Page 70 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

God, I love her.

***

Back in the VIP area, clients begin approaching. Isabella and Cassian first, charming, composed, wine in hand.

“I have three potential investors asking if you’re expanding into South America,” Cassian murmurs. “Not that I’m pushing. But if I were…”

“I’ll let you know after I’ve slept for fourteen hours,” I reply.

He grins. Then, out of nowhere, Alexandra Devaux appears in a crimson sheath dress and matching heels, her phone tucked into a glittering clutch.

“That,” she says, “was the most compelling takedown I’ve ever witnessed without the use of an actual weapon.”

Mason steps in beside her with a drink. “She’s very turned on.”

Alexandra does not deny it.

“I meant every word,” I say.

“I know,” she replies. “Which is why it worked.”

***

Later, just as I’m about to sit down with a mocktail and my swollen ankles, Olivia hurries over.

“You’re going to want to see this.”

She hands me her phone.

An email from Rowan Vale, a legacy venture capitalist known for being media-shy, brutal in business, and nearly impossible to impress:Subject:Re: Tonight,Body:Margot—That was not only the best seven-minute brand reversal I’ve ever seen—it was the best seven minutes of leadership I’ve seen in years. Let’s talk investment. Your terms. – R

I blink. Grayson looks over my shoulder.

“You’re unstoppable,” he murmurs.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.

38

GRAYSON

If chaos had a scent, today it smells like over-steeped Earl Grey and Chanel No. 5. I’m standing in the VIP lounge atPerfectly Matched HQ, and I swear the temperature has risen five degrees from sheer presence alone. The cause of the shift? Celeste Diamond, matchmaking’s equivalent of a glitter bomb with a private jet.

She sits sprawled across the velvet fainting couch like she invented lounging. Her vintage pink suit sparkles faintly under the art-deco chandelier, and a tiny white Pomeranian pokes its head out of her Hermès tote bag with an expression of world-weary judgment. The dog is wearing a diamond collar. It blinks at me likeIshould be fetching it tea.

Celeste removes her sunglasses slowly, like a Bond villain mid-monologue, and peers at me through cat-lined eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t my Golden Boy,” she says, voice honeyed with mischief and something vaguely threatening. “Tell me, darling, do you always look this serious? Or is it just for me?”

Across the room, Olivia’s tablet nearly short-circuits from stress.

I smile tightly. “Ms. Diamond. Welcome toPerfectly Matched.”

“I prefer Celeste. Or Your Majesty. Depending on the day.”

I glance toward Olivia. Her expression is polite, professional, and full of murderous suspicion.

Celeste lifts her teacup, bone china, hand-painted roses, then sniffs it once before handing it off to no one in particular. “Do you know, I once turned down an engagement on the tarmac of a private airfield in Morocco. The ring was too small. I said, if it can’t be seen from space, I’m not interested.”

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