They went back and forth, trading shots, teasing jabs, and commentary on the Cubs game still playing in the background. The conversation remained light, filled with sports debates—him defending soccer's excitement, her rolling her eyes and insisting baseball had a heart that no other sport could match.
After a few more rounds, Olivia stretched, setting her final dart down. "Alright, I'll admit, you're decent. But let's see how you handle pool."
Grayson raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so this is just an ongoing competition now?"
"Absolutely. Unless you're scared?"
"Not even a little," he said, following her toward the pool table. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."
She grabbed a cue stick, giving it a quick test spin in her hand. "Good. I'd be insulted if you did."
They continued the game, their conversation moving fluidly from sports to travel, tossing playful remarks and teasing each other's skills with every shot taken. Neither of them intended for the night to be anything more than good company and a little friendly competition, but somehow, neither was in a hurry for it to end.
As the bartender called out last round, Olivia blinked in surprise. The time had slipped away between the games and easy conversation. She stretched her lean body, rolling her shoulders before stepping away from the pool table. With a grin, she walked over to a small group of people she knew, slipping easily into a conversation about an ongoing bet she had placed. On the side, she played bookie—something she had always enjoyed, and everyone at the bar seemed to know it.
Grayson watched her from where he stood, cue stick still in hand. She moved effortlessly between the people, chatting with the bartender, even helping clear a few tables with the barmaids as she talked and laughed. It was like she belonged there, like this was her second home. He didn't move, just observed as she wrapped up her rounds before finally making her way toward the exit.
When she stepped outside into the early morning air, she saw a sleek black car pull up to the curb. The driver stepped out and greeted Grayson with a nod. "Good evening, Mr. Steele."
Olivia arched a brow as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. "Mr. Steele? That's fancy."
Grayson smirked but didn't answer. He moved to get in, then hesitated. Turning back, he walked toward Olivia, stopping just before her. For a moment, neither of them spoke—just a quiet pause, like a heartbeat or two passing between them.
Finally, Olivia smiled. "This was a lovely evening. I enjoyed it. Thank you."
She extended her hand, and Grayson took it, his grip firm, his thumb grazing over the top of her hand in a slow, deliberate motion. "The pleasure was mine."
With that, he stepped back, climbed into the car, and shut the door. Olivia exhaled, feeling a strange electric pulse travel through her fingers, down her spine, all the way to her toes. It had been a wonderful night. But that was all it was. She didn't even know where he was from. She didn't want anything from him.
With one last glance at the departing car, she noticed her Uber pulling up just behind it. She took a breath and stepped toward it, the driver rolling down the window to confirm her name. As she slid into the back seat, she exhaled, feeling the lingering warmth of Grayson's touch still tingling in her palm. It had been a wonderful night. But that was all it was. She didn't even know where he was from. She didn't want anything from him.
The car pulled away from the curb, merging into the quiet early morning streets. Olivia leaned back against the seat, watching the city lights blur past, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips.