Page 44 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

Grayson and I exchange a look. We’re not sure whether we’ve been propositioned or blackmailed.

“Or,” Mallory continues, swirling her champagne, “you can say no. And I’ll simply redirect my focus to... oh, I don’t know. That unsanctioned ultrasound visit I heard whispers about?”

I freeze. My pulse skips. “You wouldn’t.”

She grins. “Try me.”

26

GRAYSON

I’ve negotiated board takeovers, investor buyouts, and one literal yacht standoff in Monaco. But nothing quite prepares you for being blackmailed by a senator in the middle of your own matchmaking mixer. Mallory’s smile is weaponized. I’m fairly certain if I were to touch her champagne glass, it would detonate.

Margot stiffens beside me, but her voice stays cool. “Senator, would you mind giving us a moment to… discuss your proposal?”

“Of course,” Mallory says, ever gracious. “I’ll be near the piano, contemplating a scandal.”

She glides off with the smugness of someone who just checkmated us in four moves. Margot pulls me toward the terrace, just out of earshot. Jazz and laughter swirl around us, but my pulse is a steady throb.

“She wants us to find her a match?” Margot hisses. “Or she’ll leak the pregnancy?”

“She wants both,” I say. “Power and narrative. And a seat at our table.”

“She doesn’t even like people. She once called emotional vulnerability ‘a distraction.’”

“She also passed a federal privacy bill while ghosting her own engagement,” I say. “She’s complicated.”

Margot pinches the bridge of her nose. “What do we do?”

I exhale slowly. “We stall. Tell her we’re vetting her as a client, just like anyone else. Meanwhile, we figure out how to outmaneuver a woman who once made a venture capitalist cry in a Senate hearing.”

Margot’s lips twitch. “He deserved it.”

“She probably thinks I do too.”

She looks at me, and the tension breaks just a little. “We’ll figure it out.”

I reach for her hand. “We always do.”

When we walk back inside, Mallory is seated at the piano bench, not playing, of course, just tapping the keys in a way that sounds vaguely ominous.

“Have we reached consensus?” she asks.

“For now,” I say, “we’re considering your request.”

She smiles. “Smart boys get far. Strategic couples? Even farther.”

This isn’t over. Not even close.

But I already know one thing: if she thinks she can manipulate us with secrets and headlines, she’s underestimated the two most dangerous things we have. Each other.

***

Back in my office the next morning, the city hums through the windows, louder than usual, or maybe that’s just my blood pressure. Margot perches on the edge of the couch, a notepad in one hand and a protein bar she’s not actually eating in the other.

“So,” she says, tapping her pen, “we give her what she wants, on our terms.”

“You mean spin it so she thinks she’s in control.”

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