It was a Monday morning, the kind of fall day that pretended to be cozy but carried a bite. The sky was bright, layered with thick clouds that drifted lazily, stirred by a steady wind. The chill in the air didn't quite call for a coat, but it made you wish you had one anyway. At least there was no rain in the forecast.
Grayson sat behind his desk in the glass-walled corner office of his Austin headquarters, flipping through one of the many thick folders in a tall, uneven stack. His signature dark grey suit hugged his broad, muscular frame in a way that spoke to the precision of his tailor, but also the easy power he carried in his shoulders. His brown hair, though combed for the morning, refused to behave there was still a slight curl at the front, always the first to rebel.
Across the office, George stepped in with his usual calm energy. Slim and sharply dressed in a tan suit, blue button-up shirt, and matching oxtail shoes, he held another stack of folders, his trusty iPad balanced perfectly on top.
"The agenda's set for the day," George said, already multitasking between the paper and the digital. "Investor pitch at ten. It's the rec center proposal, which is youth-focused and heavy on community impact. Lunch with your mom at one. And a few follow-ups from your New York trip still need your eyes."
Grayson gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. He had flown back into Austin just after five the previous evening, bracing himself for the usual chaos that sometimes waited behind his own front door: caterers lingering too long, loud cousins crashing in, or worse, impromptu soirées his mother had green-lit. But to his surprise, the house was still. Quiet. Peaceful. A rare gift.
He checked the time on his watch. Once the final pieces of the day's plan were confirmed, he stood, phone and folders in hand, and strode toward the boardroom. George followed, ever two steps behind but always in sync.
The boardroom was large, minimalist but intentional, with a polished oak table that stretched nearly the length of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in that bright, overcast light. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baked pastries lingered; thank God, someone had followed his standing order. He hadn't been in here for nearly two weeks, but the room filled with department heads like clockwork. His sister, seated at the far end, offered a small wave. She looked poised, as always, head of Advertising and Marketing, and not one to be overlooked.
He smiled back. He hadn't spoken to her properly in a while, and since lunch with their mom was already on the books, maybe he could squeeze in a two-for-one. He mentally filed that away.
As the last few directors filtered in and settled, Grayson moved to the head of the table and finally placed his folders down with a soft thud. A hush rolled across the room, expectant and familiar.
He surveyed the room, taking in every face with a keen, observant eye and the atmosphere. His gaze lingered momentarily on each person, as if weighing their thoughts and intentions before speaking. His expression was a blend of mischief and charisma, accentuated by a lopsided grin that exuded both a playful charm and a subtle hint of caution. He began to speak. His voice carried a blend of caution and charm.
"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. I'm glad to see your faces." He paused, letting the silence work. "Now, I've never been a boss to bullshit you, so let me tell it to you straight this is going to be a long meeting."
There were some chuckles, some groans. He held up a hand.
"Here's the deal. I need to hear from every department. I want year-end projections, updates on contracts, assignments, and I need to go over the deals from New York." He motioned toward the side of the room where the coffee bar was set up. "Caffeine and carbs are over there. That's all I can offer until lunch."
He nodded once. "So let's get started."
George stepped forward, placing his folders beside the larger stack Grayson had dropped earlier. Grayson grabbed the top file and flipped it open.
"Accounting, looks like you're up."
As someone across the table shuffled to stand, Grayson slid his phone from his pocket, thumbing quickly through his earlier messages. He grinned.
Grayson:Hey, beautiful. I slept awful because you weren't there.
Little Fox:I'm not sure how that's possible since you sleep like the dead.
Grayson:I know when you're next to me or not.
Little Fox:I literally cleaned up your kitchen, took a shower, and got back into bed the last time I was there. You wouldn't know unless I jumped on you.
Grayson:Promises, promises.
Little Fox:LOL. Go to work.
Now, he shot off a fresh one.
Grayson:Work hard; play hard later.
An older gentleman stood up from his seat, carrying a laptop that he connected to the projector screen. Grayson leaned back in his chair, resting a palm on his thigh to keep himself from reaching for the phone again. He needed to focus.
But damn… difficult.
The rest of the department updates had gone by in a blur. A few project leads overperformed, a couple fell short, and the finance team was already sounding the alarm on early Q1 spending. All in all, nothing he couldn't handle. Grayson wrapped up the meeting just after noon, nodding his thanks before heading back to his office with George trailing behind.
"Lunch with your mom is in twenty," George reminded him, scrolling through his iPad as they walked the hall. "There's also a quick call flagged from legal, but I moved it to the afternoon. The development team wants to get your take on the two new mixed-use properties for the East Side, and your inbox looks like it gave birth overnight."
Grayson groaned softly. "Perfect. Let me hit my office. I'll skim what I can and hit the restroom."
"Want coffee?" George offered.
Grayson shook his head. "No, but I wouldn't say no to peace and quiet for ten minutes."
George gave a knowing smirk but said nothing.
Back in his office, the calm returned. The space, sleek, open, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, gave way to his private corner bathroom. It was clean and understated luxury: white marble counters, brushed gold fixtures, and a rainfall shower that he only used on days that turned into nights. Today didn't warrant it, but he still washed his hands, stared at his reflection for a beat longer than usual, then made his way back out.
He dropped into his chair with a sigh and tapped into his email, firing off a few quick responses. Nothing that required too much thought, some approvals, a couple of reschedules, and one message about a bid offer that needed more eyes. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he reached for his phone.
Little Fox:I am sure play time with you would definitely be work.
Little Fox:I've found myself in a strange conundrum. Do you want to know what it is?
Little Fox:I've been on this Google meeting for 45 minutes and haven't heard a word. Now they're asking me if I have any ideas on the matter. What should I say?
Little Fox:I just BS'd some answers together like mentor development synergies and qualified balanced skill tactics.
Little Fox:Can't believe they bought that shit!
Grayson leaned back in his chair, letting out a loud, unexpected laugh that filled the room. The kind that cracked open a Monday like sunshine through cloud cover.
George paused mid-sentence and raised a brow just as the door opened.
Marybelle strolled in with effortless grace. She was dressed in a sophisticated, form-fitting black sheath dress. The high, stand-up collar gave way to a deep V-neckline, creating a chic wrap-style effect. Three-quarter length sleeves hugged her arms, and her waist was cinched with a matching black belt featuring a bold gold rectangular buckle. The skirt fell just to the knee, tailored and sleek, with side pockets so seamlessly integrated they were nearly invisible. Her honey-blonde hair, darker at the roots, was twisted into a neat French roll, with a few soft strands framing her face.
She paused at the sight of her brother holding his stomach, doubled over in his chair, laughing.
"This is a sight for sore eyes," she said with a playful grin, leaning against one of the leather chairs opposite his desk. "After that meeting, I never thought I'd see you like this today."
Grayson caught his breath, wiping a hand over his face. "Just…a surprise text, that's all."
Her eyes narrowed with faux suspicion. "Oh, must've been from Daniel."
He didn't answer, but the way his eyes still twinkled made her grin grow and her lean closer.
"Ohhh. Not Daniel. Then who, pray tell, has the king of composure laughing like a fool at his desk?"
She slid into the seat, crossing one leg over the other with ease, her gold bracelet catching the light as she leaned back. And waited.
Grayson chuckled again and sent off a quick reply.
Grayson:LOL. I never know what to expect from you.
And tucked his phone into his pocket.
"Is it someone in the office?" Marybelle asked, tilting her head. "Or are they based in New York?"
"Nosy Rosie," he muttered.
"You know I'm up there just as much as you," she shot back.
"Nancy Drew," he said, sighing. "It's not someone from the company."
She raised a suspicious brow. "Did Daniel set you up with her? You know those sleazy women he drags around aren't worth your time."
Grayson winced. "No. It's not one of them.Though he is attempting again, or is trying to set me up with his girlfriend's best friend."
Marybelle burst out laughing. "Another setup? Please tell me it won't be like the woman with the parrot!"
He groaned. "Don't remind me."
"Oh, come on! That was hilarious." She said, laughing.
The memory was, unfortunately, vivid: they met outside the restaurant, easy enough. But when the woman showed up, she was tall, overly glamorous, with bright red lipstick and a too-tight dress that squeaked when she walked. along with Heels that were too high for walking, nails that made texting impossible. On her shoulder? A massive African Grey parrot. Not in a cage. Just perched like it was part of her outfit. At first, Grayson thought it was a joke. It wasn't. But none of that compares to the bird.
They sat on the outdoor patio, and mid-way through dinner, the bird began parroting back... interesting phrases. Filthy, human-sounding phrases.The damn thing could mimic voices exactly. And loud. squawking phrases like "Harder, daddy!" and "Do it again, big boy!" Patrons nearby turned. The waitress couldn't make eye contact. Grayson had choked on his water twice.
"Yeah," Grayson muttered. "Never again."
Marybelle was nearly in tears from laughter. "So who is she then?"
Grayson hesitated.
Marybelle grinned. "So this new mystery woman. What's the deal?"
He looked up at her
"You know I'm going to keep asking," she said sweetly. "And Mom's on her way. She's really keen on you talking to Elizabeth, by the way."
He visibly shuddered. "That woman creeps me out. Always has."
"I can tell. You dodge her like it's a sport."
"Grayson… come on. I won't tell Mom."
Grayson sighed. "Look… don't tell Mom or Lainey yet."
"Umm, why?"
He leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
"Couple reasons. I want to keep her to myself a little longer. I really like her. And the way we met? It's wild. I don't want to jinx it."
Marybelle watched him quietly.
"And how we met…" he added. "It's insane. I don't want to jinx it."
"Jinx it? You don't believe in that stuff," she says, chuckling
"Usually, no. But this feels different. The timing. The way things keep aligning. It's like we have our own world, Belle. I like that."
She tilted her head. "So what, you're a destiny guy now? Like Lainey?"
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I don't have time to explain. Not now. Tonight, wine, full story. You'll tell me if I've lost it."
Her brows lifted. "You're serious."
"Dead, Belle."
He glanced down at his phone again.
Little Fox: Now, what fun would it be if I were predictable? Besides, I might be on my way to your office right now in a trench coat.
Grayson snorted, typing back quickly.
Grayson: Again with your promises. You're breaking my heart.
He slipped his phone into his pocket just as George stepped in. "Your mother's here."
A knock interrupted them.
George poked his head in. "Your mother's here."
Their mother entered a moment later, poised and elegant as always. She wore a floral-print tunic in deep jewel tones paired with black ankle pants, a turtleneck, and black Maryjanes. Her jewelry was simple: a gold pendant and thin bangles, but her presence filled the space.
"Grayson, my son. It's been too long," she said as Grayson rose from his seat and embraced her.
"It's been two weeks, Mother," he said, rising to greet her.
"Ah, but it feels like months."
I'm running Father's company. Just trying to hold to the standard."
"And doing it beautifully. Still, a mother knows when her son needs her."
"Then I promise to make more time."
"Good," she said, linking her arm through his. "Now take me to lunch."
"With pleasure." He offered his arm and turned to Marybelle. "Come too."
"Oh, I'm invited? I thought I was just a statue in your office."
"Please. You talk too much to be made of stone." He snorted as they walked out of the room.
"Mother, did you hear that?" she said in a fake pout. "He's back one day and already bullying me."
"He's right, dear," their mother said with a sly smile and a wink.
"What? I… I can't believe this. My own mother is ganging up on me!"
They stood waiting for the elevator, Marybelle still huffing in mock betrayal. As the doors opened and they stepped inside, Grayson stuck out his tongue.
"Ma! Did you see that?" she gasped.
Their mother just shrugged, and Marybelle looked scandalized.
Grayson cracked first. Soon, they all did.
The elevator hummed softly as it descended to the waiting town car, where three Steel family members were bound for lunch, warmth, and, just maybe, peace.