Page 58 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

She pulls out her phone and reads aloud. “‘If anyone would like to match Isabella Monroe with the concept of rational decision-making, please let me know. Apparently, the laws of attraction do not apply to her.’”

Grayson nearly chokes on his coffee. “Mid-date?”

I glare at Olivia. “Tell me she didn’t actually fall asleep on a date with him.”

She shrugs. “I don’tthinkso, but do you really want to rule it out?”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “This is getting out of control. If the press starts picking up on their ridiculous feud, it’ll overshadoweverything, our brand, our business,ourreputations. We need to shut this down.”

Grayson leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?”

I meet his gaze. “We need to force them into the same room and make them sit through an actual, civil conversation.”

He raises a skeptical brow. “You think that’s possible?”

I gesture toward Olivia’s folder. “Considering their last conversation took placevia public insults, I’d say it’s our only option.”

Olivia taps a pen against the table. “Alright, so a meeting. Where?”

Grayson considers. “Somewhere they can’t cause a scene. Or, at least, somewherecontained.”

I smirk. “Cassian’s penthouse.”

Olivia hums. “That could work. Isabella would show upjustto annoy him, and Cassian would agreejustto prove a point.”

Grayson exhales. “Fine. I’ll reach out to Cassian.”

Olivia leans back. “Great. In the meantime, let’s talk about theactualcrisis.” She flips open another file. “Eleanor’s next move.”

I immediately straighten. “What do we know?”

Olivia adjusts her glasses. “She’s securing more board support, but she’s also working on a PR angle, likely a media hit on you or Grayson. She wants public perception on her side before she makes her official bid for CEO.”

Grayson clenches his jaw. “So we need to hit first.”

I nod. “We need to control the narrative before she does.”

Olivia slides a folder across the table. “Already ahead of you. I’ve drafted a press statement highlightingPerfectlyMatched’sstrengths, but we need somethingbigger, a public move that shifts focus away from Eleanor and reminds everyone why this companyneedsus.”

Grayson exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Something undeniable.”

I meet his gaze, determination sparking. “Then let’s give them exactly that.”

Cassian Laurent does not docasual. The moment I step into his penthouse, I realize yet again why the man exudes a certain untouchable arrogance. Everything about his home screams power, intimidating wealth, impeccable taste, and absolute control over his environment. The entire space is bathed in sleek, modern elegance, from the polished black marble floors that reflect the soft, ambient lighting to the towering bookshelves lined with rare first editions that I suspect he hasn’t actually read. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire length of the living room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. It’s the kind of view that makes people feel small. The kind that reminds you that Cassian Laurent is always looking down on the world, and somehow, he prefers it that way.

To my left, a minimalist yet absurdly expensive-looking dining table made of glass and steel sits beneath a chandelier that looks more like a modern art piece than an actual light fixture. Across the room, an open-concept kitchen is framed by black marble countertops and an impressive wine collection displayed along the back wall. A fully stocked bar, because, of course, Cassian Laurent wouldn’t pour his own drinks, sits in the corner, complete with an actual bartender in a tailored vest,currently polishing a whiskey glass like we’ve walked onto the set of a James Bond film.

Grayson walks beside me, taking it all in with a barely concealed smirk. “Remind me to start charging Cassian double for matchmaking services.”

I roll my eyes. “As if he wouldn’t find a way to write it off as abusiness expense.”

Cassian himself is standing near the bar, one hand tucked into the pocket of his perfectly tailored navy suit, the other cradling a glass of what I’m sure is some kind of aged whiskey I can’t even pronounce. He looks effortlessly put together, like he was born to exist in places like this, above it all, untouchable, and completely unaffected by anything or anyone. He barely acknowledges us as we approach, his gaze flicking toward Grayson before landing on me. “Evans. King.” He takes a slow sip of his drink before adding dryly, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this intervention?”

I fold my arms. “You know exactly why we’re here.”

Cassian exhales like he’s already bored. “If this is about Monroe, I’d rather swallow glass.”

Before I can respond, the doors to the penthouse swing open again, and Isabella strides in like she owns the place.

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