Page 34 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

Grayson smirks. "I think our very existence counts."

"Excellent. Send me calendar blocks by midnight or I’ll do it for you, and my version includes live doves."

"No doves!" we both say in unison.

"That’s what I thought," she says sweetly, then hangs up.

I look over at Grayson, who’s already texting Olivia to set up logistics. "We’re really doing this."

He pulls me into his side and kisses my temple. "Damn right we are. And this time, it’s not about saving face. It’s about celebrating what we survived. What we’ve built."

And just like that, the wedding planning begins. This time, on our terms.

22

GRAYSON

While Margot and Madeline debate floral installations, seating charts, and signature cocktails named after celestial alignments,Cosmic CommitmentandHot Virgo Summeramong the frontrunners, I’m holed up in the executive conference room with Olivia, three laptops, a tray of espresso shots, and a mountain of NDAs. The view of Manhattan behind us is pristine. The work in front of us? Less so.

Perfectly Matchedis buzzing again, and this time it’s not from scandal. It’s from interest, specifically, interest from people we’d once have killed to land.

Olivia slides a black leather portfolio across the table toward me. Her nails tap twice on the cover before she speaks. "Two top-tier inquiries came in this morning. High-profile. Discreet. Both requested private onboarding, with you. Not me. Not the team. You."

I raise an eyebrow. "Just me?"

"Apparently your brooding face and viral suit moment did wonders for your approachability rating."

I sigh dramatically. "Guess I’ll cancel my dream of silent retirement in the Alps."

She snorts. "You’d be bored in thirty minutes and reorganizing the mountain goats by enneagram type."

I tap my pen against the desk, then flip open the folder. "Who are we talking about? Give me the drama."

"First one is Alexandra Devaux," she says, pulling up the file. "CEO of a sustainable fashion empire. Divorced, early forties, known for being brilliant, blunt, and pathologically opposed to small talk."

"Sounds like someone I’d either fall in love with or run from."

"Second one’s Mason Wolfe," she continues. "Former Formula One driver, now a media investor. Extremely charming. Owns too many cars."

"So basically my evil twin."

Olivia grins. "Want me to set up intro calls?"

"No need," I say, already dialing.

I make the call to Alexandra Devaux first, because I suspect she’s the type who times your punctuality to the second, and penalizes you in silence.

“Ms. Devaux? Grayson King here. Thank you for trusting us with your matchmaking process.”

Her voice is smooth, clipped, with just the faintest Parisian edge. “I don’t trust easily, Mr. King. But I do value systems that work. Yours appears to.”

“It does,” I say. “But it works best when you’re willing to let someone past your surface firewall.”

“You Googled me.”

“I read between the lines.”

She hums, amused but unimpressed. “Fine. Impress me. Match me with someone who doesn’t bore me in three minutes.”

---