Page 2 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

“You’re scrappy. I figured you’d lawyer your way out of assault charges.”

“Tempting,” I mutter. “But no. I didn’t punch him. I did something worse.”

“Oh god.” She sounds delighted. “What’d you do?”

“I challenged him to a matchmaking competition. Like an actual contest. Whoever makes the most successful match wins the company.”

There’s a pause, and I can practically hear her trying not to squeal. “That’s so hot.”

“It isnothot,” I snap. “It’s strategic. Ruthless. Cutthroat.”

“Mmhmm. So... hot.”

I groan again and take a long sip of wine. “He’s taking it like a joke. Like this is just another game to him. He actuallysmirkedwhen I made the proposal. Like he was already imagining the credits rolling and his name on the damn door.”

“Oh no,” Sophie says flatly. “Not the smirk.”

“Thesmirk, Sophie. The one that says, ‘I could ruin your life and look good doing it.’ And he called me sweetheart.Sweetheart.In the middle of a legal negotiation.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she’s definitely not. “You’ve been pining for this man since he wore that navy suit to the winter gala.”

“I haven’t been pining, I’ve been plotting. There’s a difference,” I reply.

“Of course. My bad,” she laughs.

I sink deeper into the couch and stare at the ceiling. “He thinks this is a game, and fine, maybe it is. But he doesn’t get to win. Not with charm and gut instinct and... whatever else he runs on. Protein powder and chaos, probably.”

“So what’s your first move?”

“Oh, I’m already working on it. I’ve narrowed it down to three clients he’ll never be able to match. Each one is an emotional minefield with commitment issues and impossible preferences. It’s going to be a beautiful disaster.”

Sophie whistles low. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“You already are. You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’m emotionally invested. There’s a difference.”

I laugh, despite myself. For the first time since that ridiculous meeting, the knot in my chest loosens just a little.

“Just promise me one thing,” I say, closing my eyes.

“Anything.”

“If I ever start looking at him like he’s more than an obstacle, you have full permission to slap me with a printout of the will.”

“Deal,” she says. “But only if I get to give a toast at the wedding.”

“Sophie!”

“Kidding,” she sing-songs. “Mostly.”

I shake my head and take another sip of wine. The war has begun, and tomorrow, I fight. But for tonight... I’ll let myself laugh a little. Even if it’s because of her. Even if it’sjusta little.

2

GRAYSON

The thing about Margot Evans? She’s predictable. She walks into a room like she owns it, always prepared, always five steps ahead, and always looking at me like I’m the gum stuck to her designer heels. And damn, if it doesn’t make her even hotter. That sharp brain of hers, the way she wields her confidence like a weapon, it’s infuriating and attractive all at once. The long waves of her brown hair, the way her blue eyes sharpen when she’s planning her next move, the little flick of her wrist when she dismisses me, yeah, it’s a problem. Not that I’d ever admit that to her. I enjoy living.

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