The towncar's engine purred beneath them, the city rolling by in a blur of concrete, steel, and early sunlight. Grayson sat with one hand on his knee and the other wrapped around Olivia's fingers, thumb tracing idle circles against her knuckles. He couldn't stop touching her. Not in a way that was desperate, though, honestly, it might've been getting there, but more like he was grounding himself.
His little fox. Astonishing. Breathtakingly beautiful. Enigmatic in a way that made him want to lean closer every time she said anything. And dammit he was falling for her. Hard.
She wasn't leaning into him, but didn't pull away either. She sat angled toward the window, her hair catching glints of light, fingers casually scrolling through her phone. Occasionally, she glanced up, eyes sweeping the skyline like she was cataloguing something quietly for herself.
He could barely look away.
Last night had unraveled something inside him. After they'd talked, after she trusted him with truths most people would've buried, after he saw her standing in his penthouse, wrapped in nothing but his towel, laughing in his kitchen, he knew he'd passed a line.
This wasn't a game anymore. And maybe it never was. The flirtation felt like the chase, like tag. Playful, sexy, distracting. But this… now? This was different. Deeper. Messier. Real.
A flash of emotion hit him, warm and terrifying. It wasn't just about her body, though that part of him was on high alert every time she so much as looked at him sideways. It was everything. Her honesty. Her quiet strength. The way she didn't flinch when the world tried to knock her sideways.
And then there was that moment this morning. When she told him she had nowhere to go. That fact still clung to him like damp clothes. Was that why she came to New York? Was this some kind of escape? He wanted to believe no. She'd told him she was looking for antiques and books. He knew that. Didn't he?
Damnit. No. They hadn't really talked about it. Not why she was in New York.
They'd just been... existing in this weird, perfect, reckless bubble. Now the edges were starting to blur and sharpen at the same time.
Back in the bathroom this morning, before they'd left her hotel, he'd gotten the call that pushed it all into a spiral.
Daniel: "Yo, yo, yo! Buddy, did you miss me? What day are you getting to Boston for the housewarming party? You're still coming, right?"
Grayson: "What do you want? I told you I'd be there. I said I would, I just have to go home first."
Daniel: "Oh really? I just thought maybe you'd want to spend some extra time with me and Haley. I haven't hung out with you in forever. Plus, you need a break."
Grayson: "There's been a new situation lately, so I don't know what to tell you."
Daniel: "What kind of situation?"
Grayson: "I don't feel I need to discuss the problem with you right now."
Daniel: "Hey, it's alright, man. I get it. Work is work. I'm just excited you're finally gonna meet Liv. She's perfect for you."
Grayson: "I can't promise I'll be the person you're looking for."
Daniel: "What? You're perfect, man. You're my best friend."
Grayson: "You want me to be the hero. But I'm not that guy, not in this scenario."
Daniel: "Look, I know Sasha was a total bitch, and yeah, I've set you up with some questionable women in the past but this one's different. This one is the real deal. Just meet her, okay?"
Grayson: "Stop. Stop, okay? I've made up my mind. I'll go, I'll say what I need to say, and when I leave, that's it."
Daniel: "Hey… man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push."
Grayson: "I've got something I need to do right now. I don't have time to keep talking."
Daniel (singing): "F is for friends who do stuff together…"
Grayson: "You're ridiculous."
He'd hung up, not because he was angry but because the frustration wrapped around his ribs like a vice.
Daniel didn't know. Didn't realize. Didn't see that the woman he kept trying to set him up with, this mythical Liv, was sitting right across from him now. Looking out a window. Brushing her hair behind her ear like she wasn't entirely changing his life by just being here.
If he'd known this was the woman Daniel wanted him to meet? He would've panicked. Or run. Or, hell, maybe he never would've believed someone like her would actually say yes.
And now he had to figure out how to let down a woman he never planned to meet, without hurting the one he didn't want to leave.
But no, he refused to engage in that tiresome game. The stranger whom Daniel persistently tried to introduce held no appeal for him. Instead, his attention was captivated by the woman beside him a fascinating enigma, a mesmerizing presence wrapped in an air of unpredictability. Her allure was undeniable, like a sly little fox with an air of mystery that intrigued and exasperated him.
The sleek town car glided smoothly to the curb, its engine humming quietly before it rolled to a gentle stop. Grayson blinked, his eyes adjusting to the change in scenery, and he sat up straighter in his seat, his posture shifting from relaxed to attentive. With a crisp and clear voice, the driver announced their destination, adding a sense of anticipation to the moment.
Argosy Book Store.
The block was classic Manhattan, weathered and wise. Tucked between mid-rise buildings and shaded by aged trees, Argosy stood proud in its six-story glory. A historical brownstone, its brickwork was tinged with time, ivy stretching like veins across the outer walls. The green awning bore its name in gold lettering, the type that made you feel like secrets waited inside.
The windows were filled with old maps, rare first editions, and globes so worn they looked hand-spun. It was the kind of place you didn't find by accident. You searched for it.
Grayson stepped out and offered his hand to Olivia as she followed. She took it with a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek as the wind picked up.
"You ready for treasure hunting?" she asked.
He smiled, wrapping her hand in his. "I already found mine."
The energy between them shifted and softened when they stepped inside Argosy Book Store. The scent of aged pages and quiet reverence wrapped around them like a familiar coat. Grayson held Olivia's hand as they crossed the creaky wooden floors, the dim lighting and narrow aisles giving the place a sacred kind of stillness.
Grayson let go of her hand every so often, only to gently touch her lower back or brush his fingers against hers as she scanned the spines of old books. He couldn't stop himself. He needed the contact, like it kept him anchored.
She looked radiant here, so focused, so content. Her eyes darted from cover to cover, her brow furrowing slightly as she read summaries or flipped open first pages. She knelt at one point, searching the lower shelves, and Grayson just… watched her.
His little fox. A fireball wrapped in silk and steel. He was utterly taken.
Grayson couldn't hold back. She was crouched in front of a shelf, fingers sliding a clothbound journal from its spot, when he stepped behind her and reached out just enough to gently tug her by the hand. Curious, she turned, only to find him drawing her into a small corner nook lined with books on natural history.
He kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, a languid exploration that spoke of patience rather than urgency. The depth of the kiss was profound, as if he sought to convey emotions that words could not capture. There was no sense of haste or frenzy, just an undeniable need that enveloped them both. He kissed her because she was beautiful, every angle and curve of her face more captivating than the last. He kissed her because she was there, a tangible presence that anchored him in the moment. And, in truth, he kissed her because he was at a loss for any other way to express the overwhelming surge of feelings she stirred within him.
She melted into him for a few seconds, lips soft and familiar, her hand resting on his chest.
When they parted, her smile was quiet but bright. She brushed her thumb across his jaw, then returned to the shelf like nothing had happened.
They stayed there for almost an hour. Olivia picked out two books, one on rare European pottery and another, he noticed, with pressed flowers between the pages.
They walked outside side by side, fingers linked again, the city buzzing softly around them.
The coffee shop was a block over, small and independent, filled with dark wood and gold accents. They placed their order and found a window seat tucked in the corner, sunlight casting a warm glow over the table.
"So," Grayson said in a bad old English accent as he slid her coffee across to her, "what's next, ma lady?"
Olivia giggled, taking the drink. "Well, my good sir, I wish to find an antique shop. Perhaps one with forgotten treasures to accompany me home. Would you care to join?"
He bowed slightly in his seat. "It would be my honor."
While she sipped her drink, he pulled out his phone and texted his driver. The car had been waiting nearby since they left the bookstore. He told Rufus to search for a few antique shops in the area and be ready to pick them up in a few minutes.
"I've got the car waiting outside for whenever you're ready," he said with a familiar smirk.
Olivia raised a brow. "You know, the rest of the world uses taxis and subways, right?"
"Yes," he said, sipping his coffee with an easy grin. "And I use taxis when necessary. But when I've got my own ride, why not enjoy a little privacy?"
He leaned across the table, voice dropping low.
"There aren't privacy windows in taxis… and I can't have everyone hearing your moans, now can I?"
Olivia flushed a deep pink, eyes wide. "Grayson."
He leaned back, casually lifting his cup to his lips again. She narrowed her eyes, then leaned in, lowering her voice.
"Well," she whispered, "let's just see who moans first, shall we?"
She stood, grabbed her bag, and walked out without another word, cool, composed, deadly in the best possible way.
Grayson sat there, stunned for a second, then chuckled. "Unbelievable…"
He tossed his cup, straightened his coat, and followed her out. The town car was already waiting, Rufus standing tall by the open door.
He slid in, and Olivia was already there, legs crossed, cool as ever.
"Why am I always waiting for you?" she asked, glancing at him with mock impatience.
Grayson moved closer to her, the door shutting behind him.
"Aren't I worth the wait?" he murmured, kissing her before she could reply.
He tugged gently at the collar of her turtleneck, lips grazing her neck. "Mmm. Someone's full of themselves," she whispered, hands roaming his back.
The partition hadn't gone up yet. The driver was doing his best to pretend nothing was happening.
"Rufus," Grayson called, voice casual. "Take us to the nearest antique shop. Something far enough away for a decent ride."
"You got it, Mr. Steel," Rufus replied in a heavy New York accent.
The partition smoothly slid up, cloaking the front in darkness and creating a sense of isolation within the enclosed space. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation, and in that tense moment, Grayson sprang into action with the swiftness of a predator, his movements precise and deliberate.
He pulled Olivia's turtleneck over her head in one motion, kissing down her chest while his hand expertly unsnapped her bra. His mouth latched onto her nipple, tongue flicking and teasing. The cool air had already hardened the other, and he wasn't about to ignore it. He squeezed and pulled, watching her body react.
"Grayson…" she moaned softly, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers deftly unfastened his belt, the metal buckle clinking in the hush over the car. She moved with a sense of urgency, pulling down the zipper with a smooth, practiced motion. As she freed him, her hand encircling his rigid length, Olivia could feel the heat and firmness beneath her touch, his skin slick and glistening with anticipation.
"I want you so bad, little fox," he growled, sliding one hand down, past the waist of her slacks, into the warmth of her panties. "God, you're soaked for me."
His head dropped to her chest, breathing heavily. "You're killing me," he whispered.
Grayson slid two fingers into her, curling up as her hips arched off the seat. Her moans grew louder, matched by the rhythm of her hand stroking him. Fast, steady. She was good at this. Too good.
"I've never come like this," he groaned. "You're ruining me."
Olivia's eyes locked with his. She let go just long enough to lick her palm, then wrapped her hand around him again.
"Then let's come together," she whispered.
Her movements matched the rhythm of his. Her hips rocked against his hand, both of them teetering on the edge.
"I'm coming, Grayson..."
"Let go, little fox. I've got you..."
She gasped and shattered around his fingers. At the same time, Grayson leaned back, took himself in hand, and released his own climax in a deep groan, hot and fast into his palm.
The car was filled with heavy breathing and the low hum of the road.
Grayson finally reached to a side panel, pulled out a pack of baby wipes, and cleaned himself.
She took it with a tilted head and raised eyebrow.
"It's not what you think. I asked Rufus to stock some after you did this to me last time."
Olivia looked at him sideways. "Uh-huh."
"I'm serious. You can ask him. Want me to roll the partition down?"
"Don't you dare!" she hissed, mortified.
Grayson chuckled, kissing her cheek. "You're for my eyes only, Little Fox. Now let's get you dressed before I retake full advantage of this situation."
She redressed calmly, running her fingers through her hair before pulling out a pen and using it to pull her hair into a bun.
Grayson watched, mesmerized. That little move was so subtle, it made his chest ache. Control yourself, man. You're not a dog in heat.
Once they were put back together, he pressed the button to lower the partition.
"Rufus," he said, voice steady. "What's our ETA?"
"We hit traffic. Be there in about fifteen."
Grayson looked over at Olivia, who was smoothing out her coat and sipping water like nothing had happened. God help him. He was absolutely ruined for this woman.
The antique store was nestled between a worn tailor's shop and a florist bursting with color. From the outside, it looked like time had stopped at the front steps. Its windows were slightly fogged, and the old gold lettering on the glass was faded but dignified.
The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside.
The air was thick with age, the scent of varnish, parchment, and polished wood wafting gently in the quiet. The lighting was low and warm, coming from a series of hanging Edison bulbs that cast a soft glow over rows of glass display cases and tall mahogany bookshelves. The hardwood floor creaked beneath their feet, and each aisle felt like walking into a forgotten story.
Olivia lit up instantly. Her eyes danced across the organized clutter of vintage maps, typewriters, delicately chipped teacups, and metal trinkets with no obvious purpose. The energy shifted in her, a kind of reverent joy that made Grayson fall harder by the second.
She moved instinctively through the store, like she belonged there. Grayson stayed near, admiring not just the things around them, but the way she looked when she was lost in curiosity.
They wandered slowly, row by row. Olivia trailed her fingers along carved wood, flipped through an old basket of postcards from the 1920s, and examined a tray of brass keys with intricate teeth.
Grayson's eyes caught something in the back corner of the store.
A shelf tucked behind a waist-high cabinet, mostly covered in dust and tucked out of obvious sight.
On it sat a medium-sized globe. Unlike most, it didn't have raised topography, just a smooth surface with golden and bronze tones muted by time. Its brass stand had some tarnish, and the sphere itself needed polishing, but it was beautiful—solid, quietly radiant.
He didn't say a word. He knew immediately it was hers.
It didn't shout for attention but had a gravity about it. Something about it felt right, like Olivia. Unassuming. Rich with stories.
He turned to find her wandering the aisle toward him, eyes scanning the shelf.
"Hey," he said quickly, stepping into her path with a crooked grin. "There's a whole wall of paints and glass in the other aisle thought I saw something you might love."
"Oh?" She tilted her head. "Lead the way, Mr. Tour Guide."
He gave her a wink and took her hand, gently steering her down the opposite path. As soon as she was distracted, he thumbed out his phone and shot a message to Rufus:
Grayson: Come inside, back corner. There's a medium globe, golden-bronze, no raised lines. Get it. Fast.
A moment later:
Rufus: Got it. On it now.
Grayson slipped the phone back into his pocket and focused on Olivia, who marveled at a stained-glass candleholder shaped like a rose. She turned it slowly in her hand, smiling softly.
The globe was gone by the time they looped back to the shelf. Olivia didn't even seem to notice. Grayson, casually, rechecked his phone.
Rufus: Done. Packed and paid for. In the car.
Grayson smirked and slid the phone away again. They kept walking, moving from shelf to shelf, her hand finding his every now and then as she asked questions about strange little tools or pieces of old furniture. She opened a small wooden box to reveal dozens of watch parts and gears, eyes lighting up in curiosity.
Grayson just watched her. He was so completely taken, it was starting to ache a little. And she didn't even know what he had planned for her yet.
As they moved further into the shop, the clutter gave way to curated vignettes—small pockets of forgotten time. One corner was all clocks. Another, jewelry. And then, tucked beneath a window draped in gauzy linen, Olivia stopped.
"Oh…" Her breath caught, and she crouched low to examine a small display beneath the sill.
Grayson stepped beside her, curious.
It was a shadow box.
Glass-fronted, framed in weathered driftwood, with soft blue fabric as the backing. Inside, mounted neatly, were antique nautical pieces—an old brass compass with the needle still trembling, a rusted key with an anchor stamped on the top, and a few tiny vials filled with sand from what looked like different shores. Each had a label written in faded cursive: Caladesi, Half Moon Bay, El Nido…
Olivia reached out and touched the edge of the box gently, like she was afraid it might crumble.
She didn't say anything at first.
Grayson crouched beside her, watching her face more than the item. There was something in her eyes. Not just delight—something deeper. Nostalgia. Longing. Maybe even a little ache.
"You like it?" he asked softly.
"I love it," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "I've always been obsessed with beach stuff. My apartment's filled with it—driftwood shelves, sea glass trays, coral sculptures... It's my own little escape in the middle of cold, gray Chicago."
She gave a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. "I pretend I don't mind the cold, but I've always been a beach girl. I grew up chasing sun, waves, and sand. Even now, if I can book a solo trip, I go somewhere warm."
Grayson smiled, leaning a little closer. "Makes sense. You've got sun energy."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sun energy?"
He grinned. "Yeah. You walk into a room, and suddenly it feels like summer."
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink.
"I think I want this one," she said, standing and cradling the shadow box carefully. "It's just… perfect."
Grayson watched her a beat longer, then reached out and touched the edge of her hair gently. "It really is"
The antique store faded behind them as they stepped into the cool evening air. Olivia cradled the shadow box against her chest as if it were something sacred. Grayson walked just behind her, his gaze trailing down the street, his thoughts miles away even as he stayed tethered to her by the slight brush of their shoulders.
It had been a good day.
And yet, as they slid into the car, Grayson could feel it—that faint tension that hadn't existed hours ago. Olivia leaned into him, but her body was a little stiff, like her mind was somewhere he couldn't follow.
He glanced over at her, gently touching her chin, making her look at him.
"Are you hungry?" he asked softly.
She turned to him, her eyes wide, vulnerable, asking him questions neither of them had the courage to voice.
"I could eat," she said quietly.
"Okay," he said, offering a small, simple smile. "I know a restaurant. It's a must-try."
"Sure," she replied with a nod. "I know I'll love it."
There it was again—that quiet voice. The warmth of her smile still reached her lips, but not quite her eyes.
Damnit, Grayson thought. What can I do? What should I do? He needed to fix whatever had shifted. But for once, he had no idea how.
The car moved in silence, save for the city's occasional hum. Grayson requested the destination from Rufus and quickly called for a reservation. That was it. No conversation. Just silence. Quiet, loaded silence.
Then her phone buzzed. She shifted slightly, and the screen lit up with a name: Bestie.
He didn't mean to snoop but it was impossible not to notice. The messages kept coming, and Olivia let out a long sigh before giggling softly at something on the screen.
Grayson looked over. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," she said, smiling gently. "My bestie is just being a best friend, that's all."
He raised a brow. "Well, I'm glad you cleared that up."
She laughed. "No, really. She just wanted to check in and ask how antique shopping went. If there was anything she could help me find."
"Ah, I see. That makes more sense."
"She even sent me a list of places to check out here in New York."
"Did you want to stop at any of them?" he asked, reaching for her hand.
Olivia looked down at their joined hands, then up at him with a softer expression. "No. I found something great today. I'm really excited about it."
"And I'm happy you're happy."
She smiled again. But there was something behind her eyes, something unsaid. Something she wasn't ready to let him in on. Not yet.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the restaurant. Grayson helped her out of the car, and they stepped into a warmly lit building that buzzed with the quiet hum of conversation and clinking silverware. The restaurant was elevated but not pretentious, with honey-toned wood floors, rich leather booths, and soft jazz playing in the background.
They checked their coats at the front, and a host led them to a small corner table by the window. Cozy. Intimate. The kind of spot perfect for long conversations and lingering glances.
Menus were set down. Drink orders were taken. And silence returned.
It wasn't awkward, exactly. Just... paused. Polite. Guarded. Both of them in their heads.
The waiter returned with their drinks. Grayson took a long sip of his whiskey neat, letting the heat burn away the tension he couldn't name.
Then the waiter asked if they were ready.
Olivia looked up. "Yes. Actually… I'd like the New York–style cheesecake first, please. And a glass of Sauvignon Blanc."
Grayson looked at her, one brow raised in amusement.
"Oh," she said, smiling, "deep discussions are always better with sweets."
He chuckled, then ordered the same steak medium rare, just without the cheesecake.
When the waiter returned with the dessert, it was plated like art: a thick slice drizzled in rich red berry sauce, with two strawberries carved into delicate rose shapes on the side. Her wine glowed golden in the soft light.
She took a sip, nodded in satisfaction, and then took a bite of the cheesecake.
Grayson watched her.
The way her eyes fluttered closed. The way she licked her lips afterward, then took another slow sip of wine, as if she was experiencing the taste, not just eating it.
He gripped the table's edge.
"Little fox," he muttered, voice low, rough, "I'm going to need you to stop eating that cheesecake so... um, delicately."
Olivia blinked innocently. "I'm sorry. It's yummy." She held out a forkful to him. "Want to try?"
Grayson gave her a look—dark, hungry, the kind that made her stomach tighten.
"If I try that cheesecake, I promise you... It won't be off a fork."
She blushed, hard. Then looked at him, serious again.
"Okay," she said softly. She set her fork down. "We need to talk."
Grayson nodded, lifting his whiskey, taking another sip. "Yeah. I believe we do."
Olivia folded her hands in front of her. "First things first—do you want me to stay the night again?"
Grayson blinked. "That's your first question?"
She laughed, but there was a realness beneath it. "It's a genuine question."
He leaned forward, his dimple appearing as he gave her a soft, warm smile. "It's an earnest question, Olivia. And yes—I need to know."
"I—" she started, but was interrupted as the waiter returned, placing their steaks in front of them with a quick, professional smile before retreating again.
They began to eat in a quiet rhythm, both clearly still thinking. Finally, Grayson glanced up over his plate, his voice a little rougher than before.
"Will you stay?"
Olivia met his gaze. Her eyes held a dozen thoughts, most of which she didn't say aloud.
She took a breath, then answered.
"Maybe."