It was time to touch base with Mike and finalize the remaining repairs, and the last thing she wanted was for Grayson to find out her true address. For the moment, though, she still held control of the situation. While sitting in the Uber, she receives a surprise text from
Grayson: You can't hide forever. I always catch what I go after.
Olivia: That's cute. But you're assuming I'm running. Maybe I'm just leading you exactly where I want you to go.
The Uber rolled to a smooth stop in front of Olivia's apartment building, sunlight glinting off the mirrored glass exterior. From the outside, everything looked pristine—no scaffolding, no boarded-up windows. To anyone passing by, it was just another high-rise on the edge of downtown.
But Olivia knew better. The damage wasn't visible from the street. It was higher. Olivia's apartment sat on the 98th floor, and the flooding from a burst pipe had ripped through several units on the top levels, soaked carpets, collapsed drywall, and ruined plumbing. It hadn't touched the lobby or lower floors, which is why the building looked untouched from the outside. But just beyond the calm glass doors, the chaos was constant.
As she stepped out of the Uber, she immediately noticed the steady flow of construction workers moving in and out of the building.
Some pushed rolling carts stacked with tools or buckets of sealant. Others carried ladders, new piping, and wrapped bundles of insulation. A few gathered near the service elevator, joking as they waited their turn, while a foreman barked something into a walkie clipped to his vest.
It was controlled but nonstop; it really confirmed one thing: she still couldn't move back in.
She glanced down the block and spotted what she was looking for: a small, tan mobile construction trailer set up near a row of contractor trucks. It blended in with the street, except for the fold-out sign posted by the door: "ON-SITE OFFICE – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY."
She walked briskly toward it, weaving between a pile of unopened drywall panels and a dolly loaded with copper piping.
Two sharp knocks.
The trailer felt unexpectedly warm, with dry, stuffy heat coming from a space heater buzzing under the window. The air carried the scent of dust, printer ink, and the leftovers of someone's lunch—likely the half-eaten sandwich next to a can of Red Bull on the folding table.
To the left, a narrow desk was cluttered with clipboards, an old desktop monitor, and a calendar showing the wrong month. Most of the far wall was occupied by a blueprint printer, surrounded by labeled cardboard tubes and color-coded folders.
On the right side, a long folding table was the unofficial center of activity, covered with blueprints, tools, paperwork, and half-empty coffee cups. Behind it, a corkboard hung, filled with shift schedules, floor plans, and a takeout menu pinned beside a printout titled "Fire Sprinkler Impact Zones."
A long folding table stretched beneath the window on the right, piled high with blueprints, scattered tools, energy drink cans, and a half-eaten sandwich still in its wrapper.
The back shelves were organized with bins labeled by floor: "Floors 90–92: Electrical," "93–95: Paint/Drywall," and "96–99: Flood Response—Active."
In the midst of it all, seated in a squeaky vinyl chair and engrossed in his phone, was Mike. He looked up, blinked, and grinned. "Olivia. Didn't think I'd see you until next week."She smiled as she stepped inside, letting the door close behind her. "Change of plans."
Mike sat up and leaned forward, already reaching for a thick folder labeled "Unit 98C – Priority."
"Well," he said, flipping it open, "you're just in time. We've got some updates you're gonna want to see."
Mike opened the folder and spread a set of updated floor plans across the table, weighing down the corners with a wrench and his phone like he'd done it a hundred times.
"Good news first or bad?" he asked, glancing at her over the rims of his glasses.
Mike was in his mid-fifties, about 5'8", with graying hair that he kept buzzed short and a profoundly tanned complexion earned from years of working under the sun. He was lean in build, but the beginnings of a stubborn belly softened his frame beneath the navy blue thermal shirt stretched across his torso. His jeans were worn at the knees, his work boots beat to hell, and he had the kind of permanently furrowed brow that only came from managing far too many moving parts and people for far too long.
Olivia hung her trench coat on the back of a folding chair and sat across from him, smoothing her hands over her jeans. "Let's start with the lie—give me the good news."
Mike grinned. "Okay. Flooring's already pulled. We've finished drying out the subfloor and replaced the insulation. The paint's been matched, and new carpet and tile are prepped and waiting in storage."
She nodded, arms crossed loosely. "That's the good news?"
"That's the only news that won't make you want to scream."
Olivia arched a brow. "Let's hear it."
Mike exhaled, flipping to the next page. "The plumbing reroute needs full city approval. And because the break started near the riser on the 100th floor, the inspection has to run from the top down. That delays everything below—including your unit."
She leaned forward, tapping the blueprint. "So no water, no kitchen, and no bathroom."
"For a while." He paused. "Realistically? We're looking. When you first came a couple of days ago, I estimated 6 weeks. Maybe eight, depending on how fast we get inspection and permit clearance."
Olivia blinked. "Eight."
"I'm giving you the long view so you're not mad when it's seven."
She let her head fall back against the chair and sighed. "That's… a lot of suitcase time."
Mike snorted. "Please. You travel more than half the people I know. You're barely going to notice."
She tilted her head at him. "Still my home, Mike."
"Sure," he said, smirking, "but admit it, you're more comfortable in an airport lounge than on your own couch."
She sighed but smiled because… he wasn't wrong.
"And it's not just you," Mike added, flipping to a floor roster. "Three tenants from the 97th and 99th floors are still in hotel rooms. Some of them got it worse than you. One guy had water pouring through his recessed lighting. Looked like a damn waterfall in his living room."
"Lovely," she muttered.
She leaned back over the table, eyes scanning the repair notes highlighted in blue and orange ink. "Cabinetry?"
"Upper ones are fine. The lower ones are a total loss. The walnut you picked is on backorder. I can get you maple or birch in a week."
She gave him a look. "Have you met me?"
He raised his hands in surrender. "I told them not to even bring up maple."
She glanced down at the blueprint, her mind already shifting to logistics. The new timeline gave her breathing room for Boston, for New York, and maybe even for whatever was unfolding with Grayson. She had options. And she knew exactly how to use them.
"I'll be in and out for the next few weeks," she said, already reaching for her phone. "Boston's still on. I've got a quick detour first."
"Business?" Mike asked.
"Something like that."
He nodded, clearly not convinced but smart enough not to push.
Olivia stood, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans as she pulled her trench coat from the back of the chair.
"Thanks, Mike," she said, reaching for the door.
He gave her a two-finger salute from behind the cluttered desk. "You get bored playing secret agent, you know where to find me."
She chuckled and stepped out into the late afternoon light, the door clicking shut behind her.
As she made her way down the block, weaving past contractors and a roll-off dumpster, her phone buzzed in her hand.
Grayson: Enjoying your victory lap?
Olivia smirked.
She stepped off the curb, lifted a hand, and quickly hailed another cab. The driver pulled over, and she slid inside.
"Downtown," she told him, pulling the seatbelt across her chest. "The shops near the St. Regis Hotel."
As the cab rolled forward, she finally replied.
Olivia:Of course. It's not every day I beat Grayson Steel at his own game.
The response came almost immediately.
Grayson:You haven't won yet.
She didn't bother with words.
Olivia:😉
She tucked the phone away and turned her gaze to the window, watching the skyline shift around her as they headed south. The city was still buzzing, traffic thickening as the evening crept closer.
When the cab dropped her off near the shops by the St. Regis, she took her time wandering. A few high-end boutiques, a bookstore she almost ducked into, a window display of fall fashion that reminded her how little she packed.
But then her stomach growled—loudly.
She realized she hadn't eaten since early that morning.
Across the street, tucked just between two galleries, she spotted a bistro with soft lighting, an open-air patio, and white awnings fluttering gently in the breeze.
The sign read: Marchette's.
Inside, it was warm and inviting—tables set with mismatched vintage plates and low flower arrangements. Exposed brick lined one wall, and a long, rustic wooden bar stretched along the other. Soft jazz played in the background, and the smell of warm bread, garlic, and something citrusy hung in the air.
She slipped into a table by the window, ordered a glass of wine and something light, and finally let herself breathe.
Her phone buzzed again.
Haley:Soooooo I just remembered something kind of important… Don't hate me but… Daniel might have invited Grayson to stay with us for a few days. Like… this week. For the housewarming.
Olivia stared at the message, blinking once.
Then she slowly lifted her wine glass, took a sip, and set it down with a soft, amused sigh.
"Oh, Haley."
Olivia stared at the text from Haley for a beat longer, then picked up her wine glass, took a slow sip, and set it down like she was bracing herself for battle.
Then she hit Call.
Haley answered on the second ring with a breathy, exaggerated whisper. "Can't really talk… super busy… in the office…"
Olivia didn't even blink. "Haley, you literally have your own office. With a door. And a sound machine that plays ocean noises. You're pretending."
There was a pause. Then the whispering stopped.
Haley sighed dramatically through the receiver. "Ugh. Fine."
Olivia leaned back in her chair, already grinning.
"Okay, look, Liv," Haley said, shifting into a tone halfway between defensive and guilty, "this is like… the third time we've tried this. He's really getting tired of being stood up."
Olivia barked a laugh. "Wait a minute—stood up? I never wanted to be set up in the first place. You decided I needed a love life. I said I was perfectly content in my current state of independence and personal chaos. Just because you and Daniel are cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs doesn't mean I have to be too."
"I mean, they are delicious," Haley muttered.
"I'm fine, Hales Bells. I promise."
On the other end of the line, Haley let out a long, heavy sigh. "Okay. But… it's kind of too late. We already asked Preston to come to the housewarming party."
Olivia blinked. "Preston?"
"Yeah, and most of our sorority sisters already met him at Emma's wedding, soooo…"
"Haley."
"Look, I didn't mean to set you up! I mean—I did, but like, I wasn't supposed to! But come on… good intentions and all? You still love me, right? You're still bringing me Henry?"
Olivia rolled her eyes, laughing. "No. You're not getting Henry. You're getting, I don't know… Javier Bardem."
Haley made a gagging sound. "Ugh, no—wait, no, he's not that bad. Okay, maybe someone worse. Michael Cera."
"NOOOOO," Haley fake-shouted through the phone. "Noooo! Noooo—wait. I mean… I do love his movies."
"Exactly," Olivia said smugly. "You're welcome."
At that point, the conversation had gone fully off the rails, both of them laughing so hard they could barely hear each other. It took a few more minutes of absurd banter before Olivia finally said, "Alright, I've gotta go. If you send Preston a seating chart, I swear I'm deleting your number."
"Love you!" Haley sang.
"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."
Olivia hung up just as the waitress returned to clear her plates. The young woman, maybe early twenties, smiled a little awkwardly.
"I hope you don't mind," she said, tucking a plate under her arm. "I overheard some of your call. It wasn't really private. Just… sounded fun."
Olivia glanced up and gave her an easy smile. "I didn't mind. It's always fun when I get blackmailed by my best friend under the guise of love."
The waitress grinned. "I liked what you said. About doing things by yourself. I do that a lot, too. Right now, I'm going shopping after my shift. I'm going on a trip soon."
Olivia's expression softened. "Well, then, I hope you find something perfect."
She handed over her credit card and slipped a folded bill onto the table when the check returned. A quiet thank you and a smile later, she stepped out of the bistro and into the glow of early evening.
The city was still alive with shoppers, and music spilled faintly from nearby boutiques. She adjusted her coat, slipped her phone into her bag, and headed off down the row of shops, exactly where she wanted to be.
livia wandered through the first floor of one of Chicago's more upscale department stores, weaving her way through the crowd that pulsed between displays and mid-year sales signs. Her trench coat was slung over her arm—it had gotten too cumbersome with the surge of shoppers brushing past her.
She slowed near the beauty section, letting herself be drawn in by a new line of luxury body lotions arranged in a minimalist display. Frosted glass bottles stood in uniform rows, each with soft, muted labels—lavender and Hinoki, Bergamot Citrus, White Tea and fig. She uncapped one and dabbed a small amount onto her wrist, rubbing it in absently as she leaned in to catch the delicate scent.
That's when she saw him.
George Grayson's assistant.
He was moving briskly through the far end of the aisle, tablet in hand, scanning the space like he was checking off items—or looking for someone.
Olivia's heart skipped once, then dropped.
Crap.He got here way too fast.
She turned sharply, pulling her ball cap lower over her forehead and ducking down to tie her shoe—a stall tactic, but enough to disappear from his immediate view. She glanced around, cursing the open layout. There wasn't much cover here.
She rushedly stuffed the blue trench coat into her bag, forcing it down beneath her wallet and cosmetic pouch. Then she rose quickly and started toward the nearest exit , only to come to a halt.
Grayson entered the store. Calm and composed, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his distinctive tailored coat. His gaze swept across the store, as if he was already aware she was there.
Damn it.
Olivia didn't stop to think. She turned on her heel and headed toward the women's clothing section, where racks of dresses, jeans, and blouses created a maze of cover. The area was packed—mid-year annual sale signs hung everywhere, drawing a sea of women browsing like it was a contact sport.
Perfect.
She darted between two crowded racks of discounted denim, scanning faces. She needed someone her height. Her hair color. Someone…
There.
A girl, maybe eighteen, brunette, with similar waves falling just past her shoulders. She was thumbing through a rack of oversized cardigans, earbuds in, completely absorbed.
Olivia rushed up beside her, pulling the coat from her bag.
"Excuse me, Miss.—"
The girl turned, taking out one earbud.
"I know this is going to sound super weird," Olivia said in a rushed whisper, "Excuse me," she said, breathless. "I know this is going to sound really strange, but my big brother is here looking for me—he doesn't know I skipped work today—and if he sees me, I'm dead. I'll give youfifty bucks to wear this coat and walk around like yours. If anyone asks, just say you got it at a vintage shop. Please?"
The girl blinked once.
Then shrugged. "Whatever."
"Excuse me," Olivia said in a rushed whisper, slightly breathless as she slid up beside the stranger. Her eyes darted over her shoulder. "I know this is going to sound super weird, but my big brother is here looking for me. I'm supposed to be at work, but I kind of… bailed. If he sees me, I'm completely busted. I'll give you fifty bucks if you wear this coat, walk around like it's yours, and pretend you've never seen me. Just a few minutes. If anyone asks, say you found it at a vintage shop. Please—he's like two seconds away from finding me."
She slid into the coat, holding out her hand. Olivia slapped a crisp bill into her palm with a relieved, "Thanks—you're a lifesaver," and turned back toward the racks.
She casually flipped through a row of dark-wash jeans, pretending to scroll through her phone. Her eyes flicked up—just in time to catch Grayson moving through the section.
And he saw her.
Well, not her—The girl in the coat.
He slowed slightly. His focus shifted. His attention locked.
Olivia sidled to the side like a shopper, ducked behind another rack of dresses, and then quietly moved to the other side of the display wall, crouching slightly behind a line of long skirts.
She shifted again, sneaking around a rack of long skirts and crouching just behind a wall of goods. From her spot, she could spot the shiny tips of Grayson's shoes and George's loafers close by.
People passed by, the din of chatter and shuffling bags muffling everything, but she caught a snippet:
George's voice: "Did you find her?"
Grayson: "No. I thought I did… but it wasn't her."
Their voices dipped as a woman passed by laughing loudly with a friend, the rustle of shopping bags and beeping registers cutting in.
Then Grayson again, clearer this time: "Book a table at one of the restaurants near the hotel. We'll head there now."
Their footsteps shifted. Olivia didn't dare peek. She stayed crouched, still as stone, listening until their steps faded and the voices moved farther away.
Only then did she exhale; Close too, close.
Olivia finally stood, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans and steadying her breath. She straightened her cap, gave one last glance over her shoulder toward the area Grayson and George had disappeared into, and slipped back into the flow of shoppers.
She walked down the main aisle of the department store, dodging bags and elbows, weaving her way around strollers and impulse-buy displays, all while trying not to look like a woman who had just staged a full-on decoy operation.
She made it to the exit and pushed through the revolving door. As the glass panels spun, her eyes caught movement at the curb.
The black town car was pulling away slowly. Her lips curved.
Almost caught. But not quite.
And honestly? She loved it. The game. The tension. The power of knowing more than the other person. The rush of being just out of reach.
Whatever this was… she didn't have the full picture yet. But whatever it became? She wanted to be the one who wrote the ending.
She pulled out her phone and typed quickly:
Olivia:Just for clarification… you are trying to find me, right? 😉
Almost immediately, he responds, Grayson: That depends. Are you trying to stay hidden, or do you want to be found?
She responds to him, Olivia: I guess we'll find out
Then she stepped off the curb and hailed another cab, sliding into the backseat just as the driver asked, "Where to?"
She pointed up the street. "Follow that black town car. Not too close."
The driver blinked at her through the mirror but said nothing, merging into traffic.
As the car rolled forward, Olivia leaned back into the seat and let herself breathe—really breathe—for the first time in what felt like hours. Her gaze drifted out the window, but her thoughts were spiraling.
What am I doing?..What am I doing?
Following him? Letting him follow me? This stranger who's somehow circled her orbit in Paris, in London, in a bar in Chicago, again and again.
Did she really want to take a chance on someone she barely knew?
Or was that the point?
Grayson was safe, in a way. Mysterious. Present. He didn't demand stories from her past. Didn't ask for promises about the future. With him, there was no pressure to be more than exactly who she was in the moment.
And after the Asshat?
Seven years was a long time to untangle from someone. A long time to unlearn mistrust. To rebuild the parts of herself she'd chipped away for the sake of love that didn't love her back.
Maybe Haley and Daniel were right. Maybe she did deserve something more. Something real.
But what they were proposing? With Preston, whoever he was?That wasn't it.That was someone else's kind of safe.
Not hers.
She ran a hand over her face, exhaling hard. She didn't even have the mental capacity to deal with any of it right now.
Moments later, the cab slowed to a stop at the edge of the block, just shy of where the town car had parked.
The driver turned around, giving her a sympathetic look. "Ma'am… if he's cheating, you're too good for him. You should leave him."
Olivia—who was digging in her purse for her wallet—froze.
Then she realized what this must look like.
And promptly burst out laughing.
A full, breathless, head-thrown-back laugh. She was crying from how hard she laughed.
"I—I'm so sorry," she choked out between breaths, wiping her eyes. "It's not—he's not—this isn't—"
Now fully confused and slightly amused, the cab driver just raised an eyebrow.
Finally catching her breath, she handed him a few bills and smiled. "I'm about to win a game of tag. Or hide-and-seek. Either way—I win."
He took the money, blinking. "I don't understand. Those are two completely different games. Which one are you playing?"
She opened the door, one foot already on the sidewalk.
She looked back at him with a sly grin. "Well… both, actually."
And then she slid out of the cab and walked up the street, head high, smile wide, already planning her next move.
From her spot half a block away, Olivia spotted the black town car pulled neatly to the curb outside the restaurant. She slowed, letting her steps fall into rhythm with the pedestrians around her, blending in.
She watched as Grayson and George exited the vehicle, still dressed for business rather than dinner. Grayson's dark gray suit cut sharp against the early evening light, his shoulders squared and posture confident, while George trailed just behind, still glued to his tablet.
The restaurant was quiet and elegant. It had brushed brass lanterns on either side of the entrance, frosted glass windows with golden script lettering, and a subtle red carpet rolled over the stone steps. It was clearly upscale.
Olivia kept walking, pacing herself just right.
That's when she saw them.
Two familiar faces from the virtual meeting that morning, Wallace and Donnelly, both unmistakably well-fed and well-funded, laughing with their coats draped over their arms as they approached the same entrance.
She smirked faintly. "Huh. This must be the Wallace and Donnelly meeting," she murmured to herself.
Right on schedule.
As she reached the entrance, she slipped into the group, entering the restaurant for a private event. It was a mid-size party—judging by the size of the crowd and the flurry of names being checked off by the hostess, likely a business dinner or corporate celebration.
She kept moving with them naturally, nodding when needed, silent as people chatted and found their seats.
Then she leaned toward one of the waiters. "Excuse me, where's the restroom?"
The young man gestured toward a hallway wrapped in moody lighting and sleek mirrors. "Just past the wine cellar, to your left."
"Thank you."
She made her exit, her expression calm—but her mind already spinning.
Inside the restroom, she took a breath, used the facilities, and moved to wash her hands. The faucet was beautiful—polished brass with white marble fixtures. Her reflection stared back at her in the gleaming mirror, and for the first time in a while… she didn't know what she was doing.
Then her phone buzzed.
Grayson:I know where you are, you little minx. I'll see you in a few.
She almost dropped her phone in the sink.
"What—?" she gasped, clutching it with both hands. Her heartbeat jumped into her throat.
Pacing, she began muttering under her breath. "No, no, no. He couldn't have seen me. Right? Right?" She stopped. "Unless he did. Or unless George—ugh!"
She paused, hands braced on the edge of the marble sink, staring into the mirror again. "What am I even doing? What's the endgame here? What do I want from this? I don't even know."
The door swung open, and two women in sleek black dresses stepped inside, heels clicking on the tile. They paused at the sight of Olivia in jeans, sneakers, and a ballcap pulled low.
There was a beat of awkward silence before the taller of the two offered a polite smile.
Olivia gave them a nod.
That's when it hit her.
He didn't know exactly where she was. Not yet.But he had an idea.And if she didn't get out soon, that idea would turn into certainty.
She turned back to the mirror, fixed her hat, tugged it lower. Her eyes narrowed, and her focus sharpened. She had a plan.
Turning to the women, she flashed them a charming smile. "Ladies, enjoy your evening."
Then she left the restroom, slipping back into the low hum of the restaurant.
She paused just long enough to scan the layout. Grayson's dinner party was farther back, in a semi-private section separated by frosted glass partitions. That was good. It gave her space to move.
She casually made her way to the front of the restaurant, coat still stuffed in her bag, and approached the hostess stand.
"I'm here to pick up a to-go order?" she said sweetly.
The hostess smiled. "Name?"
"Olivia."
"Give me just a moment."
While she waited, Olivia stayed alert—listening for any familiar footsteps, any sign of George or Grayson heading her way. The hostess returned within moments, holding a branded paper bag.
"Thank you," Olivia said brightly, tucking it under her arm.
As she turned, a couple was entering the restaurant. The gentleman held the door open with a polite smile.
"Thanks," Olivia murmured, holding her head low and lifting the takeout bag slightly to obscure her face as she passed them.
Once she was outside and on the move again, she walked half a block, stepped into the curb lane, and flagged down a taxi. "St. Regis Hotel, please," she instructed the driver. As the car started to move, she allowed herself to relax against the seat. It was a momentary respite, a brief one, but a respite nonetheless.
Once back in her hotel room, Olivia set the takeout bag on the table by the window and let out a sigh, rolling her shoulders to release tension. The city's hum was faint and muted by the thick glass Her mind, however, was anything but quiet.
She moved to the room service menu on the nightstand and picked up the phone."Hi, yes. I'd like to order a bottle of Pinot Noir… and your dessert sampler, please."
She tossed the phone back into the cradle and kicked off her sneakers. Chocolate, wine, and solitude were sometimes all a woman needed to reclaim her sanity.
While waiting, she opened her laptop and skimmed through a few work emails, approving a delivery schedule and flagging a quality assurance form for one of the European labs. But her heart wasn't in it. Her mind kept drifting to him.
To the day she just experienced. To the competition. Tomorrow, she was off to New York. Grayson wasn't aware of that yet. But he would find out in time.
The planned Detour trip to New York was initially meant to be all about him; however, the need for work had been tacked on at the last minute. Visiting the distribution centers had suddenly become part of the agenda. The flight change seemed like a move in a complex game, didn't it? Or maybe it was fate. A coincidence. The sort of happenstance that left her with the uncanny feeling that someone, somewhere, was arranging a chessboard she hadn't entirely consented to play on.
She needed clarity. She stood and headed to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and stepping into the shower.
Warm water cascaded over her, washing away the sweat, the city, the indecision. She tilted her head back and whispered aloud, "I will not be infected by the virus of love."
A pause. A smirk. "I'll take it daily and enjoy myself, but I am done worrying about it."
Let it unfold. Whatever this was. Let it happen.
Just as she stepped out, towel wrapped around her body and hair dripping down her back, her phone buzzed again.
Grayson:Stay put. I'm on my way.
Her heart fluttered, damn him."So… he finally found me," she murmured to herself. "Well. Took him long enough."
She glanced at the clock. He should've been here already. Where was he?
Was he making her wait?
She walked into the bedroom, towel-drying her hair. Then she paced.
"What do I even wear when he knocks?" she muttered. "Do I put on lingerie and dramatically lean on the doorframe? 'Oh Mr. Steel… you found me…'"
She cringed. "Ugh. Never. Okay. I would. But not like that."
She kept pacing, still in her robe.
"Jeans and a T-shirt? 'Surprise, I've been following you, sir!' No. I sound like a stalker. A cute stalker. But still."
She turned on her heel.
"Business suit? All composed and clueless, like I've been in meetings all day? Yeah, that might work… except…" She stopped. "He knows I work from home. Wait. I'm not home."
She groaned and spun back toward the bathroom. She grabbed the blow dryer and brushed through her damp hair.
That's when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and paused.
Cormac Fitzpatrick.
She was surprised. She hadn't heard from him since the end of the football season. Her eyebrows raised in curiosity. Cormac never reached out during the off-season unless something important was happening. Certainly not while he was busy working.
She answered with a grin. "Fitzpatrick. What do I owe the pleasure this fine evening? All bets are placed. And I'm pretty sure I already have your money this season."
She could hear the distinct sound of pub noise in the background, the soft clang of pint glasses, a distant round of laughter, and someone shouting at the television over a soccer match.
"Ah, you do me, lady. You do," Cormac said, his familiar Irish lilt barely rising above the din. "But I've got a question for ya. I'm behind the bar at Timothy's right now, and guess who just walked in?"
Olivia paused, amused. "Should I pretend to guess?"
He chuckled. "That handsome gent you took a liking to. The one you gave a proper thrashing in darts a while back?"
"I didn't take a liking to him, Fitzpatrick," she said, smirking as she brushed through a damp hair wave. "And he sucked at darts."
More laughter on his end blended with the muffled sound of someone calling for a Guinness.
"Be that as it may," Fitz continued, "he just walked in. He and a skinny little fella with him—both moving like they had fire under their arses. Looking around like they lost something."
Olivia laughed, low and smooth. "Oh, they did. They're looking for me."
"He's scanning every corner. He even tried the patio."
"Is he there now?"
"Just stepped out to check the sidewalk. You want me to stall him?"
She tilted her head at her reflection in the mirror, eyes gleaming. "Oh no. Let him leave."
A pause. Then, a chuckle from Cormac. "Olivia… what game are you playing now?"
"The best kind," she said with a wink to herself. "Winner takes all."
"Damn, woman," he said, clearly grinning. "I'm glad you're not the mob. We'd all be dead."
"And I'd be rich."
Another burst of laughter from the bar behind him.
"I'll stop by in a few weeks," she added. "To collect what you owe me. Don't spend it."
"You're terrifying, devil woman." Fitz muttered affectionately" "Take care of yourself."
"I love you too, Fitz."
She hung up and looked into the mirror, that signature grin curling on her lips.
"Gotcha."
She finished styling her hair and walked back into the bedroom, this time with purpose. She knew exactly what she was going to wear.
Moments later, she stepped out of her room and walked down the hall to the elevators, each step steady and unhurried. When she reached the end of the corridor, she pressed the call button, then casually leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one foot resting lightly behind the other.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open and there he was.
Grayson.
His coat had a few creases, his hair was messy, and his eyes were fixed on the ground as if lost in thought. His jaw was set tight, suggesting he had been clenching it all evening. The coat was crumpled from constant movement, and his hair was disheveled from running his fingers through it repeatedly. This was a man unaccustomed to defeat, burdened by the weight of a long, unyielding day where nothing panned out, and every lead proved fruitless. His expression betrayed the hope of finding her there, not yet another dead end.
He was staring at the floor when the doors slid open.
Gradually, his gaze rose. He spotted her. That was the moment everything changed.
Olivia noticed the tightness in his shoulders eased, and a spark ignited behind his eyes a breath of disbelief. A quiet, reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
It was the expression of a man who knew he'd lost the chase but somehow still won the prize: amusement, relief, and something else entirely.
He exhaled a soft laugh, almost silent. As if to say, Of course.
Olivia smirked, head tilted just slightly.
"Took you long enough."