Page 85 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

Olivia taps on the screen, scrolling down: “International matchmaking:Perfectly Matchedgoesglobal—high-profile, ultra-elite matches on a worldwide scale. Cassian wants to fund it, set up strategic locations in key cities. London. Paris. Dubai. Tokyo.”

Margot lets out a breath. “That’s… massive.”

I nod slowly, my mind already working through the logistics, the power shifts, the risks. It would changeeverything.

Margot glances at me, reading my hesitation immediately. “You’re not convinced.”

I exhale sharply. “I don’t trust Cassian.”

Margot smirks. “Well, duh.”

I shoot her a look. “Hedoesn’tmake investments. He makesplays. If he’s doing this, it’s because he sees an angle we don’t.”

Olivia shrugs. “Obviously. But does that mean it’snotworth considering?”

I look at Margot again, weighing the possibilities. She bites her lip, her gaze shifting to the tablet. I can practicallyseethe wheels turning in her head. The strategist. Thevisionary. This is what shelivesfor. I already know her answer before she even says it.

Margot exhales slowly, then lifts her chin. “Set up the meeting.”

Meanwhile,Cassian sits at the bar atThe Black Orchid,the luxurious cocktail lounge, his usual self-assured smirk firmly in place. If anyone were watching, they’d assume nothing hadchanged. He looks perfectly at ease, his suit impeccable, his watch gleaming under the ambient lighting, his demeanor as infuriatingly smug as ever.

Isabella, however, isnotfooled. She glares at him from where she stands, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Cassian takes a slow sip of his whiskey before breaking the silence. “You’re going to pretend it didn’t happen, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrow. “Nothinghappened.”

Cassian’s smirk deepens. “Oh,Monroe.” He sets down his glass, turning slightly so that he’s fully facing her. “You kissed me.”

She rolls her eyes. “You kissedmeback.”

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Enthusiastically.”

Isabella lifts a finger. “It was amistake.”

Cassian’s gaze flickers with something darker, something that makes the airthicker. “Was it?”

Silence. Her throat works as she swallows, and Cassianseesit, the way she hesitates for just a fraction of a second. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re scared.”

She scoffs. “Ofyou? Not a chance.”

His grin is slow and predatory. “No. Not ofme. Ofthis.”

Isabella forces a laugh, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Please. You’re a walking red flag, Laurent. I’d never fall for your type.”

Cassian tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Fall for me?” He tsks, shaking his head. “Oh, Monroe. Ineversaid anything aboutfalling.”

Her pulsespikes and shehates it, but she doesn’t walk away. Cassian watches her, his smirk widening. He’s the picture of composed arrogance, sprawled lazily in one of the deep leather booths, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His tie is slightly loosened, his usual crispness giving way tosomethingdangerously relaxed, as if he is utterly unbothered by the world around him.

Isabella is the opposite, rigid, her back straight, her fingers curled around the stem of her martini glass. There is a storm brewing beneath her sharp gaze, something electric andundeniably tense.

Cassian watches her withfar too much amusement. “You seem… tense,Monroe.”

Isabella, reclining slightly, takes a slow sip of her drink without breaking eye contact. “And you seemunbearably smug.”

He grins, slow and deliberate. “I can’t help it. Winning does that to me.”

She arches a brow. “Youwon?”

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